I have discovered that I have no artistic abilities
whatsoever.
Somehow, while signing up for classes at the beginning of
the year, I had a sudden attack of hand spasms and ended up circling a ton of
classes that have almost no practical application.
I reasoned that maybe, just
maybe, this would somehow work out in my favor. It might be fun and,
judging by the doodles all over my schedule, I could use some decent lessons.
At the very least, it would be an easy A and a break from
all my difficult classes.
When I showed up the first day, I legitimately thought I was
in the wrong class for a number of reasons: 1) There was a depressing picture
on the projector, 2) The teacher had her brown hair up in a tight bun and was
wearing Olive Green, and 3) Just looking at these kids’ binders, they all
already knew how to draw. Taking in all the evidence, I concluded that I must
have accidentally walked into a psychology class.
I held out my schedule nervously and ArtTeacher confirmed
that yes, I was indeed in the right room.
She then directed our attention to the PostSecret picture on the
projector.
If you aren’t familiar with PostSecret ( http://www.postsecret.com/ ),
it works a little like this:
You write your secret on some fancy homemade postcard, send
it in anonymously, and then they’ll post it on their website. This is the
specific one she showed us.
She then promptly announced that
our first assignment was to make our own; write a secret down and illustrate
it. I seemed to be the only one that found this absolutely absurd. I asked if
it had to be a real secret. She responded that it most certainly did, because
it’s her version of a get-to-know-you game. My first card was amazing until I
remembered that she was actually going to look at them.
My second attempt wasn’t much
better.
ArtTeacher was starting to get
angry that I was using up all her paper, so I gingerly picked up one more piece
while she glared into my soul. I made a sincere effort to think of a secret
that I could illustrate.
After
a few minutes of dutiful coloring, I looked around and something became clear
to me.
Why
did everyone else already know how to draw?! I felt gipped. All these talented
people were making me look bad. The worst part was, they were all blissfully
unaware that they were making me feel pitifully inferior.
It was more than a little
irritating.
All
these peppy starving artists were starting to infuriate me. As ArtTeacher
walked around the room to pick up the finished products, she paused in between
each one to admire the work and make various comments. ArtTeacher told
GloriousHairGirl that her shading was perfect, and I thought she was going to
suffocate me with the sunshine she was vomiting in all directions.
Finally, ArtTeacher stopped at my
desk. She hesitated for an uncomfortably long period of time. After an embarrassing
silence, she finally picked up my paper and gave me a flimsy smile, offering
the best words of encouragement she could muster.
It’s going to be a long semester.
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