The image above is my painting The Verandah (2005). I was largely self-taught at this stage.
When I completed my degree in…oh I can’t remember, was it a thousand years ago? Nope, just the early 90s. So it was only 25 years ago? Wow. Anyway 25 years ago the idea that, as an adult, you could hope to educate yourself without the help of a university or similar institution was unthinkable.
Who’s going to mark my papers? Who’s going to rate me? Who am I if I don’t have a few more letters after my name?
Flash forward to this era of Instagram experts and YouTube superstars it seems everyone who has managed to get a good “following” can set themselves up as a leader in their field.
Oh not me though. I was raised to respect, nay, revere education done properly. Is that even correct English? Proper.
Until now. It’s exciting to head out on the road of auto-didacticism. I’ve got almost the entire knowledge of human history at my disposal. The only challenge is I have to be careful not to disappear into learning for the sheer love of it; surely I need to pony up and use some of this new knowledge to help others.
Someone smart told me that the workshop you’ve been living is the workshop you should be giving.
I’m not completely sure who would attend a workshop for adopted, widowed, mother-of-one-artist-writers, obsessed with travel, cooking and yoga.
This info from Wikipedia almost blew my mind.