Sunday Best (for her)

Sunday Best (for him)

Paintings and story by Lehan Winifred Ramsay

Sometimes our dreams are like sleet. Cold and thickly slow. But I’m lucky I guess to have nothing to begin with, rather than to put everything I had in and still find it cold and thickly slow. I’m almost at a standstill and I’m foggy with boredom in here. People said: you should have saved money. And instead I thought that if I kept on doing what I was supposed to be doing, I might reach somewhere. So I paid those kids – those graduates of my school – from my salary to come here one afternoon a week and do projects with me. When they didn’t bother to do anything because they couldn’t see the point I tried really hard not to chide them. I was just paying them so I could teach them. I figured sometimes a teacher just had to pay for their own development. I worked on my study at the university in Melbourne, and I took up a new craft, painting. Working with diligence, two-and-a-half years, one-hundred-and-forty paintings. But that wasn’t my dream. That was my investment and my life-saving.