The Perfection of Imperfection

Prologue

A muse, a source of inspiration to an artist.

Something I had heard and taught more than a million times, but only now I’m beginning to truly understand the term.

It was last year in the summer…

The first semester would start today, I hated saying it, I sat in my black jaguar, my sunglasses balancing on my nose as I drove to the school, my papers and bag all messed up in the back seat.

I hated going to school, but for some strange reason, or maybe not so strange, the feeling was a lot different from my high school years, as I now was a teacher instead of a student. I had graduated from high school several years ago and then went to the University of performing arts in New York, a place I gladly had called home for four years, but those years were over.

I had won several awards with my paintings and papers yet I was not content. I had no true purpose for my works, I felt nothing.

My latest paintings had been empty, not for a lack of paint but they didn’t posses the soul and heart my paintings had had in high school. The fear of losing my talent at such a young age drove me back to the place I had detested so, I was going back to high school, but this time to teach art class.

I drove into the teacher parking lot and soon found myself a space to safely leave my Jag. I got out of my car and grabbed my bag, shoving the papers in it without even bothering to sort them before doing so. I was an art teacher, how hard could this be.

As I walked towards the entrance door, my sunglasses gladly protecting me against the fierce morning sun, a bald, slightly overweight, man stepped out whom I recognized as the principal.

“Good morning, you must be Iorwerth Bran, how wonderful to finally meet you, I am a great fan of your work.” The bald man said as he walked towards me with his hand outstretched.

“Nice to meet you, but please call me Raven.” I told him, using my artist name, my name literally meaning ‘Handsome Raven’ had also been the title of my first award winning painting, the name raven stuck and now nearly everyone called me as such.

“Very well, I’m Walden Griffin, you can call me Walden or Mister Griffin, whichever you prefer, I’ll show you around the school and to your classroom.” He said as he held a hand outstretched to show me where to go. Obviously to the entrance. I took of my sunglasses and hung it on the top of my shirt.

“First I must tell you that teachers are not, under any circumstances, allowed to date students.” Walden said.

“What makes you think I would?” I asked him.

“Young male welsh teacher, the girls will have a field day.” He explained short but clear.

“Well I am very happy with my life as it is, I have no need or room for high schoolers in it apart from in the classroom.” I told him honestly while thinking of Esyllt, the girl who I had been together with during my stay in New York, in the beginning because we were both of welsh origin, later because of pure lust.

“That is good to hear, have you already found a place to stay?” He asked me.

“Yes, I moved into my new house yesterday, its one town over.” I told him while thinking about the three story house with a pool in the backyard.

“Perfect, now here is your classroom, the store room is right behind this door,” He said while pointing to a door next to the old-fashioned blackboard. I never knew there were still schools that had black boards. “I’m quite sure you will find everything you need in there your first class starts in 15 minutes so get settled in, at lunch, which starts at 12 just ask a student to point you to the teachers’ lounge, they should be well behaved enough to do so.” He said and left the room without uttering another word.