It was the beginning...

Already my stamina was challenged by the walk along the steady incline from the car park to a set of steps leading to the entrance.

‘I’m too old for this’ I thought as I rummaged around in my pocket for my inhaler. ‘Whatever possessed me to become an undergraduate at my age?’

Nevertheless I took my place at the introductory lecture at Wolverhampton Art School alongside all the other ‘Freshers’ embarking on a BA in Fine Art. Fortunately a seat next to someone I knew was vacant so it was us two against the rest.

I say against, but they weren’t really.

The day began with an introduction to the noble history of the Art School and the way we would be working – this term, sorry semester, was to be working with the theme of ‘Tension and Collapse’. No irony here – but plenty of tension and ready to collapse was the state of my inner world.

So we went into groups and confronted with a pile of stuff that frankly should normally have been heading to the nearest recycling facility we were invited to create a piece of art on the theme.

This was to separate the men from the boys – or as we were mostly girls – the brave from the terrified and all I could think of was ‘what must they think of me? I bet they are all wondering why has this old lady has joined our art course.’

I can’t begin to tell you how out of place I felt or how inadequate and yet here I was having to make art! Fortunately a brave young woman took the lead and started moving things around, offering opinions and, well, just getting on with it. The rest of us stood and watched.

So I joined in, made my own contribution to our collective ‘Tension and Collapse’ offering but what I surprised me was the majority of these new students all standing, shifting their feet, avoiding eye contact and resisting all encouragement to join in.

Then I realised – we were all terrified – we were all wondering what everyone else was thinking of us, we all wanted to save face. The positive side of being a few decades older than the rest is that I was familiar with this feeling; it has emerged unbidden almost every time I have tried something new. So I was at an advantage – I had trodden this path before and these new young adults, some of them having just left home for the first time, were facing this kind of terror for the first time.

They were not just facing the existential question ‘what am I doing here’ – they were homesick, worried about making friends and managing money for the first time.

And all of us (well it might have been just me) were fighting off the demon on the shoulder who was crowing ‘you think you’re an artist? Pah.’

I was in bed early that first night wondering again what on earth I was doing, while posting a picture of our riff on the theme ‘Tension and Collapse.’ Fortunately a facebook friend commented how proud he was of me – so I blurted out my anxiety to him and he replied:

‘You are exactly where you are supposed to be, doing exactly what you’re doing. Surrender to the flow, it’s all about the journey.’

The next morning I couldn’t face going in I had a lie in then a warm bath. As I lay on my bed thinking; ‘Maybe I could miss the afternoon and try again tomorrow’ I heard another voice. This one said: ‘Charmaine if you miss this afternoon it will be harder for you tomorrow, and if you miss tomorrow the chances are you will drop out altogether.’ A university dropout after one day!

Thank God for that second voice, I went in and it felt a little better.

By day three, whilst I hadn’t exactly found my mojo, confidence was rising, even though the car journey in was still a mixture of existential angst whilst petitioning for help and a sign to reassure me I was on the right path.

The walk from the car park was still a cardiac challenge.

But the day went well. I located the library and the student union, my student colleagues were friendly, I learned some names and I found the sweet shop.

But no confirming sign until just outside the sweet shop there was another voice in my ear:

‘They’ll let anyone in here won’t they?’ I turned to meet my art tutor, the first person (apart from my therapist!) to have seen my art work, the one who had taught me about surrealism, the one who had encouraged me on this crazy journey.

It was enough.

I am an undergraduate an Art Student.