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Art, Thursday, Period Three

Hardison met the class back in the art room wearing a canvas smock that was already streaked with grayish-brown matter. "So, we been spendin' a lot of time paintin' an' such, but there's a lot more to art than just two-dimensions. Today, we're expandin' into the third dimension by workin' with clay!" He seemed very excited about this, yes. "Clay is an old art form an' very versatile, goin' back almost to the beginnin' of humanity, when we were usin' it to make cups, bowls, oil lamps, an other useful pottery. Because it's so old, there are plenty of ways to work with clay, so I encourage you to try a coupla different ways out."

He handed out smocks to everyone so they could protect their clothing, then brought them over to a table where there were several lumps of clay in various stages of completion. "So, there are multiple ways of workin' clay, from handworkin' where you make basic pinch pots to coiled pots to slab pots." With each type of pot he mentioned, Hardison took a few moments to show the students the basic steps. "Over here, we got a few pottery wheels where you can attempt to throw a pot." He nearly made a joke about no reenacting the scene from Haunt and realized that it was possible none of the students would get it.

Oh god, he was getting old.

"Now, some important tips. Keep some water handy, cause water will help loosen your clay. If you make a mistake, a little bit of water will help smooth it down. Too much water, though, an' your clay can liquify, so be sparin'. Also, you might wanna beat on your clay a little bit to help loosen it up an' make it more malleable--think like a baker with bread dough. An' lastly, when you're cleanin' up, don't let any clay go down the sink. It ain't water soluable, so if too much goes down the drain, the pipes'll clog an' I don't need Principal Winchester comin' after me for bustin' the schools plumbin'."

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Like there's some Righteous Brothers playing

Summer Smith

Eric Bittle

Peridot

Gratuity Tucci

Or rather, watch the demonstrations and decide what you wanna do.

With her trip looming over her shoulder, Summer was a little antsy to just learn what today's lesson was, whip something up, and then get going, but she had to admit, watching Hardison with the clay was an....effective distraction.

What? Were we supposed to just ignore the hot guy with the clay all of a sudden?

Peridot's eyes got wider the longer Hardison spoke.

Working... with clay! She could do that! She was a certified kindergartener!

Dirt was her life.

Tip had always kind of wanted to try out a pottery wheel. Something about the whole "you press on one part and the pot spins so it comes out symmetrical all the way around" thing sounded just super satisfying.

Grab some clay and figure out what you what to sculpt. Hardison had left some instructions for anyone uncertain about what to make.

Did they have to be pots? He didn't say they did, but all the examples he'd shown were pots. Summer narrowed her eyes a little as she thought. But he did say to try a few methods, so...

The first thing Summer made was definitely a pot, of the coil variety, since that seemed some pretty easy summer-camp-girl-scout shit right there. It was a decent size, about the width of her two hands cupped together, and she tried to make it as tall as she could make it before it started to go all wonky.

And then she was going to use the handworking method, not to make a pot, but to make a beautiful majestic freaking horse because he didn't say she couldn't! Ha! And that horse was going to have the most majestic flowing mane her fingers could manage.

Be ready for tears in your eye, everyone who actually has a soul.

Nope! Nope, Hardison had deliberately not put restrictions on what they could make. Swapping to a new medium was hard enough as it was.

"Hey Summer," he said, coming over to see how she was doing, his buttoned sleeves pushed up past his elbows. "Looks like you got a handle on that."

"Thanks!" Summer had to preen just a little proudly. Even she was a little impressed with how the horse was turning out, and she figured maybe she could even use it for a cheap, quick birthday present for her mom. "And thanks to a childhood brought to you by Play-Doh and summer programs."

"If you wanna stay after next week, I could get that fired for you so you could glaze it," Hardison offered. "Though it's comin' out nice enough that it won't need a glaze to look finished."

Okay, Peridot could do this. She was going to start with a pinch pot, and then she was going to...

...

To...

She frowned at the little hollow ball of clay thoughtfully for a moment. And then she started squishing it around a bit, until it resembled a duck. It was even a duck with the appropriate number of butts!

"A duck?" Hardison paused and chuckled. "I was expectin' a sculpture of Pumpkin. I like it!"

He had no idea that having the correct number of butts was an achievement, but if he did, he'd be very proud.

"You do?" Peridot looked up thoughtfully at Hardison at that. She hadn't actually expected he would, after the clear trauma from her nightmare robonoid back on class one. "It's similar to the robot I made some time ago, after I couldn't find a purpose for the bread I made in Home Economics class."

She tilted her head back down at the duck she'd made.

"This one doesn't eat bread, though."

This was a duck, not some kind of terrifying non-Euclidean creature from the uncanny valley. This was a nice, normal duck with a single butt and that was comforting.

"Nobody wanted to eat your bread?" Hardison asked. "Like, I thought y'all could just set stuff out in the common rooms an' it'd be gone before you spun twice."

Peridot squinted a little at that. Clearly, this was the first she'd ever heard of it.

"I don't often go into the common rooms," she offered. "JARVIS suggested it to me. So I built a duck."

Rather than go to the duck pond, to give it to real ducks, yes. She only realized the flaw in that plan much later when she actually looked up what a duck was. Apparently the birds at the pond were not 'water chickens.'

"I'm seein' the flaw in that plan, yeah," Hardison said with a nod. "So, lemme tell you somethin' about teenagers. Most've 'em are always hungry. You ever have food that's, y'know, edible, if you drop it off in a common room, someone'll probably eat it an' be grateful."

Or dispose of it properly. Either way, win/win.

"...What happened to that bread then?"

Since the duck hadn't eat it.

"It went very, very hard," Peridot sighed. "By the time Lucille said it wasn't a duck unless it laid eggs and I thought to turn it into a toaster, the bread had taken on considerably less breadlike properties."

Which was a shame. She hadn't realized food would do that.

"Ah." Hardison said. "Well, it seems like you've come a long way since then," he said. "Learned a lot."

"I've learned that only half the duck population lays eggs anyway," Peridot offered. "And that what Lucille says doesn't matter much."

Peridot had learned the definition of 'bully' because of her. So.

"I also learned that I like ducks."

Edited 2018-01-26 23:33 (UTC)

Tip beelined right to the wheel, skimming over the instructions with full confidence that she was going to have a great time.

Then she actually sat down and tried to center her clay on the wheel.

After her third time pulling the clay back off the wall, she was beginning to rethink her approach.

"Looks like you're havin' a bit of trouble," Hardison said, coming by to watch her progress. "Want some advice? Or you wanna try a little more first, see if you can get it yourself?"

"I got it," Tip grumbled, a determined look on her face as she smacked her lump of clay back down onto the wheel, hunched over with her elbows braced on her knees, and started the wheel. "Just -- need to -- get it --"

Whack! Bits of wet clay spattered on her face as the lump flew off and hit the wall the fourth time.

"-- centered." She sighed. "Yeah, okay. Advise me."

"A'ight, so first question is, how wet is your clay?" he asked, using all of his acting abilities to not show even a hint of amusement. "If it's real dry, it ain't gonna stay."

Tip wiped a bit of wet clay off her face. It was wet enough to spatter, but kind of only on the surface. "How dry is 'too dry'?"

Hell yeah he's humming Unchained Melody while working on one of the wheels. Don't you judge him.

Ugh, sorry this is so late.

And the adventures of Tip having the same art troubles I do continues.

THROWING POTS IS WAY HARDER THAN IT LOOKS, Y'ALL.

Aaaagh, I remember throwing pots back in high school art class. SO MANY POTS DIED HORRIBLE DEATHS. And then one day it was like a freaking switch had been flipped, and poof, I got it right every time.

... It was weird. I doubt I could do it again now, like twenty years later.

I did alright once the clay was properly centered on the wheel. And by "all right", I mean had a great time shaping funky bowls and vases and then lumping them back into blobs so I could do it all again.

I could not center the damn stuff to save my life. My ceramics teacher finally gave up and started centering all my pots for me.

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Art, Thursday, Period Three

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