Different Art by taley

Different Art by taley - September 2017 Scholarship Essay

Art class, specifically painting, was a drag for me in high school. I was not everyone's depiction of artistic and especially not intelligent when it came to thinking of a grand theme to display with our so-called "master pieces". It was an embarrassing task to critique my work when I was obviously the least talented. Although nobody ever picked or bothered my artwork and me, nobody seemed to enjoy or accept it either. That was until a month into the class a young girl by the name of Malaysia had soon accompanied the empty desk beside me, a girl who would be labeled by society as “different” or “special”.
The very goofy art teacher, Mr. Pettijohn, discussed the next project saying that we would paint what home felt like. I had no clue what home felt like to me, but Malaysia seemed to have had a pretty good idea as she let out a loud laugh after hearing the instructions. Malaysia loved art, she was not particularly good at it, but neither was I; she still smiled and enjoyed her work often looking over at my sad painting of the Japanese symbol for “home” mumbling positive thoughts over my way with a gigantic smile strung across her face. I never thought anything of it other than a friendly gesture, and to return the favor I would soon paint with her so she no longer needed her special education teacher to help guide her brush across a watercolor paper. Malaysia and I enjoyed each other’s company every day in our first-period class just happily painting without a care of how detailed and perfect our paintings had come along.
Weeks had passed and it was soon time for us to critique or paintings to the class discussing the purpose and techniques we used to pursue them. One kid after the other, everyone presented their neat and thorough paintings as they spoke the perception they had intended for the outcome of the pieces. Malaysia was soon picked to stand in front of the class and show the class what she had worked on the past three weeks, she walked slowly up to the front and held her painting as high as she could. She mumbled in excitement as she waved the very sloppy painting of a house up, soon yelling “House! HOUSE!”. The class all looked around at each other and started to spill out a giggle. This struck me hard, considering she had followed instructions and although her painting wasn’t perfect, neither was mine or anybody else’s for that matter. I then invited myself up to the front to present my poor Japanese symbol. The lines were not clean and I had no care of impressing anyone with it, so I soon jumped to its purpose.
I let out my words a little harsh, “Home is where someone finds joy and safety. It is a safe place where people go to be themselves, which in this case is not an art class where we are meant to show our talents and feelings and to not be judged for them.” I was hurt that students so ignorant would tease someone so innocent for a certain skill that she nor I was capable of. I did not learn a single thing about painting that semester, but I did learn that many people have weaknesses, and they should not be completely judged by them.