Art on my sleeve
This week, I received a little reminder of one of those careers-that-might-have-been. May is officially Museums and Galleries Month - a perfect excuse for a class trip, and a chance for this one-time history of art graduate to play the role of enthusiast, critic and curator.
None of that namby-pamby modern art, mind you. I self-indulgently decided we were destined for the National Gallery's Sainsbury Wing. The home of real painting. Renaissance masters - my topic of degree-level expertise.
It began rather well. Pupils were looking, wondering and sketching, like miniature art students. The sight of them sitting cross-legged on the floor, gazing up at Caravaggio, filled me with hope. I proudly took them to see my most favourite painting ever, Antonello da Messina's St Jerome in his Study, feeling as if I were about to unveil a whole new world of wonder to them. They asked good questions, which I was only too happy to answer.
The trouble was, once I started, I just couldn't stop. A simple: "Miss, why has he painted a peacock next to a dog bowl?" led to a 10-minute monologue about obscure symbolism in Northern European painting.
Fascinating stuff. I bounced around, sparkly eyed and imbued with passion.
They doodled on the soles of their trainers and planned their next trade in Yu-Gi-Oh! cards. Even the hyperactive ones went quiet and started to yawn.
Never mind. At least I can now say I've lived the dream. Kind of Louisa Leaman is a London teacher