In Part I, an insensitive art teacher humiliates me in class.

In Part II, my appreciation for art is swamped by spilt paint. 

Tossed From Art Class!

Part III of Jackson Pollock, Art Thief!

In the seventh grade, I had another frustrated artist/art teacher who wasn’t famous and couldn’t teach, either. I would hang out during art class and try to make nice with the girls in my class. But as far as art was concerned, I made nothing. In Junior High School, at least in New York City, you were actually graded for art and gym class. I was border-line failing. No one ever failed art, but I was succeeding where others have failed to fail.

Towards the end of the first trimester, the art teacher called me over to her desk. She asked me why I hadn’t done anything. I shrugged. She asked again this time her voice got louder. I told her I wasn’t good at art. She said she didn’t care as long as I tried. She said she didn’t want to fail me. I told her okay, walked back to my desk and did nothing. She failed me.

Midway through the second trimester, she asked me again why I wasn’t turning in any work. I told her again that I wasn’t a good artist. Again, she said she didn’t care. She just wanted to see me make an effort. I told her not to her breath. She lost it. She went on a rant and threw me out of her class.

I have never been thrown out of a class before. I didn’t know what to do. I stood in the hallway dumbfounded. I decided to go to the bathroom. I stayed there for five minutes trying to figure out what to do. Bored and feeling odd about hanging out in the bathroom, I exited. Big mistake, the principal was walking the halls just then.

He stopped me and asked to see my bathroom pass. I got scared and told him the truth. He had me go sit outside his office for the rest of the day. He called the art teacher in and had a long talk with her. I was sent home with a note to my parents that they must attend a conference with the teacher, the principal and me. I explained to the principal that my parents didn’t speak English and they would not be able to understand. He said, “Don’t worry about that!”

I dreaded having to go home. My parents worked for hourly wages and anytime off would mean a loss of income. When my father got home, I showed him the note. I tried to explain to him that the art teacher was failing me because I was not good at art. He furrowed his eyes. He couldn’t understand. He had my sister write a note saying that he would be able to attend the meeting in two days. I returned the note to the principal’s secretary and the appointment was made.

To be continued ...

© Trudge164, 2009

Part I of Jackson Pollock, Art Thief!

Part II of Jackson Pollock, Art Thief!