It was the late 1950's I was five years old, walking 1.9 kilometers to school . Each morning I passed a kindergarten. I would stop and peer through the cyclone fence. There inside rows of small easels, beside them children dressed in smocks with their hands covered in paint. I would stand watching, lost in time. My punishment for being late to school was to kneel on the floor besides sister’s desk.
Many years passed without fulfilling the urge to lift a paint brush. Then a written article in the local paper spoke of adult art classes. These were part of the HSC adult re-entry program at our local high school. The desire to join the class was strong...Eighteen years later and I am still learning.
I still loose time, as I did as a child but now I am the lucky one with paint on my hands, my only punishment these days is cleaning the bottom of another burnt saucepan.