Post by aretha on Jul 17, 2011 0:32:14 GMT -5
The empty canvas in front of her was the worst enemy she ever had.
Okay, maybe not the worst- that bully at school that took her lunch money every day was pretty bad, too- but this thing was getting to be on the top of her list. She sat on her stool, pencil in hand, and stared intensely at the white paper, as if that would magically make Picasso appear and whisper an idea in her ear. It didn’t make a mark. Her eyebrows creased in frustration, letting out an almost angry sigh as she set down her pencil.
“Sensei?” the blonde girl asked the tall male teacher, having to sit on her legs on her stool in order for her hand to barely show over the blank board. She peeked out from the side of her canvas, blue eyes desperate to see anything but the canvas, which seemed to mock her in its clean and unmarked state. When she was given the nod after being ignored for a few minutes in favor of studying another student’s artwork, she stood, bowed and left the room, trying not to get in the way of the other students, who were ‘in the zone’.
For about ten minutes, all Rhyme did was stand outside the door, staring at the ground and her fists balled up. How could she ever be an artist when she couldn’t even paint something simple? She tried repeating the adages she’d given to others: ‘90% of any situation is how you deal with it’, ‘every cloud has a silver lining’, all the positive things she could think of. But, no matter what she said to herself, her head felt constantly covered by a thunderstorm, and she was the only one who felt it.
It was so… so… frustrating! She’d taken this class to improve, but all she’d been doing lately is sitting around, staring at the other pupils, wondering if they’d ever had this feeling. They’d all painted beautiful things- one of them, named Ami, had painted a dog, textured just right so that Rhyme had wanted to reach out to pet it. And when Rhyme had even attempted to do the same, all she’d gotten was a flat looking dog. It wasn’t bad, she guessed, for being the youngest in her class, but it just left her unhappy with the whole thing. Maybe she wasn’t cut out to be an artist, she thought. Maybe it just came and then left, gone to someone more talented, like Ami. She really should just give up, tell her parents to pull her out of the class, and she could get a job like her dad had wanted her to, and her mother had to convince him for hours that it was better if she ‘explored her creativity’ more. What creativity, she asked her mother, if only in her head. Everything was a waste.
“Raimu, are you okay?” the hand felt warm on her shoulder, and for a second, she was pulled under an umbrella, away from those thoughts. She turned her head to see Jun, the star pupil of the class, and shrugged his hand off. He had done everything so perfect so far, she didn’t need his sympathy.
“I’m just fine.” The tone had said otherwise for her, and so the blue eyed male, not touching her this time, leaned against the wall with her. “You know,” he started, and Rhyme was ready to get a long lecture as he started looking up towards the ceiling. “Those paintings you did at the beginning of class, the ones with your friends, those were really good. They must mean a lot to you, right?” he asked her, now looking down at her. He was eighteen, but at the moment, he seemed so much older and wiser. It was as if he was glowing, and she was worthy of being in his light. But he didn’t wait for her to answer.
“It’s obvious that you do care for them, and that’s what you need to paint about. You want to be able to paint anything and get results, but that’s not how it works. The painting that you did when you were trying to draw a dog wasn’t as good as your other ones, because you were trying to capture Ami’s feelings. That was her dog, not yours. You have to paint what is dear to you, because every moment is fleeting. I know there is something good inside of you, just waiting to happen. Just express what you feel, and everything else will fall into place.” The way the light fell onto his face made him look like an angel, just skimming across his face and cherishing the skin it touched, the hue of his eyes. Rhyme smiled.
“Let’s go, okay? Sensei doesn’t think you’re the delinquent type, and I don’t want him getting the wrong idea.” He led her back into the classroom, where everything was exactly the same: no one turned their heads, all absorbed in the world of the fleeting moment that they were capturing. She made her way, like a feather would through air, to her stool. It seemed lighter now, much brighter. Everything was just… lifted, and thus perfect.
She picked up her brush. She knew exactly what to paint.
Okay, maybe not the worst- that bully at school that took her lunch money every day was pretty bad, too- but this thing was getting to be on the top of her list. She sat on her stool, pencil in hand, and stared intensely at the white paper, as if that would magically make Picasso appear and whisper an idea in her ear. It didn’t make a mark. Her eyebrows creased in frustration, letting out an almost angry sigh as she set down her pencil.
“Sensei?” the blonde girl asked the tall male teacher, having to sit on her legs on her stool in order for her hand to barely show over the blank board. She peeked out from the side of her canvas, blue eyes desperate to see anything but the canvas, which seemed to mock her in its clean and unmarked state. When she was given the nod after being ignored for a few minutes in favor of studying another student’s artwork, she stood, bowed and left the room, trying not to get in the way of the other students, who were ‘in the zone’.
For about ten minutes, all Rhyme did was stand outside the door, staring at the ground and her fists balled up. How could she ever be an artist when she couldn’t even paint something simple? She tried repeating the adages she’d given to others: ‘90% of any situation is how you deal with it’, ‘every cloud has a silver lining’, all the positive things she could think of. But, no matter what she said to herself, her head felt constantly covered by a thunderstorm, and she was the only one who felt it.
It was so… so… frustrating! She’d taken this class to improve, but all she’d been doing lately is sitting around, staring at the other pupils, wondering if they’d ever had this feeling. They’d all painted beautiful things- one of them, named Ami, had painted a dog, textured just right so that Rhyme had wanted to reach out to pet it. And when Rhyme had even attempted to do the same, all she’d gotten was a flat looking dog. It wasn’t bad, she guessed, for being the youngest in her class, but it just left her unhappy with the whole thing. Maybe she wasn’t cut out to be an artist, she thought. Maybe it just came and then left, gone to someone more talented, like Ami. She really should just give up, tell her parents to pull her out of the class, and she could get a job like her dad had wanted her to, and her mother had to convince him for hours that it was better if she ‘explored her creativity’ more. What creativity, she asked her mother, if only in her head. Everything was a waste.
“Raimu, are you okay?” the hand felt warm on her shoulder, and for a second, she was pulled under an umbrella, away from those thoughts. She turned her head to see Jun, the star pupil of the class, and shrugged his hand off. He had done everything so perfect so far, she didn’t need his sympathy.
“I’m just fine.” The tone had said otherwise for her, and so the blue eyed male, not touching her this time, leaned against the wall with her. “You know,” he started, and Rhyme was ready to get a long lecture as he started looking up towards the ceiling. “Those paintings you did at the beginning of class, the ones with your friends, those were really good. They must mean a lot to you, right?” he asked her, now looking down at her. He was eighteen, but at the moment, he seemed so much older and wiser. It was as if he was glowing, and she was worthy of being in his light. But he didn’t wait for her to answer.
“It’s obvious that you do care for them, and that’s what you need to paint about. You want to be able to paint anything and get results, but that’s not how it works. The painting that you did when you were trying to draw a dog wasn’t as good as your other ones, because you were trying to capture Ami’s feelings. That was her dog, not yours. You have to paint what is dear to you, because every moment is fleeting. I know there is something good inside of you, just waiting to happen. Just express what you feel, and everything else will fall into place.” The way the light fell onto his face made him look like an angel, just skimming across his face and cherishing the skin it touched, the hue of his eyes. Rhyme smiled.
“Let’s go, okay? Sensei doesn’t think you’re the delinquent type, and I don’t want him getting the wrong idea.” He led her back into the classroom, where everything was exactly the same: no one turned their heads, all absorbed in the world of the fleeting moment that they were capturing. She made her way, like a feather would through air, to her stool. It seemed lighter now, much brighter. Everything was just… lifted, and thus perfect.
She picked up her brush. She knew exactly what to paint.