But first                           Caroline Liddington 2014

When I grow up I want to be an ARTIST…

Like you who painted my portrait

When I was eight

Escorted to your studio without question

Enforced stillness upon me

I watched you create

In the chaos of your easels and paint

Garnished in the aroma of turpentine…

Between swirls of Old Holborn

And dirty mugs of brown tea

I sat each Saturday morning

And thought…

When I grow up I want to be an ARTIST

And paint portraits in oil on ancient stretched canvas

But first I need to be a good girl

And work hard

And do as I am told

And be quiet

And keep out of the way

And learn how to pacify the anger in my father

And to see beneath my mother’s silken smile

And understand the comfort and the sharing

Of my grandmother’s feather mattress

And to accept my place in the pecking order

In the absence of my aspiring parents

And to learn how to mother my baby brother

And take care of my adolescent self

Then I can go to ART SCHOOL…

When I grow up I want to be an ARTIST

And translate what I see into lines and tone and texture

But first I need to travel to those life-drawing classes

And suppress my giggles

And impress my teacher

And learn the mysterious skill of exam passing

And collect my 5 O Level tickets

And not be involved in a fatal road accident at A Level time

But to complete my glorious foundation course

To specialise

Then realise

Amidst hormones

Broken heart

Drunken days and nights

That escape to a Greek Island

Could wash away the confusion…

When I grow up I want to be an ARTIST

And paint the beauty that’s all around me

But first I need to complete my fine art course

And paint those flowers

And figures

And idyllic imaginations

And be the best

And please my tutors

And win awards

And prove my worth and validity

And satisfy my deep insecurity

And need for love

And get married and mortgaged

And have babies who need me

And grow them

And love them and learn from them…

When I grow up I want to be an ARTIST

And immerse myself in glorious colour

But first I need to complete my illustration course

And learn to produce requested pictures

And understand commercial practice

Then create my freelance business

And please those many art directors

With my fabulous portfolio

And promised special style

And feed my family

And pay the mortgage

And fail to understand my husband

And watch him fall apart

And start to walk away

And balance all those nightmares

With my mother’s silken smile…

When I grow up I want to be an ARTIST

And express myself with energetic brushstrokes

But first I need to complete my PGCE

And master my skill in the classroom

And be observed and assessed

And sent into the community

To instruct

And control

And be undermined

And to fail

And withdraw

Then teach in my garden

Children of the neighbours

To paint

And draw and make

For years and years and years…

When I grow up I want to be an ARTIST

And paint with the free spirit of a child

But first I have to help my eldest to achieve her ambitions

And leave my absent husband

And harness the remains of family life

And move house

And build a studio

And care for my dying mother

And bereft father

And lost brother

And wish my youngest child a safe journey

And tell the councillors all they need to hear

About abandonment

And the dark vacuum of loss

Then gather myself together

Beyond my empty house…

When I grow up I want to be an ARTIST

And experience the joy of creativity every day

But first I need to relocate to Cornwall

And live in a tiny house

And complete that amazing MA

And draw pictures of journeys

And paint paintings about life

And write poems

And rent a studio

And meet the tutor’s expectations

And drive across the country

To care for my dying father

Then empty the family house

And sell the antique collection

And finally withdraw from that childhood

And put those lives away…

When I grow up I want to be an ARTIST

And loose myself in abstract form

But first I need my OWN SPACE

An old house with room to stretch

And find a barn to be a studio

And a garden to be free in

And separate myself from others

Be free of obligation

Away from interruption

And take care of my three cats

And mow the lawn

And chop the wood

And paint the walls

And keep out the damp

And the tears

And the ever passing lost years…

When I grow up I want to be an ARTIST

And paint the freshness of each moment

But first I need to see my daughters in their own home

Comfort them as they move from dream to drama

Guide and finance

Sooth and hold

And help to grow the grandchildren

And witness the joy of procreation

Of finding out all over again

Then nurse my arthritic knees

And warm my chilled body

Cook another dinner

Wash another floor

Stoke another fire

Turn another page

And another and another…

When I grow old

And my hands are gnarled

And I look through my cloudy eyes

At once vivid colours

And stunning views

At characterful faces

And closed in spaces

And have thoughts to draw

And memories to see

That amidst the distractions of my valiant life

There was an artist in me