That Time I Started An Art Club

It's the day before I launch my third Community Art Club, and I can't quite believe it.

This time three years ago I was, to put it bluntly, pissed off and tired. Like many perimenopausal women I had this undertow of permanent 'wtf' with my body doing weird stuff. Also, like many my age, I was really hacked off with my job; I'd finally become the miserable old bag I swore I never would, scowling in the corner, pooh-poohing 'new' ideas as they carouselled into view for the umpteenth time in my twenty year career.

And also, there was Auntie Winnie. My beloved, eccentric, generous, fabulous aunt who had a house as rambling as her once sharp memory, no children, and a cancer diagnosis.

For context: events beyond my control running up to lockdown had led me into some fairly intense therapy. My complete immersion in that process put me in what might be termed A Good Place, and the pandemic provided me with the perfect opportunity to hunker down, make art and work out the important things in life. One of those turned out to be 'moving to the countryside' which process kept me occupied for months, alongside Winnie's increasing needs, and my decreasing tolerance - for most things.

So by March 2023 I knew I needed to make some significant changes, but by golly I was too scared to do it. Yet little by little, with every additional work frustration, Winnie calamity and hormone-related ailment, my instinct to grow was growing stronger. I made micro-moves like doing a bit of craft teaching and selling a couple of paintings. People were urging me to 'become an artist' - but that didn't feel quite right. Something was missing.

My long weekly drives to get Auntie Winnie's shopping (90% chocolate mini rolls, 10% Eastern Daily Press) afforded me a lot of thinking time. Winnie had lived in Reepham, Norfolk, since 1970, well-known for her very tall husband and her very kind heart. She was the midwife and health visitor for the surrounding villages for decades. After retirement and widowhood, she joined the WI, went to pottery classes and got involved in everything she could, so she was thoroughly embedded in her community through family, home and work. I saw this same community rallying round her now with help, friendship and lashings of love.

My own pre-internet childhood, though far from idyllic, had been filled with local hobbies and village hall events; Girl Guides, amdram, the village fair, band concerts, pub quizzes, local 'characters' and -hurrah- low key scandals. These groups and venues provided a reliable respite from work or family and presented opportunities to mix with people you might not otherwise have spent time with. At university, I'd learned this sort of thing was known as a Third Place.

And I realised although I spent most working days talking on WhatsApp groups and Zoom calls, I felt lonely. I had communication rather than community. I was missing that sense of belonging that only face-to face interaction creates.

THIS was my missing link; real people doing real stuff in the company of each other.

I decided I would set up an old-fashioned art club where people could meet and chat and learn stuff and have a lovely time! And it would help me feel part of something, too.

So in November 2023 I advertised it, booked the village hall for 13th January the following year and continued to look after Winnie, moan about my bowels and dither about leaving work. And then, as if the universe knew what was needed even if I didn't, the final push came, not with a bang or even a whimper, but more of an eye roll and the faintest hint of light expletive.

The push came, then, in a very tedious and predictable way, when a new job I definitely felt I deserved went to some whipper-snapper with no experience*. NEVER BEFORE HAS A LONG TERM EMPLOYEE ENCOUNTERED SUCH A THING. I also worked out that, due to my prolonged lack of pay scale progress, as a jobbing freelancer it would be a piece of cake to match my salary as an employee. This still holds true. Except for the sick pay...

So within weeks I had gone, taking with me some very complimentary exit emails, a great professional reputation and an extremely useful contact list. I made that jump, appropriately, on February 29th 2024 - a leap year.

By that time, my first Community Art Club had already started.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Community Art Clubs became a CIC in 2025.

They now run on Saturdays 10-12 in NR16, on Mondays 10-12 in IP24 and once a month at The Marketplace, Kenninghall in the evenings. My dream is to set up even more!

For more information check out the Community Art Clubs CIC

page on my website or email me at RachelDuffieldArt@gmail.com.

WhatsApp 07643476788

Photo by @timetobephotography

*I'm sure she's a perfectly lovely person who had all the right qualifications for that job. In twenty years' time, she'll understand how I felt.