It is rainy January and I am looking through the UAL staff portal for a well-hidden form. If I fill in this form, I can get a free place on any UAL short course. I book myself into a week of oil painting. It is rainy April and I am in a studio round the side of Chelsea unpacking a half price Cass art multipack from my tote bag. See, I used to paint. I applied to art school with a portfolio full of paintings, but by the time I actually got there, painting had started to feel embarassing (and boring). I wrote scripts, made films, packed it all in, became a writer instead. But now, rainy April, I am in a studio and I am pushing paint around with my brush. I am mixing things into my paint, making the paint feel like chewing gum. I am making the colour stretch and slide. I am painting my sister’s face, but making her bubblegum pink (because it is my painting, I can do whatever I want). All my desires are fulfilled or fulfillable. I am having a really really good time. Painting taught me you…
No comments yet. Log in to reply on the Fediverse. Comments will appear here.