Gaëlle Vallée-Tourangeau – The Gap

I was 49 when I enrolled in OCA’s Foundation Painting course. People were dubious. Why a foundation course? Why not just take a class? You have an established career. Why would you do this now? You can’t become an artist at nearly 50. It was the same reasonable advice I’d been hearing for decades.

At 11, I told my single mother I wanted to design advertisements in a marketing agency. A compromise, I thought. Something art-adjacent that she might accept. Her response was immediate: “You want to earn a salary, be independent. You don’t want to be an artist depending on a man.”

In high school, there was a Plastic Art teacher who said we shouldn’t learn technique. We should express ourselves freely. I tried. I created a collage with strips of a magazine model’s face interlaced with my painted self-portrait, mouth open, shouting. She dismissed it as “not very original.” I left that class feeling I didn’t have what it takes.

Life continued. I studied sciences, following my mother’s advice.

Years later, I “rebelled” by switching to psychology to become a behavioural scientist. Towards the end of my degree, I’d failed a couple of exams. I told my friends I wouldn’t retake them. I’d skip a year and take professional drawing lessons instead. They said it was nonsense, a waste of time. They showed up on exam day and physically dragged me into the car to take me to the exam room. I sat down with no preparation and passed everything.

Another sign, I thought that I wasn’t meant to be an artist.

From then on, I never left academia. I completed a Master’s, then moved to the UK to complete my PhD. I climbed the academic ladder: lecturer, senior lecturer, associate professor, professor. I was successful by any external measure as the first in my family to attend university, now a professor.

But there was this pull. Always. I made things over the years without calling any of it art: logos, websites, a short film, wedding photograph books.

At 40, pregnant with my second child and considering a full year of maternity leave, I thought: this is my chance. I compiled a portfolio of all my work and applied for a graphic design foundation course without telling anyone. To my utter surprise, I got in. They even offered me a place on the degree program. My portfolio was strong enough, they said.

I was tempted. I asked my spouse what he thought. “You just made professor,” he said. “Why would you start over now?”

He was being kind. Reasonable. I followed his advice.

We bought a house in Brittany instead. The urge didn’t go away. If anything, that acceptance ignited something. Having a retreat also helped, it became a sanctuary where I could try things without anyone watching.

I bought tiny sketchbooks. Tiny pencils. Made tiny drawings. One day at a time, with no plan. Then I’d give up. What’s the point? Then I’d start again.

I bought courses on Domestika, Udemy, Skillshare. Started many. Finished none. I bought cheap acrylic paint and left it unopened for two years. My toddler daughter was the one who finally got to open it.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. As a professor of behavioural science, I was helping healthcare managers understand why their staff weren’t getting vaccinated despite having all the information at hand. “It’s not information they need,” I’d tell them. “It’s empowerment.” My team designed studies showing that wanting to do something isn’t enough to actually do it, something known as the “intention-behaviour gap”.

Meanwhile, I was stuck in the exact same gap with my creative practice.

Nine years passed. At 49, when people asked why a foundation painting diploma, why not just a class, I didn’t have a good answer. To tell the truth though, I had read Old In Art School: A Memoir of Starting Over by Nell Painter. She was a retired professor of history from Princeton University who surprised everyone around her when she decided to join an Art School in her fifties. She ended up earning a BFA and an MFA in Painting. Inspired by her story, I didn’t ask anyone for advice or permission and I didn’t share my intention: I just took the plunge and I enrolled.

The OCA Foundation Painting course was different from everything I’d tried before. The structure of the assignments created scaffolding that worked with my ADHD brain. The tutor feedback was rigorous but always encouraging. I discovered art is not just about painting—it’s also learning to see through history, through ideas, through experimenting, through sharing. It revealed what my scientific training had left out.

I also met a brilliant team of fellow students through the ‘Now I’m Found’ monthly sessions. We created a WhatsApp group and we’ve stayed in touch ever since. We were navigating the same existential questions: Who am I? Can I do this? Should I even be here? It made me feel less alone. Some of us have managed to meet in person. Who knows, one day we might exhibit together!

I completed the course and created paintings that surprised me. I still look at them and wonder how these came out of me. My tutor encouraged me to keep going. By the end of the course, I began to think maybe I could crack this.

Then I started doubting again. Perhaps I was being too academic about all this. Perhaps I was deluded.

A year later, I felt I hadn’t made anything noteworthy. I didn’t give up though. I joined another online abstract course and found another supportive community of artists. We talked about art, even visited exhibitions together. I went to art galleries for the very first time (believe it or not, I didn’t even know this was a thing!). But mostly, we talked about the challenge of keeping a practice. The alluring promises of the new course, the new book that will unlock the path for us. All of us struggling to make the time and space to practice and create.

One day it hit me: this struggle isn’t about having enough talent or skills. It’s about the intention-behaviour gap. I should know, I’m an expert on this. How did I not see it?

I looked back and understood why the OCA Foundation course worked for me when nothing else had. It wasn’t the painting techniques. It was the open briefs, the structure mixed with freedom to explore, the community, the permission to claim my “inner artist” identity before I felt ready.

The foundation course wasn’t just about learning how to paint. It was about learning through painting what I actually needed to do to sustain a creative practice. That turned out to be much more about behavioural design than brushwork, though there was plenty of that as well!

It’s this realisation that made me decide to pursue a BA in Painting, starting this month. And for the first time in my life, I’m not asking “Is this reasonable?” I’m wondering “What will I create?”

That’s what the OCA gave me the space to figure out.

The distance learning format meant I could fit it around my work, my family, my life. But most importantly: The course didn’t promise to make me an artist. It gave me the space to work towards becoming one.

If you’re considering joining and wondering whether it’s too late or whether this is reasonable, I can’t answer those questions for you. But if you’re stuck in the gap between wanting to create and actually creating, and whether that gap has been open for a few years or over decades, I would say the question isn’t whether you’re “reasonable” or “talented enough.” The question is: What’s actually stopping you from having a go? And what structure, support, or community would help you move forward?

For me, at 50, the answer is the OCA. I hope you find yours anytime soon too!

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About the Author

Dr. Gaëlle Vallée-Tourangeau is a Professor of Behavioural Science at Kingston Business School. She completed her Foundation Diploma in Painting with OCA and begins her BA in Painting in January 2026. You can see her latest work at gaelle-artstudio.com and connect on Instagram via @gaelle.artstudio.

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