It was good to be back in Johannesburg. Most of my friends were now married and had little ones to raise, while I seemed to be on a mission of my own. In short, I had grown up. I had become a much stronger person who wasn’t going to let anyone push me around any more. In 1970, I feared the odd characters at the Art College. Now years later, I had now become one of those odd characters myself. I reflected my eccentricity in everything, especially my clothes. They became part of my artistic discovery. However, by the end of my three years studying art, I realised the extent of my terrible lack of confidence.

 

I started my studies off well. I loved my first year. We had to explore all the courses: fine art, graphic design, industrial design, and ceramics. By the end of that year, we had to choose one area to specialize in. I wanted to pursue Fine Arts. However, the senior lecturer in ceramics insisted I had an "amazing feeling" for working with clay. He urged me to study ceramics. He even clashed with the senior fine arts lecturer, arguing over my skills. I suspect the ceramics instructor wanted to boost his number of students. He only had three students that year. I see now I was gullible to fall for his compliments. But, it showed how much I needed encouragement. I have always regretted not choosing fine arts, but I made the best of what I felt was a poor decision.

The only subjects I struggled with were the History of Art and the History of Ceramics. It wasn’t until decades later that I discovered I was dyslexic. I always struggled with reading. I now know why some school subjects were hard. Back then, no one knew about dyslexia. People were judged as lazy or not diligent enough.

 

In our final year of ceramics, we were tasked with creating a full 12-place dinner service. Everyone was struggling to complete it on time. In a History of Ceramics class, I only remember a picture of an old Chinese vase from the tutor's lecture. I got lost in thought and designed my second 12-place dinner service. I also completed the whole set in time. I barely passed my History of Ceramics exam. But, I got distinctions for my practical work.

 

At the end of our final year, we celebrated our training at the College of Art and Design. We had an exhibition at Helen de Leeuw's art gallery in the Hyde Park Shopping Centre in Johannesburg. It's an upmarket mall. After the exhibition, I received a personal written invitation to visit her. My reaction was bewildering, even to me; I ignored it as if I had never received it. I received a call from my ceramics teacher after some time. She said Helen de Leeuw was looking for me and wanted me to reach out. I never did. Any other potter would have been honoured to get such an invite. But, I was hiding a deep, shameful secret.