Finding Light After Loss through Art

I wish I could claim something other than the disaster that was 2016 as the catalyst for my taking an art class last month.

I'd spent the prior year scoping out Townsend Atelier, located across the street from the Times Free Press offices in the ArtsBuild building, daydreaming about what was being created inside before I even knew the studio's proper name. I'd actually formulated a pretty full-bodied scenario of myself taking one of the pottery classes advertised in the window.*

I wouldn't know what to do with a pottery wheel if my life depended on it. However, in my daydream, I immediately showed an unusual natural talent while simultaneously conjuring images of a PG-rated, Swayze- and murder-free version of the Demi Moore scene in "Ghost."

But it was, in fact, the year from hell that finally got me through the door. Last year seemed to be "funky in a bad way" for a lot of folks, but it was particularly rough for my family and me. At the end of April, my mother was diagnosed with an unusually rare and relentless form of melanoma lodged in her sinus cavity. After just three months, my universally loved and respected, picture-of-health yoga instructor of a mother passed away in a hospice bed. I was absolutely devastated.

To make matters worse, another family crisis came to light at the same time, a situation that would have been fully challenging on its own, much less while being consumed by grief. For the next seven or eight months, I settled into my sadness, using work as a daytime escape while spending my free time alone with my dog, true crime TV and Frosted Mini-Wheats.

I'm not sure exactly what it was that made me snap out of it and do something for myself. I imagine the realization I hadn't done anything social on the weekends for over three months and the declining frequency of which I was washing my hair might have had something to do with it. Whatever the reason, one day I went to Townsend's website on a whim and registered for a four-week figure drawing workshop. The studio offers an impressive lineup of classes, however, most were during my regular working hours and maybe a bit more intensive than what I felt capable of. The figure drawing class was the only one that worked with my schedule. It also happened to be exactly what I was looking for.

The first class couldn't have come sooner. I fancied myself to be a pretty decent artist in high school and was confident I'd pick up right where I left off. Armed with supplies I'd had since who knows when, and dressed in a decidedly more "downtown" look than usual, I walked into the atelier full of curiosity and eager anticipation.

Jill Allen, Kristen Ton and Kate Brennan, from left, work on their charcoal drawing during a figures class at Townsend Atelier.

My romanticized vision of what the studio would be like was immediately realized. High ceilings, exposed brick walls and original hardwood floors set the backdrop for a semicircle of easels and an organized mess of supplies. I was immediately greeted by our instructor, George Dawnay, an affable and distinctly British artist who studied at The Florence Academy of Art and has shown work all around the world. Admittedly, I'd only perused a small amount of his work prior to taking the class. It wasn't until after my third session, during which I'd spent most of the time speaking to him in a cockney accent, that I really did a deep dive into his work via his Instagram page. He's brilliant. Needless to say, I cooled it on the Eliza Doolittle for the final class.

George Dawnay points out things he likes as well as a few areas of improvement for Kay Lewis' charcoal drawing.

George began each class by giving us two or three handouts showing different ways to look at the human figure, simplifying it by having us stand back and squint our eyes to see the different shapes, lines and areas of light and dark that constituted the form, proportions and gesture of the model. I made a joke to my neighbor Janet, a sneakily talented older woman with a kind smile, about how the atelier should reimburse us to cover Botox for the crow's feet this squinting technique would inevitably cause. She gave me what was surely a courtesy laugh and became my first official class friend.

Kristen Ton works on her drawing as George Dawnay helps another student with theirs.

Each class, George had the model assume a different position to hold for 20 minutes at a time. Full disclosure for those unfamiliar with figure drawing: The models were nude. I'd be lying if I said this detail didn't make me a little nervous at first. The idea of standing 20 feet from a stranger in their birthday suit while intently studying every curve of their body was a little daunting. However, the models, all women, were extremely professional and I was immediately struck by their confidence and lack of society-instilled shame we women are so often made to feel over our bodies, even as they stood before our co-ed class of about 15. It was refreshing to simply observe the human form for what it is: a complex, beautiful and incredibly functional entity all too often mired with unnecessary vulgar undertones.

Each class presented a new challenge. Unfortunately, I quickly realized my aforementioned talents from the days of yore had dwindled due to lack of practice. Rather than reflecting the actual form in front of me, my drawings often more closely resembled ancient fertility goddess statues or some version of the Slender Man, with hardly any middle ground. I struggled with proportions and wasn't even close to being the top of the class talent-wise, but I still loved every minute of it. Forming a friendship with Jill, a woman my age with an equally sarcastic sense of humor and lack of honed skill (sorry, Jill), helped ease the blow.

For me, the point of the class wasn't that I walked away blowing everyone out of the water with my innate talent. The point was that it helped me crawl out of my hole, engaging with people in a meaningful way, reinvigorating my passion for creativity, and reminding myself that for all the painful things in life, there is an equal amount of beauty if you open your eyes to it.

When life is running smoothly, it's much easier to put off being an active participant in your personal growth. It isn't until the proverbial you-know-what hits the fan that you realize how important these things are in making yourself a more well-rounded, satisfied person.

I don't see myself shaking up the already-burgeoning Chattanooga art scene any time in the near future; however, I am starting to see the beauty again - which is the highest way I know to pay homage to my mother, a true lover of life.

*The advertised pottery classes are actually taught via Scenic City Clay Arts, located in the bottom floor of the ArtsBuild building.