From the moment I graduated from school, my mother has been exalting me to take a class.  Want to meet a nice boy?  Take a class.  Need friends in a new town?  Take a class.  Bored, restless?  Take a class!

Recently I’ve been feeling a bit stagnant.  Nothing arty going on, same job for three years, the demise of book club; all led to the feeling of standing still.  So it only seemed reasonable to pick up my mother’s time worn banner.

I’d gotten my first email from the trade school with a list of events for hack the Barbican and happily enough there was a class about cyanotype.  I signed up and pledged my trade of ‘something I made myself’ and waited.

Last Thursday it arrived and I puttered along to the Barbican fortified with a bottle of soda and a felted pig to trade.

In one way class was a bust.  The room was double booked, the teacher was too busy vomiting to show up, and we didn’t make any prints.  But in another way it was a totally lovely evening.  We ended up sitting around the table doing a little show and tell of what we’d brought to trade.  An exuberant guy brought a computer style animation, a lovely girl showed her jar of homemade marmalade, a Spanish girl had an amazing illustration, and her brother with a calming landscape photograph.  My felt pig was well received even though he’d taken a battering in my handbag.  Then one of the organizers taught us how to do a proper yoga Om.

It was a very nice hour in interesting company, my kind of after work vibe.  Listen to my mom; take a class.

trade school


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