Dotty about Pots and Painting and other attempts at artistry...

I POPPED into Penarth this morning and collected a jug.

Nothing notable there you might think. Penarth has many lovely shops where such an item could be purchased. But, this was a rather special one to me and highly unique. I collected it from ‘Dotty Potts’ and I had actually painted it, myself.

I’d gone to an evening there with a fabulous, creative friend. A woman of many talents, she can make her own clothes and once produced a load of party bags for her daughter’s birthday party. Every little girl in attendance took home a pretty, personal, fabric handbag, more stylish and imaginative than the plastic bag full of more plastic ‘stuff’ that I tend to rely on for such occasions.

We arrived at ‘Dotty Pots’, selected the item we intended to paint, had delicious coffee, chocolates and after full instructions we sat down to spend a relaxing couple of hours being artistic, or in my case, attempting to be.

I got ‘Pot’ envy when I glanced at the two ladies sat at a table next to ours. They were decorating bowls, large ones that would look sumptuous filled with a pile of sage butter drenched pasta. It was like Emma Bridgewater had popped to Penarth on her holiday and had decided to create a little something......

Holidays sprang to mind whilst I was painting. The last time I had done anything in the drawing and painting, art family of pastimes was on holiday in Estepona last year. My daughter asked me to draw her a Smurf, the little blue fellas with white floppy hats I recall from my youth who seem to have had a bit of a resurgence in recent years.

My initial answer was: "No, sorry Sweetheart, Mummy can’t draw." She persisted and looked at me pleadingly.

I then realised what I was saying and it flew in the face of what I tell my children: "Don’t say can’t!" And, so, I tried. I drew a little pot belly and floppy hat and slouchy trousers and whilst the producers will not be headhunting me to draw for their next cartoon, you could certainly tell it was a smurf. The best part though, after my initial surprised but self-satisfied smugness had ebbed, was the smile on my daughter’s face.

I saw this smile on both of my children’s faces when I showed them my jug. It was a surprised smile, because I don’t ordinarily sit down and doodle and draw, it clearly strikes them as unusual. But it was also a really pleased and maybe even proud smile. The sort of smile that said: "Mummy, we knew that you could do it." So often we don’t give ourselves a chance or the credit that we deserve. We shy away because we’re scared of not being very good and sometimes we’re not. But, sometimes, unexpectedly and joyfully we are, but unless we try, we’ll never know.