Not what the teacher wanted, but typical of my primary school art efforts.

In my lateral-thinking impatience, I’d decided against even rows for tapestries. Quicker. Nearly the same, really. My Mum supported me, my right as a child to view the world differently, to question and explore. She helped me choose a white/brown wool for the legs, tying the owl to the branch.

The teacher hadn’t bothered to check what I was doing ’till I was almost done. Again. I remember the hot, darkish demountable* and the look on her face. There wasn’t time for me to do it over, I was to leave it as was.

I was half disappointed, half defiant. I do like the thick fuzzy stars, like the way the different sized rows recall the horizon. The white lines in between are merely a mistake, my misunderstanding of the teacher’s instructions.

Have I changed? No. I still wish I could foresee the consequences of the shortcuts I take, and I still believe in interesting accidents. But maybe now I’m willing to do it over, to try to pull it off consciously this time.

* Demountables are temporary, moveble classrooms schools never have the funding to rebuild or replace.