fandomhigh | Art, Thursday, Period Three

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Art, Thursday, Period Three

Class was in the Danger Shop today, but the Danger Shop itself was set up to look like a large, airy art room, filled with any number of different options for art. There were canvases with acrylics, oils, and watercolors. Large sheets of paper with pens, pencils, crayons, markers, chalk, and charcoal. Clay for molding and shaping, supplies for papier-mâché, and colored sand, styrofoam, and wax for sculpting. There were crystals and beads and even raw macaroni noodles in various shapes and colors, along with string and glue and construction paper. In the corner of the room, there were even supplies to make sock puppets. Pretty much any ~~moddable~~ art material someone could need was available.

"Welcome to art class," Hardison said, waving as his class entered--and keeping an eye out for any visitors that might be peeping in as well. "This is just straight up an' art class, not art history or art theory. So while we might spend some time learnin' about different techniques an' stuff, most of the class is geared towards y'all gettin' your hands dirty an' learnin' by doin'. Consider it an hour you get to spend creatin' somethin' an' maybe discoverin' a talent you ain't know you had."

If there was one thing he'd seen among the denizens of Fandom, it was that most of them were creative in one way or another, even if that creativity was just finding new and exciting ways to get into trouble.

"Now, I know that this week is supposed to be introductions an' it will be. But we're doin' it at the end. For today, I want you to spend the period makin' somethin' that you feel represents you. Paint a picture. Draw somethin'. Make somethin'. Build somethin'. Whatever you feel represents who you are, express it with some kinda art. At the end of class, we're gonna go 'round the room an' introduce ourselves. Name, grade, any kinda art experience you already got, an' then an explanation of what you created an' why it represents who you are."

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With your most colorful icon

There really isn't much of a lecture, so explore the different artistic options, figure out what medium to use, and get to work.

Show off your piece and explain your name, your artistic experience, what you made, and how it represents you.

Hardison had spent the class period taking bits and pieces from several destroyed computers from the ceiling at different heights. When they were all assembled and looked at from straight on, they formed a hanging sculpture that looked just like an over-sized laptop.

"My name is Hardison, an' I've been makin' art almost my whole life. I draw some--" specifically Hardiman comics that would never see the light of day "I paint with oils, an' I've sculpted an' forged a 17th century book out of modern materials, an' a sometimes paint the windows at Luke's in town. An' this sculpture represents me because, first an' foremost, I'm a hacker. It's how I made my livin', met my partners, an' is a huge part of who I am. This art style is called anamorphosis, a type of art that requires the viewer to either use a special tool or a specific vantage to see the intended image. If y'all played with Magic Eye puzzles growin' up or ever folded a Mad magazine to get the image, that's more anamorphic art at work."

I don't know where my brain had been these past few days but I would like it back please?

Peridot

Peridot was still unconvinced that 'art' was a good word for any of it. But she'd happily create a meep morp to show the room. Maybe she'd start with some of that wire...

Peridot had created, all within the span of the class, a... monstrosity, mostly. It appeared at a glance to be made of pipe cleaner and plasticine, and it had rainbow-dyed feathers stuck into it here and there for visual interest. It also scuttled around the floor like a four-legged crab creature, though its legs weren't attached to the lumpy mass that was apparently meant to be its body.

It wasn't quite like one of her old robonoids, but it would do in a pinch.

"I'm the lovable, adorable Peridot!" She held out her arm, and the scuttling... thing... climbed up her body and came to perch on her shoulder, where it just sort of jittered in place, feathers ruffled around it. "And I made this! It's about all I ever used to have experience with. Back on Homeworld, I was a technician, not... artistic."

Meep morpistic.

If you find out that it's been hanging out with mine, could you please send it home? I miss it.

Gratuity Tucci

Too many options. Tip spent a moment paralyzed by choice, before finally kind of hiding behind a big piece of drawing paper and some markers.

At least those she knew how to use.

"Hey," Tip said. "I'm Gratuity Tucci." There was an awkwardly long pause while she debated whether or not to add her nickname, but then she just barreled on, holding up her picture.

It was the size of a small poster, and designed like a blown up comic panel, including a thick black border around everything and bright, contrasting colors. She'd drawn New Smek City, a sprawling landscape full of bubble domes and floating octopus ships, mostly in shades of orange. In the foreground, she'd added herself as viewed from behind, dwarfed and silhouetted by the the city, a tiny dot-Bill in the air by her head, spelling something extremely rude in Boov, with a little asterisk next to it relating to a footnote box in the bottom corner that read [* "Oh no!" -- paraphrased for all audiences, ed.]. In the opposite corner was another box reading [Though she had no idea what to expect from this world, she was determined to save her friend.]

The proportions and scale weren't quite right, and there were at least a couple mistakes she'd scribbled over and turned into koobish. But over all, it showed a lot of promise -- and a lot of previous practice.

"Um," Tip said. "So this is kind of an illustration of a big thing that happened to me a few years ago. It was one of those . . . formative events. Not, like, the formative -- but a really big one. My world has aliens that have come to Earth, and this was when I went to their world with my friend, and ended up having to save him and kind of his people's whole political system." Why was she so nervous? It was just an art class, geez. "Anyway, this is how I feel sometimes, you know? Like I'm just a -- a kid in over my head. But I keep going anyway. So . . . that's me."

I don't know about you but mine looked at the weather and went "fuck no" and is hibernating with spiked hot chocolate.

It is extremely pissed that we're going to have to go out and scrape off my car and go to work in the next twenty minutes, instead of staying home under a pile of blankets.

Summer Smith

Rufus Shinra

Eric Bittle

"I'm Eric," he introduced himself. "And I'm really more of a baker than an artist, so that's why I've made these."

Where 'these' were clay recreations of various pies and pastries.

"Clay isn't dough, obviously, but it can be worked with and shaped in a similar enough manner, I guess, which is why I felt that would make more sense than trying to draw anything. I'm also a vlogger, but that's more of a performance than visual art thing, soooo..." he shrugged. "That's me, I guess."

"What is it?" Rufus asked, because... what.

"And who lied to you and said you were 'lovable and adorable'?"

Rufus was a good friend. Really.

It took some time for Rufus to decide 'what represented him' and how honest he was willing to be with that. Also what he was able to do given his almost complete lack of 'art' skills.

He could draw a blueprint, sure, but he'd never considered that art.

In the end, Rufus had gone with simplicity. Both in the work his art required of him and in what it represented about him.

His piece was several layers of construction paper layered over one another--black, white, red, white, and red again, with the red having been cut to show the white underneath.

"Rufus Shinra," he said, a bit dryly when it was his turn. "This is my first time... making art." He'd been having escape routes built into Headquarters by the time he was five. Rufus didn't remember ever having coloured just for the fun of it. "This is a simplified version of the Corporation that my father runs, and that I, once I take over for him, will run."

"It's my own creation," Peridot said, preening a little. "I call it a robirdnoid."

It was a monster.

"And nobody lied to me," she added, throwing in an expressive roll of her eyes. "I love and adore me, therefore, I must be." She smirked. "I think Pumpkin would agree."

"Ah." Hardison stared at the...creation...wondering if it was actually a bad thing to snuff out the spark of creativity in a student. "You made a what now?" he asked, smiling straining a little at the edges.

That thing skittered up Peridot's body and it made him want to yell for Eliot and get a broom to whack it with. It skittered.

"Yo, this is really well done, Gratuity," Hardison said, not even just because it wasn't some kind of skittering thing out of a nightmare. "This somethin' you draw a lot?"

"Naw, lookit these," Hardison said, giving Eric an encouraging smile. "With a little glaze an' some time in the kiln, you could make a buncha really convincin' lookin' treats." He picked one up to examine it, admiring all the tiny details. "What is it about bakin' you like so much?"

"Your first time makin' art?" Hardison asked, surprised. "For real?"

That was horrifying, in its own way. Kids needed a chance to be creative and express themselves.

"Still, this is really good. Very neat. Precise." Next week, he was programming them to something messy, just wait. "You been raised your whole life to be the heir of this Corporation?"

"It's like my old robonoids!" Peridot enthused. "We'd use them for everything from repairs to information gathering back on Homeworld! I added extra organic embellishments to mine, though."

Of course she had.

"Not, like, a lot a lot," Tip said, super pleased by the compliment. "But graphic novels are the primary literary form on New Boovworld, so my friend and I send them back and forth to each other sometimes. He's way better than I am, but I've gotten way better in the last few years."

"So, like a blendin' of your old world an' new?" Hardison asked, with quiet desperation. "Old robonoids like you used to make, but artistic an' organic, as befitting your new home?"

"Man, I woulda loved to be part of a culture that used graphic novels more," Hardison said with a warm chuckle. "Woulda got yelled at less by my Nana, tellin' me to read real books."

He looked down at the picture again. "So, when you first saw this place, lemme guess--intimidated? By the size, maybe even how alien it was?"

"Exactly!" Peridot was so proud that Hardison had figured it out so quickly! "Honestly, I wasn't sure it could be done, but a few thousand years of working in the Kindergartens means I know my way around a little clay."

She gave her creation an affectionate pat.

"It will almost be a shame to dismantle it!"

"Kinda, yeah," Tip said. "I mean, there was a whole 24 hour flight from Earth to Jupiter first, so I was kind of tired when I first saw it. But then I got separated from J.Lo and all the Boov were glaring at me for not knowing all the rules and we got chased down by guards with guns and I had to hide in a trash can and somewhere in all that, I got intimidated."

"But that's the great thing about art!" Hardison said quickly, before that idea could take root. "You can always try again! Later! Much, much, much later! But now, you can take it apart and build something completely new next week!"

With less skittering maybe?

Peridot nodded thoughtfully for a moment, and then flicked her wrist. The... thingy... skittered back down to the floor.

And then she stepped on it, squishing plasticine underfoot. It spasmed for a moment, then kind of just whirred to a very squidgy stop.

"I can make a better one next time! Pumpkin would probably feel jealous anyway."

"What would be the point in lying about either of those things?" Rufus asked, rather dryly. "Yes, it's my first time doing art--and yes, I have been raised to be heir to the Corporation."

"It's a monstrosity," Rufus said flatly.

A beat.

"Both that you created that and that you believe those things. Pumpkin is hardly an unbiased sort."

He was reasonably sure that if Dark Nation were asked, Rufus would be tattled on as being a total softy. He doubted Pumpkin's version of the story without ever having to ask.

Peridot scrunched up her nose at Rufus at that and just kind of glared balefully at him for a minute.

Then she reached up, snatched one of the floating plasticine legs from her horrible creation, and threw it at him.

She followed that up by sticking her tongue out at him.

"I am too lovable!"

Summer was going to basic and paint a picture. A picture of a horse. In an open field with wild flowers. She didn't feel like it represented her, really, but whatever. She liked painting horses. And it was something she could actually paint without it looking like something else entirely.

Summer cleared her throat to present a somewhat decent painting of a horse running in a field with a lot of purple and pink and blue flowers. "My name is Summer Smith," she said. "I've taken a few art classes before, but I guess I would consider myself a recreational hobbyist at best. I painting this picture of a horse running in a field. Purple and pink and blue are my favorite colors, and it represents me because a horse like this likes to be wild and free, and that's just like me. Also, I've always liked horses growing up, maybe because my mom's a horse surgeon, but, you know, there's power there in a horse. Power and grace and beauty."

And a lot of horseshit. Just like most of that presentation.

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Art, Thursday, Period Three

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