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Post by Errol Thom Murdock on Jun 19, 2011 18:13:45 GMT -7
Whoever said mixed media had to make sense never met Errol. Errol had a box of 120 crayola crayons, and then a pack of 8 metallic and 10 sparkle ones, and a set of acrylic paint, in front of a large paper that looked like the two had puked on it. The junior was dancing a bit in his seat to some techno mix he'd put on his ipod, lost in his world of colors, shapes, sound and the occasional taste or tactile sensation. He looked down at his large paper, and smiled at the scene he'd created between the two mediums. he'd painted the sheet black initially in acrylic, then used more acrylic to paint the New York City Skyline. Then...Errol had let his imagination run wild. Color streamed from windows, seemingly random, crayons outlined the clouds, clouds where lightning was a neon yellow backlit with neon orange for the thunder, where raindrops were every different shade of the rainbow, but more pastel than the rainbow that outlined the moon in silver crayon. Errol liked it. He reached over distractedly and turned up the music, momentarily blinding himself with new colors and shapes, before forcing himself to focus on the paper, not what danced across his eyeballs; though he did mimic it. A red-violet triangle seemed to fly past the empire state building, a silhouette of an orange person seeming to run on water, chasing other silhouettes in different colors. This was Errol's world...stylized. He didn't see running people but he did see different colors to rain and music, he just gave them form...and really didn't give a fuck. This, after all, probably wasn't what his teacher had in mind with a mixed media landscape.
But then again, Errol didn't care about a lot. He cared about music, he cared about number one, he cared about a smattering of friends...but art class? He could drawn on his own without some lady lording over him. What did she think she was, royalty? She was just an art teacher on a floor over Riverdale school that was rarely used by anything other than the art students. And kids that were headed for the attic, but what was another story completely.
The dark-haired boy pulled out his earbuds, putting them on the table as he studied his work in what was now a more mundane environment. He'd leave it at that, he thought. It wasn't a Mona Lisa, but whatever. Errol looked about the classroom, now suddenly bored. The music muse wasn't hitting him right now, so he'd have to find something else to do...and dammit, where was Chess? Was she skipping? Dangnabbit, now he couldn't tell her to add color. Silly pink-hair. He sighed and opened his sketchbook, flipping through it for an empty page, then grabbing a pink crayon.
He started off with an eye, and it wasn't that bad of an eye, but there was a reason the people in silhouette form. He sucked at drawing people, that was why. He tried out some pink curls, then tried the rest of the face. It didn't look like Chess very much. Recognisable as Chess, yes, but little else in the way of looking right. He glared at his pathetic picture and grabbed another crayon, a black one, and drew scribbles right through. One was a rather oblong shape, and in frustration, mild perversion or both (maybe it was a good thing Chess wasn't here) drew a nipple on it. The boy in the orange shirt then proceeded to draw boobies all over the page. Yep. When in doubt, draw boobies. Only, right after he had, he ripped it out of his book, crumbled it and threw it - he wasn't leaving a portrait of her with a bare breast on her face in there for her to see - and....it bounced off someone.
Namely, Clara Scarlett. Oopsie.
---------------- words| 678 tagged| Clara / Morgan notes| The whole boobie thing came because I typoed "sketchboob" instead of "sketchbook"
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Post by clarascarlett on Jun 20, 2011 17:01:52 GMT -7
TELL ME THAT YOU'VE GOT EVERYTHING YOU WANT&& Y O U R B I R D C A N S I N GBUT YOU DON'T GET ME, YOU DON'T GET ME Clara was not having the best day. It all started out when her straightener nearly burned her hair. Since then, there had been unfortunate coffee spills, flying clay, objects stuck inside a tuba, lost music, and a few minor burns. Nothing seemed to be going her way. But what could one do? When countries refused to sign treaties with England, she had sat down and had a formal dinner in celebration of that country. When her classes weren't quite going her way, she let her students have a day to make whatever it was they wanted as long as what was creative and didn't involve other classwork. Hopefully in doing so, she'd be able to salvage the day at least a little bit.
C
[/color]lara walked around the room, enjoying the energized atmosphere. Her students were not being stifled by projects. They were creating. Already, she could feel her miserableness leaving her body. She felt rejuvenated by all her students. They were putting of all of their focus into creating something amazing. This was why Clara had become a teacher. She wasn't a Queen of England anymore, but she still liked to help people as much as possible. Teaching allowed her help people. By teaching art and music, she gave her students solace for when times were bleak. Art and music helped a person find one's self and be the best they could be. It wasn't about being good at it. It was about appreciating it. A[/color]s Clara walked around, she noted Errol's... interesting drawing. He was her special student, of sorts. His therapist had explained Errol's condition when he first came to school, though she could never remember the exact wording. What Clara knew was that Errol senses were rather messed up. He drew what he heard, not what he saw. Or something like that. This had led to some very, very interesting art projects from Errol. She didn't know what to think of his pieces most of the time. They were weird. Strange. And definitely original. She didn't know if she even liked his art, but she believed that art meant a lot to Errol and helped him with whatever his problems were. W[/color]hen a ball of paper hit her feet, she didn't realize that a parcel of his problems had just hit her feet. She bent down, scolding him for throwing away art. As she opened the crinkled piece of paper, her scolding stopped in mid-sentence. She looked at him sternly as the bell rang for classes to change. As students picked up their things to move on to the next class, she stayed put. "You shall be staying after class so we can discuss this,"[/color] she said crossly. She smoothed the paper down in front of him so that he could see what he had drawn before turning sharply. She put away art supplies left on the table and waited to speak until the room was empty. "Errol, I have made exceptions for you before, but today shall not be one of those days. Would you care to tell me why you drew breasts all over that paper? Or would you rather tell the principal?"[/color] Her no-nonsense look showed that Errol was not getting out of this one very easily. tagging Errol words 725 lyrics your bird can sing by the beatles notes Oh my goodness.. credits this was made by brooke ![/size][/center][/blockquote]
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Post by Errol Thom Murdock on Jun 22, 2011 17:05:11 GMT -7
Two things had kept Errol happy for most of his life. One was making music, and getting attention from it, something he'd been doing for years. He was quite smug about the fact he could tell his music teacher (who, thankfully, wasn't Mrs. Scarlett) that said teacher could go Google him - and there Errol would be, a modern Mozart. It granted him free rein in music class, that was for sure. What were you doing to say to a kid who'd conducted symphonies - hell, Errol had more experience! Seriously, what were you going to do? Nothing, that's what. Back off, that's what.
But Errol was not an artist. He couldn't say to Mrs. Scarlett "go Google me. My work is in the Met" because it wasn't." No, she held dominion over art, and so the second attempt to stay happy kicked in: a good old, 'I don't give a fuck' attitude and a great love for pissing people off. And drawing whatever he wanted, when he wanted. He had no doubts some doctor had said something to the teachers about him, or he'd have been presumed a druggie, but more often left out was the fact he was more evolved (or felt that way). He was human plus one point. So while it was a bit of an 'oopsie' moment for the brown-haired junior, it was also a moment of great funniness and opportunity.
Errol watched her bend down and pick it up, a grin slowly spreading over his face as he watched, eyes lighting up outright as she was about to form a telling off when she saw what was on it, and Errol couldn't help himself, he started laughing at her reaction. Boobies and Chess. Chess and boobies. Oh, he'd kill to know what was running through her mind right now, he would! He saw her glance sternly at him and kept laughing, right through the bell. He only just regained his composure to hear her tell him to stay after class. Whatever. Social Studies was next, what did we care? He got to mess with a teacher AND miss some of class? Score! He bit is tongue to rein in more laughter, and leaned back on his seat, looking smug. He was tempted to put his feet up, but that might be too much, too soon, so he didn't.
He looked at his drawing as she placed it before him, wondering if she honestly didn't think he knew what he drew. He still had his black crayon in hand, and was tempted to draw a penis on, but she had already turned back from tidying things. And now that the classroom was empty, it was time to talk. Mono et mono or something. One on one. Like a Western, only more funny and without the guns. He listened to her, managing to rein in a laugh until she said "breasts". Her no-nonsense tone coupled with his testosterone made it absolutely amusing to him and he couldn't help the laughter.
"Well, you see, I was drawing Chess. And then I got frustrated and scribbled on it, and then one looked like a breast, and so I drew a nipple on it, and then drew more boobies." He explained quite simply. "Then I threw it. This is really best case scenario, you know." He said, and then plowed right on. He wondered if this talk would make her dirty mind - if she had one - amused. Maybe she'd grin. Probably not. "After all, I could have drawn the breasts in an anatomically correct position in relation to her face, as after all, the human body is a word of art, but what would you say to me drawing a nude of the girl who sits beside me and I always talk to? Furthermore, I could have not thrown it and kept it and then hung it on my wall and tried to jerk off to it. Not that I would, but, you know, I COULD have. I could have under the table when you weren't looking, but I'm not that disgusting. Or, I could have drawn dogs copulating or something random, which I could always do if you'd rather...but I'm guessing you'd go with the boobies. Or breasts? Would you like proper terminology? I presume you would. Mammary gland! That tastes like celery with butter." And then he stopped, just to see how she would react to that.
---------------------- words| 795 tagged| Clara / Morgan notes| I feel bad for Chess. And Clara.
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