Tonight was my first night of my summer class. I’m taking Elements of Art. It’s a basic non-major drawing class. I’m taking it as an elective for my marketing major.
It went, um..well, it went. And now I’m home. And I’ve almost stopped crying.
I knew it was going to be bad when I tried to find a parking place. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m uncomfortable in new places, so I like to be prepared. I printed out a campus map telling me exactly where the art building is and where parking was at. The directions were perfect, but when I got to the “parking” [and I use that term loosely], it so was not a parking lot. It was a patch of gravel next to a big dumpster. It reminded me of the back of a fast food restaurant. And there was only room for maybe three cars to park there. There was one car already parked there. I’m pretty sure it was a 1982 Chevette with duck tape for one of the windows and rust for a bumper.
I didn’t let that deter me though. I tried to think positively and just went over to the new art building where I knew there was tons of parking. Parking on actual cement. With bright yellow lines marking spots. Real parking. The new art building is just one block down and across the street from the old art building so it wasn’t too far. At least parking there I was able to feel a little more comfortable that my hubcaps would still be on the van when I returned.
A couple terms ago I took a Digital Imaging class in the new art building. This building was built in 2005 or something, so when I say ‘new’ I mean super new. It is a beautiful building. It’s built on the river and has a great deck on the back. It’s covered in windows. The architecture is fantastic. And there are tons of colors and textures. It’s a really great building.
My Elements of Art.class is in the old art building. It is not beautiful. In fact it is so far from beautiful it surpassed ugly years ago. The outside isn’t too bad. It’s just a big brick building. But the inside. Oh. My. Gosh. The inside. I think they fired the custodial staff at least ten years ago and forget to hire a new crew. You know how movies always portray artists living a disheveled life in a big loft with old cabinets, paint dripped all over the floor and piles of junk stacked all over the place. That’s how this building is. I struggle to keep my house clean, but next to this building I look like Martha Stewart.
The class is a four hour class [it’s a summer class after all]. We got one ten minute break. We spent the majority of the class STANDING at easels drawing lines and circles on paper. Did I mention we were STANDING? The ENTIRE TIME. I’m so too old to be standing for four hours straight. I can already feel my ankles swelling up. [Yes, I’m a huge wimp. And a big cry baby. I’m already aware of these fact, but thanks for pointing them out.]
And the easels. Don’t even get me started on the easels.
First, they’re old. [I’m sensing a theme.] Our teacher had to give us instructions on how to adjust the height of the easels. Why? Because they are old and very heavy and if you don’t watch what you’re doing they will fall and rip your hand right from your arm. You think I’m kidding? While our teacher was showing us the proper way to raise or lower the easel he pinched his skin in the stand. I’m pretty sure I saw him stifle a tear. I tried to lift my easel up and it was so heavy I almost had to let out a big, unlady-like groan. And I’ve been working out the last few months. Those little twenty year old girls in my class who have lifted nothing but a glass of beer in the last two years didn’t stand a chance.
Second, they have been well used. And not much loved. They were disgusting. I had so much dirt and paint and probably hundred of different students sweat and tears all over my hands by the end of class. I think you know how I feel about icky stuff on my hands. [Hello, I have OCD!] I spent the whole class trying not to vomit all over my pretty lines and circles. Trying to go to my happy place. Trying to pretend like there wasn’t icky stranger DNA all over my hands. Somebody please hold me.
We spent the last half hour of class in the auditorium. I was scared for my life in this auditorium. I half expected that white faced dude from Scream to come out from behind the projector with a big knife. I’m pretty sure the seats were from a 1950’s theater. The only piece of modern technology was a lamp sitting on the desk in front of the room. Our teacher couldn’t get the projector to work. He thought there was no electricity in the little, tiny room housing the projector, but it turns out the projector was broken. I’m sure they’ll never be able to fix it since they probably stopped making parts for the thing in 1965. Luckily there was another projector there so we were able to view the slides. In the dark. Did I mention Scream?
I walked out of that art building dead set on dropping this class tomorrow. But then I drove home [it’s a long 45 minutes drive] and I calmed down. It’s only a six week course and the first week is already over. Look at me. I survived the first week and lived to tell about it. [That’s me looking at the positive.] There are only nine classes [not that I’m counting or anything] and five weeks left. I think I can do it. [Was it just me or did anybody else channel Rob Schneider just then? You can do it.]
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