His Vision of Art

Identity

Uriah:

I called my old art teacher the next day. He agreed to come over to my apartment and help me learn how to draw females.
I live in my own studio.
Well...sort of.
It's on top of the dry cleaners floor, but it's normally quiet and my place is bright and roomy. It's almost like a warehouse with how sparse it looks.
I've got all my furniture shoved on one side of the wall, all my artwork strewn across my floors.
I hear a knock on the door.

"It's open." I call out.

"Hey." A voice says.

"Curtis." I greet.

Footsteps are heard, and I spot Curtis's head first as he makes his way up the stairs and to my floor.

"Hey." He says with his hand on the railing, the other holding a bag of paints and other things.

"You want a drink?" I ask going to the back where I store jars, I pour a glass of water for him, walking back and handing it to him.

"Lets get to work. I gotta head back for a showcase." He says walking across the grabbing an easel.

Three hours later and I still can't master the female figure. I groan, leaning forward on my chair and covering my face with my hands.

"Your hand just has its muscle memory to draw male figures. It'll take time to learn. You can't change it immediately, Uriah." Curtis comforts as he packs up his things.

"Then I can't do the class." I mutter behind my hands.

"What do you mean?" Curtis asks zipping us his case.

"Fall said I couldn't come back until I could draw a woman. He said that any artist should be able to sketch..." I trail off.

Curtis furrows his brow. "That's no way to talk. Every artist has their strengths and weaknesses."

"I told you I'm not cut out for his class." I murmur behind burning eyes.

Curtis sighs, ruffling my hair.
"You and your self-esteem...we should also work on that" He says jokes softly, and then he turns around and walks downstairs, the door opens and closes, and his car pulls out.

I turn back to my work.
The drawings are messy, boxy, unprofessional.
I grab my pencil and pull an easel next to me.
I keep trying.
---------------

Tarq:

Class isn't as boring as I thought it would be. The students are hard workers and really do want to improve. That's also the reason why they were accepted into my class, because they have the skill and patience to make something they're proud of.
It's been a week, and by now I'm looking over people's artwork, assigning them a new task while I grade them.
It's the piece where I asked them to sketch and make it into a real creation, even if they believed that it didn't turn out well in the end.
They all turned out extremely well.
The one I like the best is the sketch surrounded by water colors, the contrast interesting. 
I glance up and everyone is still working on their sculptures, using metal rods and hooks to scrape off the pieces they don't want.
We've moved to 3D art this week.
I told them to create anything this time, because you should be able to sculpt something that almost seems lifelike from beneath your hands.
The bell rings.
Dismissal.
Everyone gets up, gathering their stuff and leaving.
I wait for the room to be empty before cleaning up, collecting the stay pieces of clay and tossing them in the bin. I clean and put away the tools, even tossing scrap paper in the craft closet. The aroma of paint and paste in the air is strong, and it's almost comforting.
I walk back out, gathering my own things and locking the door to my classroom.
I get back down to the lobby, out of the revolving doors and into my car.
I check my phone for any upcoming events, noting that a piece of my artwork was sold.
Nothing new.
The car goes into reverse, and I decide to run a few errands before heading back to my house.
Before you know it I'm at the dry cleaners paying for my newly pressed shirt I plan to wear at my next showcase. I thank the woman at the counter, collecting my change and heading out the door.
The door swings and the force makes me stumble back, I catch my footing but I glare up to see a startled look on an all too-familiar face.

"I'm so---Fall! Oh my god I am so so sorry! I didn't see you there! I was just coming back to work on my sketches. I've been practicing you see, and I think that you'll appreciate---"

"It's fine." I snap much more colder than I mean to.

To be honestly I was partly glad to see him. The empty chair that he used to sit in almost looks...depressing when I step into my classroom.
Maybe it's because of those green eyes that blink rapidly, or maybe it's the way his nose and cheeks are covered is the faintest freckles. Maybe it's because I forget how...innocent he looks when he flushes easily in front of me.
I've had plenty of girls be embarrassed around me because they don't know what to do...but never a boy.
It's...intriguing.

"Uriah." I say catching his frantic gaze.
He seemed a bit surprised that I could recall his name. It's been a busy week after all.

"Yes?" He asks carefully.

"You've been working?"

"I live upstairs. I've got a studio." He explains sheepishly, and I hide the small smile that creeps up when his cheeks flush a nice pink.

"A studio?" I ask raising an eyebrow.

Uriah pushes his hair back, trying to keep his composure. "Well, it's a small one. Nothing fancy. But it's where I do all my work and sketches."

I press my lips together.
"Can I see them?"

Uriah blinks, taken aback, but nods and leads me across the back of the room.
He unlocks the door, leading me up a staircase and into this spacious room on the floor above.
He brushes past me, shoving papers and canvas aside with his feet as he makes a pathway towards the back of the room.

"Sorry for all...this." He says kicking a painting aside.

I look at his art as much as I can, all of them perfect designs of men.
I notice crumpled up pieces of paper too, and for once I want to see what they contain, even if they do look poor I want to see his drawings.

"Umm...here." Uriah says coming back and handing me a sketch pad.

I set my belongings down, taking the pad and flipping through the pages.

"It's all I could do." Uriah whispers.

They're drawings of women.
Poor quality, but he's got the female physique down. He only made the body from the neck down, you never see any face or hair or anything.
I clench my jaw, passing it back to him.

"Stick with what you're good at." I mutter.

Uriah takes the pad back quickly, his hands shaking, and his eyes are cast away from me.
I want to see his eyes...I want to watch him draw...I want to draw him.
I swallow hard, pushing the thought away.
When did I ever think of drawing him?

"Sorry...I can try again if you'd like." Uriah says fumbling for a pencil on the table next to him.

My eyes flicker to his artist hands, the long fingers carefully positioning the tip of the pencil over the paper.

"Why do you only draw men?" I ask quietly.

Uriah's hand freezes, but he puts down his pencil and pad, wrapping his arms around himself and rocking back on his heels, his eyes still cast down.

"I'm gay." He admits shrugging at his feet.

"I didn't ask you that, I asked--"

His eyes lock with mine then, sudden and hard. "I draw men because I can almost feel them when I create the piece." He says interrupting me for the first time.

His eyes blow wide at his sudden outburst, and he flushes before looking back down again at his feet.

"Sorry." He says again.

I shove my own hands in my pocket, and I can feel paper, the only piece he's ever drawn in my class.
I've still kept it.
I glance at the floor, all his artwork scattered.

"You're proud of your work?" I ask

Uriah pauses. "I am...I am proud. I love drawing men. I love men. I like having them touch me, I like having them kiss me." He pushes his hair back with one hand. "I wouldn't change a thing about being gay. Even if I could."