Mar/Apr 2024

46
South Woodford Village Gazette
DD’s 64 th Woodford Diary
Some South Woodford scribbles from DD,
our resident diarist and observer of all things
local. Illustrated by Evelyn Rowland
I’ve never been any good at painting. I
am perfectly OK when giving the garden
shed an occasional coat of preservative. If
it’s a nice warm day. (I favour willow green.)
But a ‘still life’ or a portrait? Impossible.
I do remember drawing a square box with
four windows, a door, roof and chimney,
identical to what the rest of the class
produced when we were five. I recall my art
teacher at Woodford High with great affection,
but I think she appreciated my willingness to
scrub up the palettes over the butler sink
rather than any skill with brush on paper.
David’s dad was a fine artist and my son is
very gifted. So, there might be some talent
hovering around in our genes. Perhaps I had
always, secretly, wanted to advance beyond
the kindergarten crayons stage. Over the
years, I have assembled a large collection of
sketchbooks and paints and brushes from
jumble sales and markets. But putting them to
use always seemed to slip down the priorities
on my to-do list.
So, when an invitation to enrol in a 14-week
beginners’ art course came through the door
last July, I put it to one side. And later picked
it up again. “Are you thinking of doing that
course?” asked David. “I’ll come with you if you
like.” (Newspapers do regularly feature advice
on exercising the brain by learning something
new, don’t they? Especially as we get older.)
We started in September. Within easy walking
distance too, down at the Salvation Army
premises on Daisy Road. The local residents
must have become accustomed to the bevy
of hopeful Picassos passing by, carrying their
rather promising portfolios, every Thursday
afternoon. We’ve both done our share of
teaching in the past; now, we’d gone back to
school. As very ‘mature students’.
A sense of community soon developed.
“Avoid looking at other people’s efforts,”
we were advised. But “stroll round and
chat and see how others are doing,” was
also recommended, which led to some
much-appreciated mutual encouragement.
Imagine my warm glow of hope when one
fellow beginner, en route to the coffee and
biscuits trolley, paused to comment: “You can
definitely see that’s supposed to be a fox!”
As the weeks went by, the social aspect of
our ‘predicament’ intensified. We talked. “I’ve
been taken right out of my comfort zone,”
admitted Nicole. “I’m engrossed. This blocks
out everything else. Great therapy.” I asked
Eric how he came to register on the course.
“I’m retired now. Wanted to get out of the
house”. But it was so much more: Eric had
visited Venice and Rome, been stunned by
the lavish murals in churches large and small.
“Everywhere you looked, astounding art. I
wanted to learn more.”
Diane impressed me deeply as she explained
and analysed her feelings. She had been
the head of a primary school. Now, she was
finding this course “immensely difficult”. She
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