Art Class

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.