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early acts of subversion
Mar. 24th, 2004 11:19 amIn elementary school -- this might be grade 3? -- I had a regular teacher and an art teacher who went around to all the classes doing art projects because, I guess, the main teachers weren't creative enough.
She was kind of a hippie, but a gruff, stern hippie. Long straight yellowy hair, tinted glasses. (It was the early 80's...) Upon reflection, maybe she was more of a biker chick. But she knew how to batik. Anyway.
She gave us this assignment: draw a picture of yourself when you're 80.
I had, still have, a very intense phobia of death. So here she's asking this seven-year-old to draw a picture of what they'll look like when they're much, much closer to death than they are now. I was filled with horror. I loved to draw, and this was an unimaginable distortion of that previously uncomplicated pleasure.
I decided I just wouldn't do the assignment. Things like that go unnoticed a lot more in elementary school than in university, I've noticed. I noticed it then, too, and occasionally took advantage of it.
Weeks later, she came to me and told me that I hadn't done the assignment. Which, obviously, I knew.
I had to stay after school and complete it. She gave me paper and crayons and stood over me to watch. I was filled with terror and rage.
So, with as much accuracy as I could manage, I drew a picture of her.
She didn't say anything. I don't know if she recognized herself, or wondered about this dark-haired child imagining a blonde old age. She just put the picture up with the rest.
-rf
She was kind of a hippie, but a gruff, stern hippie. Long straight yellowy hair, tinted glasses. (It was the early 80's...) Upon reflection, maybe she was more of a biker chick. But she knew how to batik. Anyway.
She gave us this assignment: draw a picture of yourself when you're 80.
I had, still have, a very intense phobia of death. So here she's asking this seven-year-old to draw a picture of what they'll look like when they're much, much closer to death than they are now. I was filled with horror. I loved to draw, and this was an unimaginable distortion of that previously uncomplicated pleasure.
I decided I just wouldn't do the assignment. Things like that go unnoticed a lot more in elementary school than in university, I've noticed. I noticed it then, too, and occasionally took advantage of it.
Weeks later, she came to me and told me that I hadn't done the assignment. Which, obviously, I knew.
I had to stay after school and complete it. She gave me paper and crayons and stood over me to watch. I was filled with terror and rage.
So, with as much accuracy as I could manage, I drew a picture of her.
She didn't say anything. I don't know if she recognized herself, or wondered about this dark-haired child imagining a blonde old age. She just put the picture up with the rest.
-rf
