Wherein a word or phrase can be the start of something fun and wonderful.
Some are simply stand-alone ficlets or drabbles. Some link up with published stories. Some end up previews for things yet to come.
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He leisurely picks his way through the rows of students while handing back their midterm papers. Suitably impressive, for the most part. Still were those few holdouts that wanted to try their hardest not to enjoy his class. If they would put just as much effort into the subject matter...
Art history isn't for everyone, he knows. He hasn't yet given up on connecting with them though. He'll figure it out. They're only mid-way through the term. So much left to cover.
His determination to, in the least, get everyone enrolled to enjoy something is what prompted the prompt for the papers, the stack now dwindling in his hands. 'Write about your favorite piece of art' he'd said, 'or artist.' Anything that had been covered up to that point in the term had been fair game... and then he asked them to contrast that to something covered that they hated.
Oh some of the responses. He'd smacked his lips, savoring his pinot noir as he read their essays. The absolute certainty that Alex had, that he'd hated the week that they'd spent on Roman architecture. One of the Kevins had bemoaned the time spent on Cézanne. Rachel and Lauren had both expressed confusion when confronted with Goya though neither went so far as to confirm hatred. He might need to sit with the pair to make sure they'd venture down different paths for the project he was about to throw at the lot of them.
The paper had been a set up. He wanted to hear their thoughts on what they'd covered in class, yes, but also wanted to present them with a challenge. Granted the idea had originally been suggested by his wife as she killed the bottle refilling his glass.
"What has you laughing so hard?"
Rather than dive into a lengthy explanation he'd flipped through the already graded stack to pluck out a select essay and hand it over. He'd paused grading to watch her read, the way her mouth sometimes moved along with the words. How her cheeks were a pleasantly rosy color already from the wine, and chatter over dinner about their respective days, but now gained more color still as he shared this bit of joy with her.
He takes another sip from his glass before talking, estimating how much she's read of the visible page - a rant against Degas. "Were we so sure of ourselves, then? Was I?"
She flicks her eyes from the page to laugh, this time at him. "Oh honey. Were you ever!"
If he wasn't holding a glass of red and reclined so comfortably on their faux leather sofa... Come to think of it, maybe they could use a spill as an excuse to invest in a fresh piece of furniture?
He's about to launch himself up and catch her in his arms when she speaks again, her eyes having drifted back to the paper in her hands. A softer laugh escapes her, "You know, you could really spark some of them with this..."
"Hmm?"
And she had told him.
So, due at the end of the year: something aimed to make them think outside the box, something aimed to challenge... a piece in the style of the piece of art or artist that they claimed to hate, as per their midterm paper.
