Professional Development Walk of Shame

Since Christmas, I've been afflicted by a condition I call Livingaweekinadvance-itis. I think it's a combination of general stress, paranoia and guilt that I haven't done something that I should have done, or done something I wasn't supposed to do. I've turned into a character in a Woody Allen movie. What's this world coming to? Time to move to the woods and spend my days milking cows.

I'm a big believer in professional development. Anything to learn new ways to teach or gain skills. So last Wednesday, I raced from my school in Scarborough to an art school on Adelaide West. I thought I was there for Understanding Contemporary Art.

When I walked in, I see this gaunt and jaundiced looking Lenin guy in the hallway. He whispered to me.

"Go back sweetheart. You're at the wrong workshop!"

"Really."

"Okay. You're going in. Don't say I didn't warn you. Fool!"

I go in, admiring the streetscape below. After about ten minutes of idle chit-chat with my fellow students, I realize I've turned up to some sort of secondary school master arts class for genius artists. The woman facilitating the workshop tells me that there will be pizza and that I should stay. I can't believe I fell for the cheap promise of pizza. I was hungry.

The first activity was pretty cool. We were to choose three random objects from a pile and create three drawings using a sheet of prompts such as: Two objects are giving the other object the cold shoulder. My stomach was gripped with panic as I reluctantly grabbed a conté stick or whatever it's called. I hear my student empowerment speech running through my head: "Believe in yourself. You can do it!" I also hear another voice. "Don't be an idiot. Run dummy. Run!"

As my esteemed colleagues began smudging pastels creating brilliant artistic effects, I traced the rubber glove and clothes peg. The instructor walks by. "You have a nice, light touch." I wanted to stuff the sheet of paper down my pants and run out the door, but I soldiered on to my next picture. It was then that the instructor began hanging everyone's work. Here's what I saw...

Twisted, genius smudgy teddy bear.

Brilliant droopy Q-tip leaning on a jug.

I went to the window and took a picture, secretly wondering if there was a pole I could shimmy down like Lucille Ball. The masterpieces kept going up.

My work was so unbearably awful. Even the kind-hearted instructor had the grace not to insist that I hang my "art." She knew it was a dog's breakfast. I just need a lot of training, I told myself.

Just as they were about to move to the next activity, I rolled up my sheets and bolted. Down on Adelaide, I dumped my art into the nearest blue bin. Ahh, closure.

Next week I go the the theoretical workshop, which I hope will cause less anxiety.

Here's another stroke of genius: The Upside Down Show - the most awesome kids' show ever. Of course, it was cancelled.