RUDIMENTS
Long before reality television there was a little program called Professor Schmitt's Advanced Drawing Class.
I sat next to Katie, who had mirrored my art education for the previous two years, and counted 33 other students in the studio. The meaty syllabus in my hands was like a first novel.
"Read the last page, Dan," whispered a dour Katie.
I skipped through a stack of word-packed sheets to the final one, which held two small, hand-scrawled blots on a sea of white.
no crying
I looked up to wonder how 35 of us would ever be able to create in such a cramped space. I also wondered who would cry in an art class.
Professor Schmitt sat in the front of the room, arms crossed in front of him firmly pressing a weathered yardstick to his chest. His icy glare fixed on each student's face as if he were daring us to a stare-down. No one looked at him long. Schmitt was known to be greatly talented and nothing less than mean. Face to face with this demonic legend one could taste his own fear.
During the class, Schmitt reviewed examples of our most previous work.
"VOT DA HELL EEZ DEES!?!" Schmitt screamed in the face of a skinny underclassman, startling us all with the force of his rage.
He glowered down on the young plebe blinking up at him frozen in terror. The only sound--metal scraping against tile as an unsteady stool was resituated under the nervous butt of someone in the back row.
"DEES EEZ CRAP! YOO DON'T BEELONG EEN MY CLASS!!" screamed Schmitt, sending splinters of spit onto the frightened youngster who quickly pulled his work off the wall - ripping it in the process - and ran from the room.
Schmitt spun around on us.
"Who eez next?" he snarled.
By class three we were down to 22.
"Maybe he's mean so he can get us down to a manageable number," I whispered to Katie.
"Maybe," Katie replied. "But I can't believe we are drawing a stinking Styrofoam cup in an advanced class."
Schmitt made rounds along the inner circle of our tables, stopping before a pretty, bleached blonde who meekly smiled up at him.
"How eez eet goeeng?" asked Schmitt, his own mouth curling up in a smile, his hands clasped around the yardstick behind his back.
Taking the smile as a cue, the pretty blonde tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"It's going pretty well."
A moment passed with their smiles giving us all the sense that the ogre was showing a soft spot.
"Vell, vood yoo like to know vot I think?" cooed Schmitt.
"Yes, please tell me!" said the blonde, on the edge of excitement for the impending first words of acceptance any of us would hear.
"I think eet eez A F---EENG PEEZ OV SHEE-!!" he screamed, ripping the sheet from her drawing pad, knocking the table over and spilling her art bin contents across the floor.
"Look at DEES PEEZ OV SHEE- people!" Schmitt screamed as he held her drawing high in front of us. "Dees eez someding I expect from un child! Eet eez like zee peench pot yoo make een zee grade school. Eet eez un embarrasmeent!"
The room was silent except for the stifled tears of the blonde. Our first cryer.
I looked at Katie and we knew she would not be back.
Class 10. We are nine now. The assignment is color.
Schmitt stalks the room, circling behind us. Now that we are a smaller number he spends more time staring each of us down. I try to think positive thoughts. The only thing I can come up with is that we now have way more room than any of us needs to draw. I look across the room at Katie who doesn't dare look back at me. After the first cryer, we made the decision to separate ourselves in case Schmitt discovered our bond and made us targets because of it.
"Today yoo veel use color," said Schmitt in an uncharacteristically low tone. "Yoo veel NOT use dee charcoal or dee black or dee penceel."
We began pulling our colors when suddenly Schmitt's yardstick cracked across my table making us all jump.
"NOT YOO!!" screamed Schmitt, pushing the end of the yardstick up off the table and into my face.
"Yoo, Meester Cooook, veel draw vit zee charcoal more. Eet eez your strong soot. Eet eez zee rudiment ov draweeng und eet eez een yore blood. I see zis een yoo!"
The others bent to their tasks but I stood unblinking in the face of evil. I caught a glimpse of Katie over the professor's shoulder, shaking her head for me to back my stare off of Schmitt, but it could not be done. From then on I knew that I had landed on a mentor. A mentor who would not make me cry.