Rebel Sisters by Marita Conlon-Mckenna Read Free Book Online

attention as Mr Willis outlined the curriculum they would study, which included not only all types of painting, sculpture, charcoal, etching, stained glass, enamel work, mosaic and design, but even traditional Irish lacemaking. It all sounded exciting and new to her, and she was determined to learn as much as she could.
    â€˜Are there any questions?’
    A few brave people put up their hands, but Grace kept her eyes fixed firmly ahead as one young man near them asked question after question about the use of a private studio and then, unabashed, wanted to know when they got to paint nude models.
    Grace could see a few of the girls blush at the mention of the word ‘nude’. The college principal looked momentarily uncomfortable.
    â€˜All life-drawing classes are segregated,’ he reassured the young ladies present. ‘Now I want to introduce you to Mr Child, who will advise you of your daily and weekly lecture schedule and bring you on a tour of the school of art.’
    Grace took out her notepad and wrote furiously as he launched into the day-to-day classes they would attend, then the exam timetables and the broad list of lectures that would be held here in this hall and which they would be expected to attend.
    â€˜Non-attendance is frowned on,’ he reminded them firmly.
    An hour later they were conducted on a tour of the buildings – a real rabbit warren of rooms, studios and offices.
    â€˜I don’t know how we are expected to remember it all,’ groaned Hilda dramatically. Grace had always prided herself on a good sense of direction and made a mental note of the layout as best she could.
    The class was split into groups and soon afterwards she found herself in a bright, sunny studio faced with a composition of fruit and a jug laid out on a wooden table. She opened her sketchpad and began to draw exactly what she saw before her.
    â€˜Nothing is what it seems,’ their tutor reminded her. ‘Consider the light on the apple, the shade, the shadow on the jug, the slight decay already evident on a few of the grapes. Use your eyes well before you even begin to draw a line.’
    Embarrassed, Grace turned over to a new page and began again.
    The weeks passed quickly and Grace was happy to spend hours and hours with sketchpad and pen or pencils. They had fine lecturers and tutors and she considered it a particular privilege to study under William Orpen, the celebrated portrait painter who worked between London and Dublin. She hated antique drawing with a vengeance – she hadn’t the patience for it, far preferring to draw and sketch people. She also enjoyed design and lettering and the formal use of black and white. When she attended a few classes on printing, she discovered to her surprise that she enjoyed designing patterns. Stained-glass work was difficult, but she loved the effect of creating simple shapes and patterns in various glass colours under the guidance of Mr Child and Miss Purser.
    Grace cycled into Kildare Street most days like many of the students. Soon she made a few friends and was finding the Metropolitan School of Art a far happier environment than her old school. She suddenly felt grown up and, attending a lecture given by her father’s friend John Yeats at the Royal Hibernian Academy after Christmas with her parents, brother and sister, she was delighted when he and his family congratulated her on joining the illustrious world of art.
    Everyone was full of talk about the opening of the new Abbey Theatre two nights earlier in the old Mechanics’ Institute building on Abbey Street, which, thanks to the generosity of benefactor Miss Horniman, had been transformed into a very fine theatre. It had opened with two of John Yeats’s son William’s plays and one by Lady Gregory, all of which had received a great reception from the packed audience.
    â€˜We most definitely will get tickets,’ promised Father and Gabriel.
    To Grace’s