Thursday’s Child

Every Wednesday, I honestly feel like, Thursday’s Child.


(Can’t remember who the artist is, but this painting caught my eye, and is now for sale at the Frieze Masters.  All that’s missing in the picture, is a tiny black dot representing, Bruno.)

The alarm rings.  I have to be very disciplined with getting out of bed.


I have to feed and walk Bruno, get him ready as well.  Then I need to check if the trainS are running, and if there will be rain at some point.

I take Bruno to daycare in Chelsea- that’s the first train ride of the day.  Often, we both fall asleep on this journey.  Because Bruno is so smart, he stirs when the announcement says, South Kensington, waking me.  Thank you, Bruno.


Once he is safely delivered to daycare, I retrace my steps and get on the Piccadilly Line.  At Green Park, I change to the Victoria Line- my 3rd train and it is not even 10:30am yet.

At Oxford Circus, I get off and get swept in the ocean of humanity.  Somehow I find myself north on Regent Street, and then I am in Fitzrovia.


For the next two hours, I have to pay attention, write furiously, because the teacher is so eloquent and I love, love, Matisse.


I learnt that I have been pronouncing Matisse’s first name wrongly, all my life.  

I learnt that at the end of his life, as Matisse became debilitated with age and illness, the scissors became like his paintbrush, and paper, the “most humble of materials”, became a new  source of joy, wonder, and exploration.


I just love how the greatest artists, never stop wanting to play and learn.  Their curiosity is so humbling, and inspiring to me.  I really don’t want to grow old, dull.

In the afternoon, the class meets at the museums for site specific study.  This afternoon, we went to the Frieze Masters.  It took me about 30 minutes to walk the length of Regents’ Park.


My driving days have truly receded from memory.


Here’s what I learnt today-  contemporary art is currently hot, blistering almost.  My teacher assigned us observational tasks.  So off I went, scavenging…

IMG_1892 IMG_1893 IMG_1895

The class regroups.  At this point, my eyes begin to feel very tired.  It feels like being back in choreography class with the American masters- what do you see, why do you see, what works, what doesn’t, why, why, why.

And the funny thing is, right at this point, every Wednesday afternoon, is when I always have a longing to paint.  To tear up sheets of paper, make a collage, do something with my hands and my eyes.


Finally 4pm.  Time to find a bus, another bus, go get Bruno, head home.  My head is whirling, my legs have swelled, but Thursday’s Child still has far to go.


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