An Array of Colors

"Oh, Mr. Mulberry, you can go sit next to Silver over there," Mr. White instructed me.

I walked over to the seat next to the boy I hadn't noticed. I don't know how I hadn't noticed his rainbow hair. And his hair was pretty sexy.

I sat down next and I could feel his eyes burning holes in me while I tried to continue working on the painting I'd been ripped away from. I was self-conscious of every brush stroke and the painting I'd deemed extraordinary before didn't seem nearly as wonderful in his presence. This was why I didn't like people. They make me doubt myself.

I could still feel his eyes on me and I found it impossible to lose myself in my painting.

I heard the second bell ring and people began filing into the classroom.

"Ok class! Don't get situated yet because I'll be assigning your seats."

I zoned out as Mr.White put people where they belonged and I tried once again to continue painting. I got the boat down, but something was still missing. It looked complete but felt empty.

"Yo dude! That's awesome!"

I turned to see a guy behind me. He looked as if he'd just taken art for a knock off class.

"Thanks," I muttered, annoyed by the interruption.

I stared at my painting. What was missing?

Silver was still watching me and I don't know if he could see it on my face but he looked at my painting. He could also tell it needed more.

"Maybe a lighthouse..." I heard a soft voice say.

I looked down at Silver. He had the cutest voice ever!

And looking back at my painting I realized that's what was missing. That light, that hope for the sailors.

"Thanks."

I was embarrassed that he could figure it out while I couldn't. It was my painting after all. I should know what it needs.

I heard Mr. White say something, but it was directed to the new students so I ignored him and plugged in my ear buds.

White with not even a drop of black to give it a tint of gray. Darker in this spot where it's been worn down for years. Almost completely white in this spot which has been basically untouched. Black on the top, now the light. The light was always hard to do. A tint of yellow, a tint of black to make a yellowish gray that's still mostly white. An obscure line going over the water so sailors can see.

Silver slipped back into the seat next to me as I put on the finishing touch. I hadn't even noticed him getting up.

"That looks much better," he told me.

I smiled at him as I watched him put down his paper.

I got up to go clean my supplies. I had to decide what my next painting was going to be. I cleaned my pallet and felt the calm wash over me as the water poured down and the colors rained off the pallet and down the drain. I carefully washed my brush before drying it with a paper towel and getting a new set of paints. I still had a little more than a period because I had it two periods in a row and the bell still hadn't rung signaling second period.

I sat back down next to Silver who was doing a charcoal drawing. It was a forest that looked like something out of a fairy tale. If you took one step inside it you would lose yourself and most likely never get out. Eyes were peeking through the bushes and branches and you could feel them probing into your soul. It was a very eerie feeling. The shading was so realistic I almost felt as if I was in there and I was going to be swallowed by some evil monster. It was a beautifully creepy drawing and that is something very hard to accomplish.

"That's really good Silver. Are you planning on being an artist when you grow up?"

He blushed the most delicate pink that I would love to paint a gorgeous rose with.

"Thanks, I didn't really think it was that good but...I hoped it was because yes I want to be an artist."

I smiled. He could become one. Unlike me. I always liked my work until it was shown to someone else, then I could tell how horrible it really was.

"But I think you'd be more likely to become an artist than me," he was going on.

I gaped at him.

"This is seriously one of the best drawings I've ever seen and that's saying a lot. It seems to drag your soul into the picture and I find myself wandering in this forest with no way to get out."

"Thanks, but I think that your painting was better. I can't feel the emotion in mine, but in yours it seems as if I'm in the picture being thrashed about, all hope gone except for that little light that can't help me."

I was ecstatic that he understood what I was trying to convey through that picture. All of my friends would have said, "That's a really good boat and I'm sure if I were into art I'd think it was the best painting on the planet."

Ok, maybe not exactly those words, but you get the idea. Maybe someone other than me could understand that art is something bigger than paint, bigger than the canvas. Art is something that can rip you to shreds or stitch you together. Art is what allows me to breathe. Art is life.