Date: August 31, 2018
Yesterday was new student orientation. I had to go pick up my ID card, but I wasn't interested in going to the “welcome luncheon,” or whatever. Instead, I gave myself a tour of the Fine Arts building.
No one else was in the drawing classroom. There was just the model stand in the middle, surrounded by easels. I thought about how, in just a few days, I'd be there as a student. It hit me all over again that this is actually happening, and the room stuck with me even after I left.
Today my mom and I went to the art supplies store to get everything on my lists. Mom kept saying how it feels like just yesterday we were shopping for crayons and glue so I could start kindergarten – she probably thinks I didn't notice her wiping away tears while I was grabbing paint, but my mom is the opposite of sneaky. I didn't say anything because she'd probably have started crying for real if I did, and then they'd need a clean up on aisle five. She's embarrassing like that.
I'm willing to give her a pass this time, even though she's starting to suffocate me with all the “my little boy is growing up so fast!” talk. It's thanks to my mom that I'm even on this path. She's a photographer, and even though she makes a living shooting weddings and family photos, her real passion is fine arts stuff. She's been showing her work in galleries since before I was born, and the first time she took me was when I was four.
That's the earliest thing I can remember, the smell of her perfume and a print on the wall that was bigger than I was, bursting with color. I've been hooked on drawing ever since.
J.