A Life of My Own

I woke to sunlight falling across the bedroom floor and reached for my phone before I was fully awake. For a moment, I expected to hear someone calling me downstairs. When no voice came, I remembered the house, the garden outside my window and the message I had sent Alexander the previous evening.

There was no reply yet. I got out of bed, washed and dressed, then went downstairs to find something to eat. I made toast and tea in the kitchen and carried them to the small dining table. Nobody questioned how long I sat there or what I intended to do with the morning. I finished breakfast, washed my cup and returned upstairs with my sketchbook.

My phone vibrated just as I settled beside the window. Alexander had sent a message with a link to the initiative’s application information and a short note telling me to take my time reviewing it. I thanked him before opening the details.

The application was simpler than I had expected. Emerging artists were asked to submit a small selection of original work, along with a short statement about their interests and the kind of art they hoped to explore or develop further. The organisers would review the submissions and contact applicants selected for the programme. There was also a date for an introductory session where interested artists could learn more about the opportunity.

I read everything twice, then opened my sketchbook to the drawing of the woman standing beside the open window. It was the first one I thought of submitting. I liked the way I had drawn the folds of her dress and the light coming through the window, but when I looked more closely, I noticed that one arm was slightly out of proportion. The background also seemed unfinished.

I turned through the other pages, laying the sketchbook across my knees as I compared the drawings. Some were little more than quick studies. Others had details I liked, although I could see where I had rushed or lost confidence halfway through. I had always drawn for myself, without thinking about whether the work would be judged. Now that I was considering showing it to other people, every flaw seemed easier to notice.

I almost closed the book, but instead I took out one of the pencils I had brought with me and found a clean page. I wanted to create something new rather than rely only on drawings I had made when I had few opportunities and little time to draw. I began with the outline of a woman seated near a window, her hands resting on an open book. I wanted the scene to feel calm without making the woman look as though she was waiting for someone to tell her what to do.

The figure’s posture looked stiff. I erased the shoulders and tried again, then adjusted the angle of the book. When the proportions still seemed wrong, I put the pencil down and studied the page before making another change. It took longer than I expected, but I kept working until the figure began to look more natural. I wasn’t satisfied with every part of it, yet I could see the improvement.

By the time I stopped, I was thinking about the application requirements. I would need to prepare clear images or copies of the drawings I intended to submit, and I also wanted somewhere to keep the original work flat and protected while I prepared everything. I checked the supplies I had brought. My few pencils were enough to continue sketching, but I still needed a portfolio folder, a kneaded eraser and a few additional pencils.

I could have called Alexander and asked him to arrange everything, but I wanted to see whether I could manage a simple errand myself. I still had the money I had saved before leaving the estate. I counted out what I thought I would need, put the notes in my purse and checked that my phone was charged. Then I searched for an art-supply shop nearby and chose one that wasn’t too far from the house.

Before leaving, I hesitated at the front door. Going out alone felt unfamiliar, especially when I had spent so long having my movements controlled. I reminded myself that I was only going to a shop and that I could return whenever I wanted. I checked that I had my phone and the house key Alexander had left for me, then locked the door behind me and set off.

The shop was smaller than I expected, tucked between a stationery store and a bakery. Inside, shelves held sketchbooks, pencils, paints and paper in different sizes. I walked slowly through the aisles, checking prices before choosing a portfolio folder, a kneaded eraser and a few pencils of different grades. The shop assistant asked whether I needed help, and I explained that I was preparing a small selection of drawings for an application.

“Is it for an exhibition?” she asked as she placed my purchases in a paper bag.

“Possibly. I’m applying to a programme for emerging artists.”

“That sounds exciting. Good luck with it.”

Her simple encouragement made me smile. I paid with my own money and left with the bag tucked under my arm. I kept the receipt to remember how much I had spent. Outside, I stopped at the bakery and bought a small pastry before walking back. It felt good to make an ordinary choice without having to explain it to anyone.

When I returned to the house, I put my purchases on the table and sent Alexander a brief message to let him know I had found what I needed. He replied that he was glad I had managed the trip and hoped the materials would be useful. I appreciated his support, but I was even more pleased that I had gone out and handled it myself.

Later, I returned to the application information on my phone and looked more closely at the details of the introductory session. It would take place the following week, giving prospective applicants a chance to hear about the programme, ask questions and meet some of the other artists considering applying. Attendance was optional and would not affect the selection process.

I read the details carefully. The thought of sitting in a room with other artists made me nervous. They might have studied for years or already know how to present their work. I imagined placing my drawings beside theirs and seeing every weakness in mine. For a moment, I considered waiting until I felt more prepared.

Then I looked at the new drawing on the table. It still needed work, and I knew I had plenty to learn, but I had made it because I wanted to see what I could do. I didn’t want fear to make every decision for me.

I saved the date in my phone calendar and placed the portfolio folder beside my sketchbook. The session was only a first step, and I could still decide what to do about the application afterward. For now, I was willing to walk into the room and listen.

I returned to the drawing, picked up my pencil and began correcting the lines around the open book. The introductory session was the following week, and for once, I was looking forward to walking into a room where nobody knew my past.