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I give him an empathetic smile. Everyone has things going on in the background of their families and lives that aren’t particularly easy.
“Welcome to Intro to Painting,” Gwen begins, and everyone quiets. “I prefer to call this class Freedom to Explore because that’s what you’ll be doing this semester. Your job is to find your artistic voice. It’s to throw off the expectations of others, to climb out from under the influences that limit you, and to explore the unique vision that stems from your very personal experiences, inspirations, emotions and style. There is only one of you. Only you can create an Christopher Beck. Or a Violet Warner.”
The girl on my left goes pink.
And I wait for it. “Or a Zara Fox.”
I feel the rush of heat on my face as everyone turns to stare at me.
But I’m not the only one. “Or a Jameson Hyde.”
“You’ll be wishing you could paint a Jameson Hyde,” says a blond guy wearing a muscle shirt. He pumps his fist in the air and everyone laughs.
“Of course we will, Jameson.” Gwen lowers her glasses, peering through them at the still life. “Now, you’ll notice that I’ve set up a collection of objects here in the center of the room. Your goal will be to capture the essence of the composition using the medium of your choice. You can choose to paint with oils or acrylics, which are both at your workstations. You’ll also notice that there are dividers between each of your easels and screens you can lower. Which means you can’t see what your neighbors are working on. Your job is to think carefully about what makes your style unique. You’re going to channel your inner muse, ignoring all influences. You’re going to stay very true to how you feel in this moment. Express yourself without boundaries. Without limitations. Paint your painting and no one else’s.”
There’s some murmuring around the room.
“You have ninety minutes to complete this painting,” Gwen continues. “All of you work at your own pace, and they’ll all be different. Some of you work more slowly than others. Some would prefer to take a week. Some, a month. But not today. Today you’ll complete this piece in ninety minutes. Don’t try to paint a masterpiece. Try to paint an expression of how you feel. Any questions?”
“What if we can’t finish it in ninety minutes?” Jameson asks.
“Then you fail the course.” Gwen’s laughter echoes through the large room. “Just kidding. Do your best, Jameson. Make it your goal. To complete the painting, even if it means filling in space with a single layer of color. Artists, your time starts…now.”
We all start squeezing paints onto our palettes. I reach for a paintbrush.
And I start to paint.
My style isn’t realistic. It’s hard to describe. Splotches of color that are layered and arranged until they mimic the shape of the object I’m painting. For most of the process, it looks like a mess, but by the time I’m done, it looks surprisingly (to me, at least) true to life. My paintings have a lot of texture and a lot of depth.
I mix some blue with a swirl of red. I capture the gleam of sunlight on the glass vase and the purple shadows pooling under the bowl of ripe fruit.
As for how I feel, I feel like I’m exactly where I need to be. My nerves fade away and I’m fully in the zone. It’s where I’m happiest.
Time slips away. There’s music playing on a low volume. Some of the other students talk as they work but I’m focused on one thing only. The light and the shadows, the colors and blends, the curves and the straight lines.
Gwen calls time. “Paintbrushes down,” she commands.
I blink and look up. Everyone in class seems to be having the same reaction. Jameson Hyde mutters, “Dude, it’s not enough time.”
But Gwen breezes past the murmured protests. “When an hour and a half feels like ten minutes, dude, you know you’ve found the one thing you’re supposed to spend your life doing. Now, lower your screens. You can prop them up so they don’t touch the wet paint. Then you’re free to go. I’ll see you all back here tomorrow morning at nine. When you come in, the canvases will be lined up in a row, but not named. We’ll discuss the works you’ve all created—anonymously, to begin with. Until then, this room will be locked. You all have unlimited access to your studios. See you tomorrow, people. Have a good first day, everyone.”
We all make our way out into the foyer.
Christopher walks with me. “Did you finish yours?”
“I could’ve done more but it was close enough.”
“I wish we could have had more time. I still had sections that weren’t even filled in.” Christopher slings his backpack over one shoulder. “Zara, do you want to grab a coffee later, after your classes are done for the day? We could meet in the student café.”
He seems nice enough. But I don’t want him getting any ideas about…well, anything. I don’t want distractions. And I already have plans. “Sorry, I can’t. I have to go see my dad after my last class.”
“Isn’t your dad the football coach?” He says the word “football” like it leaves a bad taste.
“Yeah.” Just a guess, but it seems sort of obvious: “You’re not a football fan?”
“I’m a vegan libertarian Gemini art nerd.” He adjusts his glasses. “Football players hate people like me.”
I don’t really even know what that means, but I smile and try to be diplomatic. “I’m sure that’s not true.” Christopher is lanky and very slim. After hanging out with Jake, Gabriel and West last night, I can see why someone like Christopher would be intimidated by guys like them. He takes up a lot less space than they do.
