My cheeks are still rosy from the wine from tonight's art show. I started taking art classes at a local art school a few months ago, because I wanted to learn how to take better photographs. I've learned a bit about photography, but mostly, these classes have helped me remember how much I love being around art.
I signed up for art classes in college, whenever I had spare spots in the schedule. Sometimes it was an art history class. Other times, I took life painting classes. The art studio was always open, so you could work on your paintings on weekends with the majors. Later, I took life painting classes at the Art Students League of New York, where I hung out in the smoking room with the nude models. I worked in a museum in Chicago for a year during one of my off-years from grad school. Friends with connections in the underground art world in Chicago took me to performance art shows. At one memorable show, a heavily tattooed man in a speedo hoisted into the air another man dressed up as a giant penis.
When I got pregnant with Jonah, I stopped painting, because the chemicals are bad for fetuses. After that, life got crazier. I took the kids to museums here and there, but I didn't have grown up time there. I didn't paint at all. I drifted away from the galleries and the museums.
Now, I'm back. I love the wall of paint smell that hits you when you walk in the doors. I love the crazy creative people. There's a room of pottery wheels in the basement that I can't wait to play with. Wet clay awaits!
I'm in love with my fellow students. Here in suburban New Jersey, they're a slightly different breed than city arty types. There are the older retired people who mother me. And the misfit moms, who are bored with the PTA. They hugged and kissed me, as we left this evening.
Some people go to church to find a community. I go to art school.