I find myself sitting between two college students and watching them draw work that i will not see myself doing until years later. The idea haunts me. I eat the following:
As i continue to attempt to draw something way beneath their level:
(sorry about the shadow, its my arm).
the teacher comes out and plops a book next to me:
“youll soon be done with this book this is your next.”
“I think i can manage.”
“Thats the spirit! Youre at the point now where nothing will be easy anymore and everything will be progressively harder. Few will make it and those that dont will interpret this as failure. If youre willing to learn this everything is on you now.”
i look to the left at the beautiful hydrangeas (my favorite flower) the student is drawing and to the right at the mushrooms the other student is. I look on the walls and remember the motto she spoke when i first started my lessons:
“turn your home into your own art gallery.”
i remember when i was younger and drawing was all i had for a friend and for company. I remember how unartistic i was and wanted to learn how to paint so badly that i saved up money for an easel and paints when i was eight. I remember scrounging up the money to pay for these classes.
I answered with a line drawn on the paper. And the teacher dismissed me, planning her next lesson as one that may break me apart.