AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I do, and it’s less than I expected.”
“Really?” he asks, astonished.
“Yeah. Grayson told me earlier that he’s turned away over half of the class, claiming their work wasn’t good enough for installation. That surprised me because some of the pieces were noteworthy.”
“Does that mean they failed?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Everyone who completed the work and has given a reasonable defense passed. So, that’s everyone, except for Brad, who didn’t even bother to turn anything in. He was a no-show.”
“Da-amn,” he mutters, emphasizing the second part of the one-syllable word.
“Mr. Turner is making me kind of nervous.” I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Why? Based on his criteria, sounds like you’ll easily pass. Plus, your work is respectable and will speak for itself.”
“I’m not worried about passing. It’s the show I need,” I stress with the realization that this is an undeniable opportunity. This show will validate my work—not only to my peers and my family, but also to myself. “It’s make or break for me, Wolfie.”
Professor Turner enters the room with very little grandeur, plopping a tattered leather briefcase on the front desk.
“Save the best for last,” says our opinionated professor, circling around the studio space. “I hope that saying holds some weight because not much has impressed me in your group.” He rubs his hands together. “So, who wants to go first?”
“I will,” Grayson, the small-framed guy with bleach-blond hair, states.
“Brave of you.” Professor Turner pivots in Grayson’s direction. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Wolfgang, Tawnya, and I corral toward our respective projects while our teacher interrogates Grayson about his work—a mixed media piece comprised of photographs and metal. Bold and sure, Grayson presents his ideas on industrial society over the next few minutes.
My palms sweat.
I fidget.
The whole process is nerve-racking, and I’m beginning to wish that I’d presented first instead of my classmate because anticipation sucks.
After some dialogue, Professor Turner shakes Grayson’s hand, congratulating him on excellent work, and welcomes him to be a part of his gallery show in a week. He then steps toward Tawnya’s project without any announcement.
It’s immediately apparent that our professor is not impressed with her work—a display of paper airplanes to represent the transient nature of human life. I overhear words likesimplisticandunderwhelming, and my anxiety intensifies. After a few short minutes and little conversation, the professor tells Tawnya that her work is passable, but he doesn’t have a spot for her in the gallery show at this time.
Leaving Tawnya with unshed tears, Professor Turner continues down the line and pauses in front of my work.
“Okay, EJ,” he says, observing my sculpture full of lines and color. “Explain to me what you’ve got here.”
I swallow and then begin to present my work as confidently as possible. “This is a representation of man as science.”
He rubs the scruff on his chin. “Go on.”
“Humans are all made up of the same substances, a balance of elements and molecules, crafted together in a similar pattern. In some ways, the human race is nothing more than a series of clones.”
He steps closer to my work.
“Chemically,” I continue, “we’re all the same, but there’s an aspect of each individual that can’t be quantified. It can only be qualified. As humans, we’re scientifically similar, but perspective is what makes us unique. That is what I’m exploring here. The perception of man’s individuality and likeness to each other and how, essentially, they’re rooted from the same source.”
“And this is something that interests you?” He scrutinizes my work. “Something you have a passion for?”
“I think we all have a desire to know what makes us what and who we are, and I’m no different.”
“Is that all?” His head tilts.
A cold sweat erupts at the base of my neck. “It is. That, and what you see before you.”
