His Vision of Art

Class

Uriah:

"Room 333, right down the hall to your right." The woman says handing me a membership card.

"Thank you" I murmur.

I take the card carefully, almost hesitantly, scared that this little piece of plastic might break beneath my touch.
It's still hard for me to imagine this, the reality of where I am right now. I'm going to be taking an art class with Tarq Fall.

The Tarq Fall.

The most talented and famous 2D and 3D artist that has already sold more pieces than he's made. I heard he's working on a new collection.

Something never seen before.

Something different.

Exotic.

I fumble with my bag, pieces of my own work sticking out of the sides, their colors faded and worn out. I prefer using water colors, sometimes oil paints if I'm feeling risky.
I prefer having my colors subtle, focusing more on the detail and shape rather than the blending of hues.
Of course Fall's work is flawless, using just the right amount of color to express emotion, and enough detail to craft his image.
A few paintbrushes and pencils fall out of my bag and I quickly snatch them up, stuffing them back in quickly as I near my classroom.
It's like I'm back in high school.
The dorky, uncool, and awkward kid always making a fool of himself.
I stop in front of my classroom, my card in hand.

Room 333.

I thank the heavens that there's no small window at the door, or else people will be looking and wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
I glance down at my satchel, my sketches and paintings nothing compared to Fall's...they might as well be his doodles.
My drawings can't be that bad...why else would Fall accept my request to his class?

It's cause your teacher wrote a recommendation to Fall...personally telling him how great your work is.

I grimace at the thought, remembering my art teacher exclaiming how my work could probably get me into Fall's class.

And here I am.

I don't belong here.

My work didn't get me here. My teacher's words did.

I'm no artist compared to Fall.

I take a step back now, my mind taking over my body and decisions.
I turn down the hall and start making my way back towards the entrance.
I can feel something tug at my heart...my passion for art singing in my veins. Each step I take almost feels painful...my opportunity so close yet not enough.
My artwork portrays love, mainly people in the lgbtq community. I want the world to be exposed to this movement, and realize that people should be able to express their love without any judgement or expectations from others.
My artwork is me. It's the only way I know how to express myself.
I stop mid step.
What is there to lose? My parents already disowned me, I live in an attic above a dry cleaners, and I don't even have a real full time job.

What are you so scared about?

Maybe the fact that I've never had a good past experience at high school, always being judged for my sexuality.
I had no friends, and all I ever did was sketch during class. I barely passed high school, and I can't even remember a single thing in college.

Or maybe you're scared because Fall might kick you out of his class...

That's a high possibility. A very high possibility. I turn my head to glance back at the door, everything looking the same as it was when I got here. I see a small glow of light seeping out from under the door, and I can imagine all the students listening to Fall intently as he explains techniques and ideas. I grip my card harder and walk back to the door.
I doubt he'll accept my artistic beliefs and ideas...most art teacher are too busy with other students who are lively and outgoing, the traits that get their paintings sold. They don't want a quiet, low-self-esteemed, shy young man who can't even sell a single painting.
It's not my fault...I'm just not good with communicating. I don't talk. I draw.
Fall has only seen one of my paintings, the one that got me into his class.
It's a painting of a naked man lying on a sofa, his head tucked in his crossed arms and his eyes closed. I paid more attention to detail and colors, making them more vibrant than I usually do.
I prefer drawing men over women, and because I'm gay that makes sense. I find men more attractive. Beautiful.
A lot of the time it's women who are presented and known for being beautiful for nudes. Men can be too...I just need to prove it somehow.