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Once Upon a Christmas

Find the time to enjoy the simple moments.

Traveling Light

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My love and I went to art college, way back in the late Neolithic.

Art college sounds, to those who have never attended, like a lark. Just sit around finger-painting and drinking cheap beer – amirite?

That’s the popular myth. Real art college is like a four year boot camp: up by six, to collect all you need for the day, drive to campus, because at nine you’ve got three hours of drawing, followed by an hour-and-a-half of art history lecture, then another three hours of drawing, and then four or five hours of trying to catch up on last week’s painting class assignment, plus a couple of hours in the library trying to write an English essay probably due tomorrow – five days a week, four weeks a months, eight months of the year – and interspersed with weekly critiques of you, your work, and why-are-you-even-here-wasting-space-?-sessions with your instructors…

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