Article on My Art Lessons
The title is originally 'A Realisation As An Overaged Art Student' but it was changed to something cringeworthy. Many young children between the ages of six to fifteen hunched over the tables in the sitting room, sketching and painting. At the age of forty-five, I was by far the oldest student, overweight, too, and somewhat shabby looking. Sitting in an inconspicuous corner, under a freezing air conditioner, I surfed the Internet on my ipad to hide my discomfort. One by one, more kids poked their heads around the door, entered the house barefoot and took their seemingly pre-assigned positions in the sitting room. When Vaz, the elegant art teacher in her late fifties arrived, she frowned at where I was sitting. “This is not where you sit,” said the lecturer cum artist, while beckoning me to follow her into a little room beside her office. She handed me a beginner kit and frowned again when I told her that I had forgotten to bring my coloured penc...