The Disappearing Class

I started with 12. One woman never showed up even for the introductory class. Then, her name mysteriously vanished from the roster. So, I’m down to 11, but only 9 show up regularly. One guy attends, draws, and produces work but never turns in an assignment. His grade is 0%. He’s there but then again isn’t.

Last night, twenty minutes before the end of class, I advised students to go outside to spray their charcoal drawings. I told them to come back so that they could add another layer of soft vine charcoal. Perhaps they could even venture into using…charcoal pencil…

Five out of nine didn’t come back in time to finish their drawings. When the clock hit 9:30, I crept to the back door to see where they had gone. I saw two huddled in a dark shadow. An eerie glow lit one woman’s face a phosphorescent blue. Her thumbs twiddled at something she held in her hand…One stood apart and stared at the black silhouettes of a stand of trees. Only one sprayed.

I opened the door. A chemical fixative fog struck my nostrils. I gasped and said, “It’s time for you to come in and add the second layer. There’s only five minutes left.” Like ghosts staring at a mortal who interrupts a solemn graveyard ritual, they met my speech with mute indignation.

Four of the nine did not linger outside. They managed to spray their drawings in the customary five minutes required for the task. But the dallying five sauntered into the room right at the quitting mark. The late returners stone-faced me when I reminded them that they had also failed to come back punctually on Monday. A bemused look crossed one guy’s face when I said that their drawings were incomplete without a second layer. Communication with him felt like shouting across a gray void. Only my voice’s tinny echo came back. I began to wonder if I was the one who had begun to fade.

I plan to have them draw a four-object still life next week. They’ll have to spend two classes working on it. 11 have already dwindled to nine. Five out of nine have become semi-transparent. Will only four escape the clutches of a dark ennui that drains willpower and drive? Who will be left by next Wednesday?

Lazy Days

I had ambitions for Spring Break at Valencia College. I planned to weed trouble spots in the yard, paint the underside of the porch roof, take my car to the garage, and work on a stalled novel. Instead, I slept late, read, drew and painted a bit, gave classes at Crealde, and put extra effort into cooking meals. Bidens continue to infest the kitchen garden, the tire pressure light (liar) still glows yellow on the dashboard, hanging chips dangle down from the porch roof, and not a word has been added or subtracted from “Stitches”. Built-up fatigue leapt on me afternoons and after supper in the form of deep naps, the ones where you wake up an hour later and can’t remember who and where you are.

I may have given myself permission to take a few lazy days in anticipation of my next break. My work load this summer should be lighter, and I fully intend to conquer myriad household jobs such as painting the living room, grouting every surface that comes in contact with water, hiring a company to replace windows, trimming branches off the front yard magnolia, finishing the stalled novel, completing 5-6 paintings, attending art openings, and taking short trips with Judy.

I will spring forward the day after I turn in final grades to attack my job list with unmatched fervor. I won’t take time to sit under a tree to read, smoke a cigar and sip whiskey. I won’t take daily naps in a comfortable recliner. I’ll never indulge in pleasant pastimes while work remains to be done…if I can locate my doppelganger and offer him terms.