There were two special hours this afternoon, earmarked as a last minute reward for maternal devotion. It's been a rough week - tired and grumpy offspring, exams and revision, absent husband. I'd earned a little personal headspace.
My friend Natalie is an accomplished printmaker and a couple of hours with her doing styrofoam printing seemed like a fine plan.
From the first time I tried it, more years ago than it is flattering to share, printmaking attracted me. The art department at my junior school was hidden away up in the eaves of a building and presided over by Mr Reynolds - possessor of a tongue far sharper than would be countenanced now. I found him utterly terrifying, especially as he rumbled my lack of drawing ability pretty early on. But printmaking, I could do. Somehow the tools provide enough distance between the act of drawing and the finished product for me to like my own end result.
Even all these years later, I knew to listen for the slurpy slurpy noise, which tells you the brayer has picked up the correct amount of ink. The thrill of lifting the corner of the paper remains the same.
And I am pleased as punch with some of my prints.
Why does it sometimes take booking onto a workshop to give yourself permission to play for a few hours?
What have you been playing with recently?