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Not cut out for the Play-Doh confessional (thing)
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by
jessicaj
Sat Mar 25 2017 at 19:28:46
Growing up
art
was my least favorite class
I could never make
the materials cooperate
Paint water was dirty. I organized crayons
Instead of coloring with them.
Looking back I probably didn't feel
As if I was worthy enough to dull those
Clean crisp fresh points
There was one teacher, she had curly orange hair
Who praised the brackish wave I had created in class
After I told her the story of the purple surf board I had placed near the top
My father exposed us (to
art
)
By purchasing pieces we could ill afford
Leaving parallel stripes of seething crimson on each of his five children
When we cracked a piece of cheap Oriental pottery
A ginger jar that he used to store his pennies
It was
cobalt blue
With a coppery floral motif
My mother hung black wallpaper in our dining room
Sewed matching maroon draperies, needling me, ranting, raving,
While decorating her skinny kid's back with a
rainbow
of bruises
My first husband
Was also fascinated by Japan
Musashi
was his hero
I read the book
But it left me
colder on the inside
Interestingly enough he wanted to donate it
To Goodwill after we got divorced
By then he had seen
How a dangerous personal philosophy
Could ruin a relationship
When I was in the psych ward
I wondered about the connection between art
And sanity
People colored, but I couldn't get into it.
After all, you can be mentally ill
Without the capacity to produce meaningful art
Then one day we were assigned a collage
No scissors of course
I was given a book by the instructor
I wish I still had it today
Patterns are important to me
Perfection kills, don't let anyone tell you otherwise
There was
a dark haired kid
Who turned 18 during
December, the third
I think
I saw him outside
During a breakout session he sat next to me
Coincidence I thought at the time
Until he shoved a tiny scrap of paper my way
I took it home and
Glued it onto the collage I had made while
inside
Today my boss called
While I was laying on my bed sobbing
About the works of art I threw away
Abandoned, neglected, couldn't stand
Because they reminded me of where I had been
And
how I broke down
when I was asked
To share the story behind my collage
Maybe someday
I'll learn
I can still embrace the artist within
Before this lifeless ink runs dry
P.S. Ironically I did very well
When we made posterior crowns in class
I polished my tooth colored surfaces lovingly
Picturing it being placed in the mouth
Of an imaginary patient
Whose discomfort was alleviated
By the artificial structure
I don't know what kind of a person
Fails collegiate ceramics, but receives praise
From people who have been working in dentistry for decades.
Many thanks to
etouffee
for the pointer.
It hurts just to watch it go by
Janken Strip Arcade Game
child abuse
Parenting
lost innocence
Play-doh
The Hours Before the Night Count
Our Lady of the Immaculate Meatgrinder
Three customers
December 16, 2009
unpleasant histories
Secret Me-Meta-Node Challenge
Listening to the silence of the day
When the Wind Blows
child care
Silly Putty
scripting language
Clay
There are things that happen and there is no reason for it
Chest Rockwell seeks only the finest in well dressed gentlemen
The kids find joy in hearts that are black and blue.