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She stares at me, raising one eyebrow. “I’ve managed to avoid it,” she counters.
“But I wouldn’t really say I like it,” I finish quickly. “It’s just there is so much of it.”
“Kind of a waste of time, if you ask me,” she sniffs.
I shrug again. I mean, football is boring? Confusing? Definitely not something I would spend a lot of time on. But not really something to get mad about either. Or is it? Why are we talking about this?
“These guys think they run the place,” she says, tipping her chin toward the ceiling and talking in a voice that makes me uncertain she’s actually directing these comments at me. “You know what I mean? The entitlement?” she continues.
“Oh, sure,” I lie.
“You know I had to beg for that paper mill? Literally beg for it. Even though the NEA had actually given me the grant money. I had to beg for it to be released so I could buy the equipment, for mystudents, for the textile lab. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
“Oh, yes, definitely,” I agree immediately. That one’s easy.
“But as soon as a couple of football players need something, everybody is supposed to bend over backward. Suddenly there’s no process… There’s no procedures… Just, do exactly what they say. Give them exactly what they want, no matter what. It’s ridiculous!”
“Totally.”
“Forfootball!” she says again, as though it is the most ridiculous thing in the world.
Silence falls between us. I kind of let my gaze go fuzzy and stare at the collection of maquettes and statuary behind her head. It’s a really nice collection. I know some of those are a thousand years old, and they are just sitting there, out in the open. Those are museum pieces. One of them is a copy of a da Vinci dissection. That’s probably my favorite.
I would love to draw that. Absolutely love it.
I clear my throat.
The dean sits up, then sits forward and rests her weight on her elbows. She takes a deep breath and smiles at me, almost like a sympathetic expression.
“You know why I called you here?” she begins.
My heart catches in my chest, almost painful.
“I’m doing what you told me to do,” I object meekly. “I’m loosening up. I am. Maybe not as fast as you want… But I am. I can’t just undo a whole lifetime of training.”
She points her vape pen at me and then takes another contemplative puff.
“See, that’s the problem. You are looking at it like we’re trying toundosomething in you. But we are not! I mean, I’m not. Really. You believe me?”
No. The answer, honestly, is no. I do not believe her.
She tips her head diagonally toward one ear.
“Okay… It may not feel like it,” she explains gently. “And I’m asking you to trust me. If you can do that, I promise it will be rewarding. But every artist needs to be expansive in their understanding. Your training is amazing.Youare amazing. But… it’s narrow. Do you know what I mean? And an artist of your caliber should be… expansive.”
Somewhere in there, I’m pretty sure there’s a compliment. But right now, I would like to cry.
“So you gotta stop trying to draw like one of the old Masters, is what I’m saying,” she cringes. “Which is probably the hardest thing in the world for you to do, right?”
It is! It really is,I want to shout.
But she seems so nice. She seems to understand. And if we are in a meeting of the minds right now, can’t she just understand my side a little bit more?
“Listen… I really am trying my best,” I explain. “It’s not just a habit. It’s how I see things. Don’t you want me to express myself the way that I really see things?”
“How do you know that’s how you really see things?” she counters.
“It just is,” I answer simply.
