fandomhigh | Creative Arts, Monday 2, Week 6

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Creative Arts, Monday 2, Week 6

"I hope everyone survived their weekend unscathed, whether you had visitors or not," Steve said when the class assembled this morning. Peggy. Thinking about it still kind of hurt, so he pushed it down and forged on. "If you did have visitors, I hope they weren't too alarmed or traumatized by our...special, special little island. Now, on to our assignment for the week. We're going to play around with a style rather than a medium this time, so you can use any of the mediums we've already used in this class; all the supplies are available for you. And the style is abstract art, or art that isn't representational of anything." That should be easier for some of them. Right? Right.

Steve gave a brief explanation of what abstract art was beyond the short form definition, and a little bit of history, then said, "Some abstract artists like to listen to music as they paint, to evoke a certain mood or state of mind. I thought we needed something cheerful, so..." give him a minute to set up the record player. After a bit of fiddling, upbeat big band music filled the air. ":Let the great Benny Goodman be your guide. Have fun."

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Sing, sing, sing.

Nobody Owens

Freddie Benson

Miley Ray Stewart

Butters Stotch

Rapunzel

Surreal

Quinn Fabray

George Lass

Dana Scully

Tony Stark

Shane Gooseman

Annie Edison

Billy Kaplan

Asuna Kagurazaka

Katniss Everdeen

Cassidy

Listen. Think back on the weekend. Pass notes.

Not even the fact that he was grounded over the weekend could spoil the fun of abstract art! And the music! Butters, as usually, was looking quite eager and ready to make some creative art!

Coming here had been a big fucking mistake. George should have stayed in bed for the next week. Month. Decade.

She absolutely couldn't deal with any of this shit and especially not upbeat music.

She was going to wait until it started and then beg to be let out of class or -- or something.

Goose found that Parents Weekend hadn't been as bad as the one last year, at least there had been no visits from the other Supertroopers.

Paint. Groove to the music. Groove to the music and paint.

If you're feeling a bit more maudlin, well, good luck with that. Benny Goodman takes no prisoners.

Miley was doing that last one there -- she painted standing up, dancing a little all the while. Her painting wasn't good, exactly, but it didn't suck either and she was glad for the opportunity to dance out everything from the weekend and get paint on paper. It was a double win.

It was pretty difficult for Butters to stay in one place with such great music playing, his head and body bopping along as he made up words to the music while painting something bright and colorful, full of all sorts of shapes. There were a lot of boxes to represent confinement, after his recent groundings, but there were also round circles with swatches of colors to represent happiness, three of them, one smaller than the other, to stand for him and his parents and they were happy together in the organized order of their life.

Boy, now that they were gone, Butters kinda missed having his parents around.

Between the music and the pink hair, Quinn was feeling surprisingly well. She gave her classmates a few self-conscious glances -- she wasn't sure she was ready for feedback on the new hair -- and then got to painting.

Once he pings in.

Hey, he'd heard this in movies. Tony totally knew this song. From horrible movies. Shut up.

And he could totally do this style of art if only because it's what his stuff normally looked like.

He may have miscalculated; the music, upbeat as it was, was taking him back to an earlier time. But he was still completely willing to shake off his nostalgia and talk to his students, or anyone else who might stop by after class.

George waited until the music started to approach the teacher. She was barely holding it together, but she was not going to fucking cry in class. There were fucking cheerleaders here. They didn't need the ammunition.

... Like any of that even mattered any more.

"I can't," she said. "I ... just can't."

That was super-helpful, George.

"George?" Steve asked. "What's wrong? Do you want to talk about it?"

Edited 2011-10-03 19:24 (UTC)

"N-no," George said. "... I mean. ... Maybe?"

Shit.

"It's not ... art or anything," she said. "I'm sorry. You don't have to ..." She cleared her throat. "I didn't mean to show up and b-be weird."

"No, I'm not just here to talk about art," Steve said, "if there's anything I can do, I want to help. What's wrong?"

George bit her lip, not sure how to condense the thorough explanation of her own death into something classroom-appropriate.

"I ... had to say good-bye to someone," she said, instead. "It's ..."

Okay. Deep breath. She could do this.

"Someone I l-lost a ... a while ago," she said. "Somehow, because Fandom was ... b-being all Fandom, she got here anyway so we could ..."

Closure, and all that stupid Dr. Phil crap? Something like that?

Steve was getting that this was someone else who had died, but. Yes. "I had a similar experience over the weekend," he admitted. "I understand that it's very hard, but you have to move on."

George was ... holding it together. More or less.

"I-I know," she said. "I just ... it's so fucking wrong. I d-don't know how to ..."

She didn't mean to be swearing in front of a teacher. She hadn't even realized she had said it. Sorry, Steve.

"Language," Steve said, almost on automatic. "If you need to leave class this week, I understand. But if you want to talk, I'm here now, and I have office hours on Friday."

At first, George thought he meant that she needed to speak French or something. She only realized it a half-second later, and it brought her up short.

"I'm -- okay," she said. "I'll ... I'll do the assignment."

She was going to fucking pull it together. Okay. She could do this.

"Thanks."

La.

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Creative Arts, Monday 2, Week 6

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