Lessons In Life-Continued

“So how was the camp?” asked my art teacher. She was slightly eccentric, a complete oddball and nothing like any other teacher I had ever had in the past. She was everything that this school was not, and everything that I loved. She was one of my good friends, not a best friend like two teenagers, more of a good mentor and friend whenever I needed someone to talk to. She was like the female version of my uncle, only he wore suits for a living and she destroyed them. I guess in many ways she was like the mother I never had.

“It was horrible” I replied slumping into my chair.

“Oh come on, forced physical activity and conformity. What’s there not to love?” she laughed to herself.
“Just think my dear, soon you and your talent will be out of these school halls and living a life” she added, placing paint covered hands on my face. It felt like something a grandmother would do, but I chose not to comment on her breach of my personal space. “And you won’t have to worry about any of these silly graduating class rituals.”

“It can’t come quick enough” I mumbled to myself.

“You know people would kill to have their high school years back right?” she asked, moving back to the front of the room where the class lesson plan was written. It was written in vain, we probably wouldn’t follow it.

“They need to be committed” I replied pulling out my books. As if on cue the bell rang, and a small number of students started to file into the room.
I also pulled out my i-Pod; this was the one class where I could get away with being anti social and playing music as I worked. I was never told off and never asked to put it away. It was deemed part of my creative process.
Art was, of course, my favourite class, and it showed. It was the class I put all my effort into, followed closely by English. The school demanded that I take both a maths and science subject, it was to ‘even out’ my timetable and college choices. Like I could care about what college I went to. The only other person in my family to have gone to college was my uncle, and he went to a community college and turned out better than anyone I know that went to an ‘Ivy League’ college. I probably didn’t have a hope of getting into one anyway. Of course I am sure because of my uncle’s influence any decision made by them could be swayed, much like my high-school acceptance was.
I figure as long as I can make a living off my camera, and some of my art work, I’ll be fine.
Maybe I was being completely delusional, thinking that I could do what so many other artists fail to do, but I had to at least try it. I was not going to live off someone else’s money for the entirety of my life. The charity handouts would stop the day I turned 18, I was determined for them to stop, with or without my uncle’s approval.

“Today I want you to continue working on your final projects, remember they have to be submitted on time at the end of the semester, and they have to consist of at least four separate pieces, connected by one common theme...” I drowned out her voice. I had heard this at least once a week. I knew what my art project was, I knew the guidelines and I knew when it was due. My problem was I didn’t know what to choose as a theme. I was struggling to make everything in my head into a concept.
I still had time though, the end of the semester was not too far away, but my project was still completely do-able. It wasn’t like I wasted my time in this class either; I did plenty of work, from sketches to paintings. I just hadn’t thought of a way of pulling it together yet.
I decided today was the day I developed my photo’s from camp. I needed the pictures of the landscape and the pictures to give to Martha. The girl was an all out nerd; her timetable was packed the seams with math and science subjects. To make sure she gave herself time to be creative she was a full on scrapbook freak. She demanded pictures and keepsakes from everything we did, it was crazy. She collected movie ticket stubs, ribbons, pictures, anything that had any remnant of the event attached to it. I figured to save the nagging I would just develope them today, it wouldn’t take too long, and I would be alone in the dark room.
The development process was like a second nature to me these days. I knew the chemical process for everything off the top of my head, there was no need to read instructions, I had it memorized.
First we developed the film in the developer solution, then the stop bath, then the fixer. Simple, easy, and all the notes and instructions around the dark room would make you think that it was fool proof. If I ever got in trouble I had Louisa, my art teacher, there to help me.
She had insisted that we call her Louisa from the very first lesson I ever had with her. I guess being called ‘Professor’ made her feel old or something. Calling her by her first name felt more personal anyway.
All up I had three rolls of film from the camp. They didn’t take too long to develope, while one was in the developer I would examine the first roll I developed, picking and choosing the pictures I would print, checking those that were out of focus and making notes.
By the end of the lesson I had developed plenty of pictures for Martha, leaving them to dry while I continued on in other classes. At least I had the comfort of the ritual of school to numb me from everything else that was going on around me.

-So there we have a small update. Nothing major, but I did do another re-edit of the story. I'll end up writing more soon, so watch this space.