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April 24, 2017
For many years I thought of art as something I’d been trained to teach others to do and therefore ought to do myself. It was almost like I had to somehow justify the fact that I’d spent so many years completing my two degrees. Then there were the romantic associations with being an artist which I bought into from time to time. I joined an artists’ collective, published a couple of children’s books, did portraits for friends and relatives or made exemplars for the classroom. At home, I had a little corner at home where I used to create stuff.