I awoke from a dream, and something ancient within myself did too. In this dream I walked into an art school and signed up for a year of art classes. They would be photography based mixed with figure drawing (my favourite subjects at art school). I was so excited to dive into creativity and had flashes and visions of colour and what I would create.
When I became conscious in the morning I remembered this small piece of myself. The art student who every fall for 5 years would load up on fresh supplies and enter large empty white studios with cement slate floors with a travel mug of coffee in tow. She was often sleep deprived, running behind and hungry but would soon slip into whatever creative process was on the schedule. So much of it felt like a slog at the time and yet there were these moments of realness and freshness in the analog creative classes like drawing and painting that just fed my soul on a whole other level.
I haven’t been in college for over13 years, but every year when the mornings and evenings begin to cool as we head towards fall, I catch of whiff of this person I once was. I ache for art supplies and those empty studios. I ache for creativity and freshness. But this dream almost put me into a trance. I awoke as this woman, as if I had no memory of the last 13 years and had time travelled into my own future. I looked around my life and home with her eyes. I saw pieces of myself I remember in the mirror. My eyes were the same but my face has changed slightly. My pregnant body obviously felt very different. My home seemed incredibly clean and organized compared to student Alicia. I now had 2 dogs and a husband. I saw items around the house that had survived that era, and others that I was not surprised I had purchased. My love for coffee remained strong.
I immediately looked up figure drawing classes in town and even visited the art school website for their fall schedule. What used to be the Alberta College of Art & Design is now the Alberta University of the Arts. There is suddenly so many ways to be a part of the school. They site “micro-credentials”, workshops and bootcamps now. I remember where there was only full on registration or continuing education classes.
I make plans to pull out whatever supplies I have and visit a local art supply store for whatever I’m missing. I want black conte on my hands and to make a large stack of bad drawings. I want to set up an easel with a newspaper print pad. I want an empty space, with only art, coffee and music in my life. I want to enter a room full of people I don’t know and ease into being creative for the sake of being creative.
It’s funny how we can suddenly miss and reawaken parts of ourselves that we forgot we even liked. I felt like such a mess back then. What this dream helped me remember is that I am an artist through and through. I may put myself in a box in my mind and let go of “hobbies” due to too much “clutter” on a regular basis, but I’ll always be that part of me. That scruffy, tired, hungry musician in a fuzzy black jacket who barely makes it to class on time. I miss her. I liked her. I am her.
