fandomhigh | Hands-On Art, Class #4, Period 1

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hands-on art

Hands-On Art, Class #4, Period 1

When the students arrived in class today, they'd find several possibly familiar-looking reprints of some paintings tacked up around the room, and a Lily waiting for everyone to show before speaking.

"Hi, guys, Hope those of you who spent any part of the weekend in the clinic are feeling better, or are at least on enough pain meds to not know the difference. That was a joke," she said quickly. "Drugs are bad." Really.

"You may have noticed our lovely room decorations today. These are some pretty well-known works, some by more famous artists, some not-so-famous, but I tried to go for a good range of different styles. Some of them we'll be studying a little about in class, later, too," Lily went on. "This first one here is Vase with Twelve Sunflowers by Van Goh, who was a little uncreative in naming that one. And then we have Water Lilies, by Claude Monet, A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte by Seurat, and yes, I think that one woman has a bustle, not a ghetto booty. There's The Scream by Edvard Munch, and finally, Nighthawks by Edward Hopper.

"They've all got different styles and were all painted in different ways, so this is more of you trying to find more of your own personal style by choosing one of these paintings to recreate in your own way. Remember when you tried out some new mediums? Hopefully you found something you're comfortable with, so feel free to use whatever you want. Go wild. I have no problem with you taking your work home to work on, either, as long as it comes back here next week so I can see it.

"Oh," and Lily added, almost as an afterthought. "We're also kind of sort of having homework now, sorry. It's easy, I swear. For next week, bring in a picture or a really really good mental image of something you'd maybe consider for a good still life piece. See, easy."

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"For helping out ungrateful little sisters?" she asked ruefully.

"That too," Peter teased.

She grinned at him. "You should stop by and see what we've done with our room. This will fit in pretty well on my side."

"Love to," Peter said. "Do I get any hints on what I'll see or is it going to be a surprise?"

Peyton laughed. "Depends what side of the room you look on. Mine's kind of vibrant red and black with a bunch of my art work on the walls - which, well... they're not too unlike the one here. Meg's side is lighter and I did a huge mural of the mountains with a ski lift on one wall. The doors are black chalkboard paint so we can write on them."

"Cool," Peter said. "The door must be great for seasonal pictures too I'd bet."

"Huh..." Peyton said thoughtfully. "I never considered that, but maybe. I'm not so much a landscape person generally, though."

"What's your favorite?" Peter asked.

She shrugged. "I mostly do pencil sketches. Dark pictures or mini comic strips. It's a way to get some of my emo out and onto paper instead."

"Made a few of Dean, but I shredded them when I found out what had really happened."

"That can be cathartic," Peter said. "A way of not letting the negative completely take over, you know?"

"Yeah. I, uh... tend to not do so well with that. Particularly around this time of year," she admitted. "I go a little off the deep end."

"Because of the season?" Peter asked.

"I tend to do stupid things around the anniversary of my mother's death," she said. "Like... really stupid things. Even though it's been almost nine years it just... it hurts so much. And now with my birth mother somewhere around... I don't know."

"It's your mom," Peter said. "I don't think that's ever going to not be meaningful for you."

"Yeah," she said, staring at her painting as if it held the answers she was looking for. "She was coming to get me, you know? She was running late and she ran a red light and... that was it."

"It's not your fault," Peter said.

"Logically, I know that," she said, nodding in agreement. "But in the moment, in my heart... And God... do you know how many red lights I've run in my life?"

Not even counting the ones she ran deliberately that year seeing if she could make the same thing happen.

"I know what it's like," Peter said, lowering his voice so they could have extra privacy. "When my dad died... there was a lot of guilt. Me and Nathan both, though he doesn't like to admit it."

She nodded. "It doesn't matter what anyone says or what you know logically. It just hurts. And you think there had to have been something you could have done different or if you'd been better or just something. It's almost easier to think it was you than that it was some random thing that could happen again at anytime to someone else you love."

"And all you're left with is the thoughts of what could have been," Peter said.

"Yeah." She was quiet for a moment.

"My biological mother is dying. Breast cancer. She showed up out of nowhere this summer - I hadn't even known I was adopted. And I sent her away. Told her to get the hell out of my life. But now I can't stop thinking about her."

"Is she still alive?" Peter asked.

Peyton shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know where she is."

"Could try hiring a detective," Peter suggested. "If she came to see you that's bound to mean she wants contact."

"I know she does," Peyton said. "Or she did. I just, I don't know how I feel about it. Maybe everyone leaves me because I send them away."

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