I wasn’t worried about giving a demonstration of canal painting in acrylics when asked by Tony, the art events organiser for several of the Sidmouth art groups; but that was several months ago and, as the time drew closer, I began to fret a little. Will they like my work? What if it all goes horribly wrong? How can I possibly paint a picture in just two hours (including the coffee break)? Will I dry up, go blank and look a fool? Such questions, which had started to enter my mind as vague niggles that did not have to be pondered over too greatly at first, eventually became real and terrifying prospects, especially during the three preceding days leading up to the demonstration on Wednesday.

It is not to say that it was to be my first demonstration – that took place over twenty years ago (I remember it well because I couldn’t sleep for four nights running) – and I’m certainly not lacking confidence in my ability to paint or impart my knowledge on the subject; no, if you haven’t guessed yet, it was the fear of speaking and performing in public that made me anxious.

Oddly enough, when Tony approached me by email, he didn’t realise that he knew me from the days when I lived in the neighbouring East Devon village of Woodbury – back then I used to work in my boyfriend’s antique shop and Tony was one of the antique dealers who used to visit our shop. He would have known me only as Sally.

“I wonder if I shall recognise you?,” I laughed over the phone to Tony last Monday. “I recall you had lovely wavy dark hair and a nice rosy complexion.”

“It wasn’t that dark but it was wavy. Now I’m bald!” Tony said good-humouredly.

Chris and I were stuck in a traffic jam – there had been an accident a mile ahead –  and we were just outside of Exeter, perhaps half-way between home and the venue, Sidmouth Art Centre; we had allowed plenty of time to arrive by six-thirty but there was not enough time to go back home for anything I had forgotten. Suddenly, it struck me that I may have forgotten to put any white paint in with my box of tricks.

“Oh no!”, I exclaimed.

“What?” Chris jumped.

“Did you notice if there was any white paint in the box? I think I might have left it on the side,” I answered with desperation in my voice.

“How would I know what you put in the box? Surely you would have considered what paints you needed to bring?” Chris’s was the voice of reason.

“Oh dear, this is what you get when you let other people carry your things to the car,” I grumbled unreasonably.

We passed the crumpled cars, illuminated in the darkness by flashing blue lights, and the traffic picked up speed. We would make it on time. Relief. Chris and I were fairly quiet in the car as I thought up various ways of painting a sky without using white paint.

“How old is Tony?” Chris tried to prevent me from considering a sky painted with blue and Naples Yellow or Pink Blush.

“I don’t know. Everyone looks older when you are young. He might be as little as ten years older than me, or a many as eighteen. He said he’s bald, but that’s not necessarily an indicator of age,” I pondered aloud.

And when we had exhausted the the topic of Tony’s age I reverted to thoughts of purple and green skies.

We arrived early at six-fifteen, the time that Tony had intended to be there. The Art Centre was exactly where Tony had described but there were three entrances and we wondered which was the right one. A car pulled up and a lady got out; leaving her older husband to manage with his walking sticks on his own, she made her way hurriedly to the lower entrance. Whilst Chris turned the car around I approached the elderly gentleman gingerly – it was dark and I didn’t want to startle him.

“Tony? Is that you Tony?” I inquired. “It’s me – Sally?”

“No Sally, I’m not Tony,” he turned around and in the poor light I could see, indeed, that he bore no resemblance to Tony.

“Who are you then?” I asked.

“I’m Alan.”

“Are you going to the art demonstration? ” I continued.

“Yes, I have to because my wife is the secretary. Are you going Sally?”

“I should hope so – I’m the artist giving the demonstration,” I laughed.

 

In spite of all my concerns the demonstration went rather well, by all accounts. The thirty or so amateur artists were lovely smiley people who put me at my ease and asked questions as I painted. The easel wasn’t as stable as my own at home and it wobbled quite a bit when I brought out my painter-and-decorator brush to lay down the sky quickly on a new large canvas. According to many, including Chris, the cameraman did an excellent job; and apparently, he’d been able to rectify the poor colour quality to a large degree so they might well have noticed if I hadn’t brought white paint; luckily I didn’t have to resort to painting the sky with a strange cast. All that needless worry…

An email from Tony (still handsome despite his hair loss) confirmed my own appraisal of the demo –  they liked it (hooray!). In fact, I’ve been asked to hold an art workshop next October. Am I worried? Of course not. I don’t start worrying until much nearer the time.