A cup-filling crafternoon at Longwood

“I made that,” I’ll say enthusiastically when I see someone inspecting it, like a proud Preppy presenting a handprint-adorned card to their mum on Mother’s Day.

I perhaps shouldn’t always admit I made some of the monstrosities, but I figure if it garners a giggle instead of adoration, it was worth showing to provide a little therapeutic laughter in someone’s day.

Let’s just say, my kids grew out of crafting long before I did, and no longer can some of my attempts be disguised as kids’ crafts, though some of them might appear as if a similar skill level was applied.

On the wall in my lounge room there’s a framed and embroidered picture of three hanging plants; in the dining room, a macramé wall hanging; at the entrance, a steampunked steer skull; on a jewellery dish in the bathroom, a bunch of rings I made from thrifted cutlery; in the ‘pool room’ (another bit of Kerrigan pop culture), a whole wall of “inebriated art” (paintings created at paint and sip sessions).

In the corner of that same room, I have a tall cupboard with a double door that is full of craft supplies.

There’s everything from air dry clay to heat transfer vinyl and a glass bottle cutting machine to resin stocks inside.

I’ve been told this is typical of someone with ADHD, which explains a lot (diagnosed, but unmedicated, by the way, for anyone considering I might just be guessing my condition).

Having addressed that, not all of my crafts are discarded after a first go; there are some that have stuck, like the metal-stamping I’ve been doing for 15 years now.

One day I’m sure I’ll use all the other still-packaged things that arrived days, sometimes weeks, after whatever urge possessed me to order them had passed, too.

I’ve mentioned before in this space that one way to avoid getting yourself into the same predicament as me with an accumulation of mosaic tiles, textured cardstock and rubber stamps is simply to try crafts at workshops first.

There, you don’t have to drop a bundle of cash on tools and equipment you might only end up using once.

And you won’t need a double-doored cupboard to keep it.

All the supplies are at your facilitator’s workshop.

You only have to find room for the masterpiece you take home.

Plus, you get tuition on technique.

And you get inspiration from your surroundings.

Human interaction. Support. And someone to step in and save your project if you royally stuff it up.

Win-win, win-win, win-win-win.

Most recently, I joined in a sea glass workshop held by Jenny Kelly in her Bowerbirds Studio at Longwood.

I’d been admiring her creations online for a long time, making a mental note to keep an eye out for upcoming workshops.

Finally the stars — or colourful rocks — aligned, and I had a gap in my diary on the same date a workshop was running.

A couple of friends joined me and we joined a couple of strangers as Jenny shared her expertise, offering further suggestions to our ideas and explaining what challenges we might encounter and how we could avert a case of design disaster.

But mostly, we were given free rein over her meticulously sorted dishes of colourful sea glass in all different shapes and sizes, her twigs, her moss, her glues and varnishes, her watercolour paints, her fineliners.

We laid out our designs before fixing anything permanently on our canvases and once we were happy, we got to bonding, while our pictures of birds, boats, bikes and botanicals materialised using our careful and considered arrangement of sea glass supplies.

Jenny provided a delicious homemade blueberry tea cake for us all, served on quaint crockery at her rustic and artful tables, surrounded by other examples of the skilled artist’s work.

It was just one of those cup-filling couple of hours, and I don’t mean the tea and coffee at afternoon tea.

My friends and I drove back to Shepparton on a creative high.

Happy, satisfied and with beautiful new art to hang in our own homes.