I have no recollection of the teacher, except an inkling that she was the art teacher stereotype, a little on the weird side. The room was long and slender. It would be funny to go back because I'm sure it's not as big as I recall. I think there were long work benches on the left and student benches and stools on the right. The windows meant the room was bright and there were french glass doors at the back of the room, maybe also down one side of the room. Kind of like a glasshouse.
I remember clay being something we played with quite a lot. Especially, cutting clay with a piece of string. There must be something about getting your hands dirty that is creatively inspiring.
I'm sure, tucked away in her dresser drawer, my Mum has a piece of my art created in that room. Maybe I'll blame this teacher and that room for my love to create. Really though, I would like to thank them, because that's a part of me I love.
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