So, last night was my first basic drawing class. I had been very
excited, gathering my supplies and buying a fancy
first-day-of-kindergarten pencil box. With butterflies in my stomach
I drove to BOCES with high hopes. Little did I know butterflies would
turn into a white hot rage...
Our teacher started out simple. "Ok class, we are going to do some
basic exercises. First thing I want you to do is draw an apple. Let's
do this for five minutes." As you can guess, I'm done with my apple in
thirty seconds. Why? Because I don't know how to draw an apple.
Because I'm in a BEGINNER drawing class.
My neighbor at the table, a middle aged woman with an artsy scarf and
fancy glasses, was furiously scribbling and shading away for all five
minutes. As her apple was a masterpiece that the teacher raved over, I
can only conclude she is a professional artist that signed up for the
class for a ego boost. I think some of that little ball of anger
started there.
Class continued. We were to draw a fish next, then a cat. Still, no
instruction. Then something you see driving to work every day, a hobby
you have, something you see in your kitchen. Each time she would tell
us to turn to a new page in our sketch books. This was too much for
me, not only were my drawings pedestrian at best, but she was making
me ruin these beautiful clean sheets of expensive paper! I rebelled.
This is how I ended up with a fish on the same page as a road sign and
my hobby of writing, and an apple juxtaposed with a egg in a frying
pan and a blueprint of my kitchen from above. The instructor was not
impressed.
I came to my boiling point when she then audaciously asked us to draw
a picture of somewhere we are happy to be. As my Monetesque neighbor
started drawing a glorious beach scene with a beautiful wave, I began
furiously scribbling on my paper. Literally scribbling. I was seeing
red, out of control, my insides were seething. "I paid to be TAUGHT
how to draw!" I screamed in my head. The drawing turned out so bad
that I think the instructor might have gagged as she walked by. But,
the physical act of aggression I showed to that paper calmed me, and I
did draw a place that once make me very happy. Only my mother might
have a clue where it is, but it is such a terrible drawing I'm
skeptical she would even be able to venture a guess. Its terrible. Its
hilarious. See below.
Finally, fifteen minutes before class was over she accidentally taught
us how to draw a pear, and I think mine came out....ok. Better than
the apple. Also, we used these paper-pencil instruments that smudge
and blend. I think it gave my harsh lines a soft appearance and happy
glow.
I want one of the smudging tools for my life. Taking out those hard
edges, softening blows, blending everything into a mushy happiness.
I'm hoping we get to use colors next week! Until then...
-Rachel
