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Taking a step back, I fiddle with the ends of my hair and look over my installation in the classroom studio. It’s all or nothing from here.
“Looks good,” Wolfgang comments as he assesses my fully set-up project ready for inspection by Professor Turner.
“Do you mean the work is good, or it’s ready?” I ask, my focus roaming up and down the colorful sculpture of Foster’s bust depicting an artful array of human elements.
“Both.”
“Be honest. What do you think?”
“It’s different for you.” He circles the freestanding art piece. “Definitely a new direction.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not. It’s good to see that you’re growing. I never would have expected something like this from you. Most of your work in the past has been more fanciful.”
I join him at his side. “Like a bit of whimsy?”
“No, like from another world. This is more grounded.”
“I still don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“Trust me, it’s good,” he confirms. “This is one of the most serious pieces you’ve ever done. It’s extremely well thought out.”
“Figures, given my muse.”Foster.
It’s been a few weeks since Foster and I solidified ourselves as a couple, taking out the guesswork of what we are and filling in the grayness of our relationship. It’s comforting to finally have the freedom to express our true feelings to one another.
“How is Mr. Molecular?” Wolfgang questions, straightening his canvas on the wall. “Still working out chemical theories?”
“Pretty much.” I tie my hair into a ponytail, nervously waiting for our teacher’s arrival. “His last final exam is today.”
“Any big plans for you two over break?” he asks, referring to the week hiatus between quarters that begins tomorrow.
“I wish. He’s going out of town for most of it.”
“What did you do? Scare him off with your wild ways in the bedroom?”
I give him a bite-me look.
“Don’t pretend you aren’t a sex-tress,” he teases. “You can always tell who’s a minx in the sheets, and you, my friend, are a crazy kitty.”
“Are you trying to get a rise out of me before this critique?”
“Maybe,” he singsongs. “Is it working?”
“No, just the standard eye roll.”
“I guess that will have to do.”
With everything set in place, Wolfgang shoves his hand in his pockets, and we both focus on our final projects awaiting judgment.
“So, who’s up for crit today?” he asks me.
Two students, one guy and one girl, pace and wait on the other side of the room.
“Just you, me, Grayson, and Tawnya,” I tell him. “We’re the last ones. Everyone else is done already. He did them earlier in the week.”
“Do you know if he’s been accepting many for the show?”
