Breathing in the scent of my childhood

After a few confusing and slightly hectic weeks in my first full-time job in three years, I have a moment to take a lunchtime walk. It’s spring here in Canberra and for the first time in about 20 years the weather is spot on. Instead of blazing heat as soon as winter is done, the season is easing in ever so gently. The sun is warm, the wind is cool and it’s about 17 degrees. Magpies are out in full force, squawking urgently about perceived threats to their nests and bees swarm around blossoms. That spring smell that carries with it the allergies that affect so many is thick and heady for a moment before the cool wind dilutes it. Old Man’s Beard floats through the air, collecting like snow at the base of trees and if you’re unlucky enough, it goes up your nose.

Ahead of me, I see a building in which I began my tertiary education nearly 20 years ago now. 

It’s nothing remarkable. Inside it there are beautiful works of art and young and emerging artists finding their place in the world.

I walked here 20 years ago. My best friend Grug [not her real name] and I had nothing to do one weekend and we noticed the uni was having its open day. I knew my marks wouldn’t be good enough and my friend wasn’t planning on going to uni but we went along anyway. We picked up goody bags and wandered about the campus then went to check out the school of music. As we walked out of Llewellyn Hall, we noticed this white building, the Canberra School of Art, was also having an open day. It was part of the uni apparently. Somehow we made our way through the gallery towards the back and ended up in the Textiles area. I immediately felt like I’d come home and suddenly realised that this might be where I need to be. I talked to them about applying and felt encouraged, despite not having studied art in my final two years of high school.

So I created a portfolio. I’d been sewing for about six years at that point, and I’d done really well in textiles in year 11 and 12. It was something I found easy and fun and interesting and I wouldn’t need high marks in maths or science to have a chance at a place at art school.

“You know this isn’t fashion design,” they said to me when I went for the interview and presented a portfolio dominated by pattern drafting and fabric design. I was clear that I wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in fashion, although frankly I’d have said that about anything at that stage, I had no idea what I wanted.

At the end of 1996, after having submitted my application and been interviewed with my portfolio, my dad took me on my first overseas trip to the UK. That’s another story, but while I was there my mum called to say that I’d received a letter to say I was being considered for a place but that I was on a waiting list for any places that became available due to people dropping out. I didn’t really think anything of it, and I know my dad wasn’t impressed that I wouldn’t be going straight to uni, so that was that, I put it out of my mind. When I got home in January 1997 there was a letter to say I had been accepted. I’m hazy now on the numbers but from what I recall I got one of 27 places in a pool of 300 odd applicants. Not too bad. I still didn’t think it was that big a deal until years later I was chatting to a local artist who was stunned to discover I’d been accepted there, saying it was one of the most highly regarded art schools in the country. Hmm. I have no idea if that’s true!

Anyway, this white building, this is where I started. I didn’t become an artist, obviously, but I did that first year of my BA (Visual) and realised it wasn’t quite what I wanted. So I just transferred into a regular BA and that was that, thus began my academic career. It’s bizarre to think I’ve come from that to a PhD in Italian in Canada 20 years later. I recently stumbled upon a social media post I made ten years ago when visiting Rome. I went to the Trevi Fountain and when I looked for a coin to throw in the only one I had was a Canadian ten cent piece. Imagine that! I’d never been to Canada, but for some reason I had that coin in that moment and I threw it in the Trevi. In Italy. And now here I am, in Canada, studying Italian. I have no idea how or why this happened but it’s quite an odd coincidence that I find hard to label as arbitrary.

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Author: curiosikat

Writer, editor, linguist, social historian...

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