I’m back at school on Monday.
I have to remind myself that having inset on the first day, then not seeing the children till Thursday when I’m next in, is a horrible way to start the year. This is because I am already in the “I don’t want to go back” mood, and will not be reminded why I like it until the children are in. Undoubtedly, having cleaned, cleared and prepared my room in July, all and sundry will have used it as a half way point to the skip in the holidays. Out of sight, their rubbish will be forgotten until I scream upon entering the room.
I try not to talk too much about my teaching here, because that’s not what I do this blog for. But now and again, its effects are undeniable, and need acknowledgement.
I have spent the last six weeks working towards ONE – the joint exhibition with Bo. I had to do this because October will be here before I know it, and there is little time to decide what to show, and to get the work showable! Consequently, teaching is the last thing on my mind, the artist takes over completely, I am pretty content, the trials of the artist being so much more preferable to the trials of the artist teacher. I feel totally me. To the non-artists, that might sound quite selfish, and to an extent it is I suppose. But the artists know that this is the BEST state… creativity whizzing between eyes, fingers and brain, total absorption. This is like the talk of an addict perhaps. Towards the end of this six weeks I resent totally the need to return, longing to hand in my notice, to spend all of my time in the pursuit of art.
The M word.
I am supremely fortunate, my rational brain knows this, that I can afford to only work in school two and a half days a week. I have to be reminded that what this gets me is creative freedom. I don’t have to make my work fit anyone else’s brief in order to make money. So instead of whinging about having to go back to school, I need to plan my time carefully, and use my days off to the best. I need to make my school life feel fulfilling, do it to the best of my ability, so it doesn’t become a millstone around my neck. I need to prepare work to inspire the children, get them thinking, make them laugh. Then when I leave the building, I can become the artist again. In the meantime, I can plot and plan, for that glorious day when the artist jobs and income streams become more, and the teaching income becomes less, and then perhaps eventually I can give it up.