Paint Me, Professor | Student-Professor Erotic Novel | 18+ | ✔️

89 - Reflection

Alison
***

I stood in front of my eight paintings, my legs shaking like leaves. I made sure they were completely straight to the millimeter, going over them with a rag to remove any spec of dust. Using some cleaning product, I wiped down the full length mirror which was standing at the beginning of the lineup, careful not to erase the words written on it in red and blue paint: "Who are you? What stories do you tell yourself?"

The old church atrium, the designated place for the final assessment exhibition, was packed full with Art students running around like headless chickens trying to get their work displayed on time. We had approximately ten minutes before the judging panel arrived and we'd have to vacate the area.

There was nothing I could do now to change my collection. I had to remind myself that I was proud of the body of work I had produced independently of the grade I'd get. Looking around, it was painfully obvious that my work wasn't the most exciting, the most imaginative, or even the most ambitious in technique or execution. I knew that in comparison to my classmates, my work wasn't a showstopper, but it was deeply reflective and thought-provoking. I made sure to make that abundantly clear on the didactic label of each piece by providing an explanation of the meaning of each painting.

There were two paintings in particular that I liked the most. The first one was a self portrait where I was standing on a levitating platform above an abyss. This abyss (which resembled Alice in Wonderland's descend down the rabbit hole) was littered with thousands of books floating in the air, weightless. The painting begged the question: Will she jump? Will she choose a story to form her identify? What is her true self? That was why I had chosen to include the mirror at the start of the collection, so the viewer could put themselves in my shoes and question who they are.

The second painting I liked the most was Oliver's painting. I had used tiny shards of glass and glued them on his pupils so when you looked at him you saw yourself. However, that wasn't for me the defining characteristic of the painting, but rather the person who was holding the child in a tight hug.

Even though I was nervous for the judges' deliberation, I was more nervous about Chris' reaction. I hadn't shown him a single piece, nor did I tell him about the theme. He would surely connect the dots and realize I chose the themes of reflection and self-identity because of the conversation we had at Kent's exhibition at the beginning of the year. He'd put two and two together and realize that, in fact, this collection was secretly about us, about our lives, about our traumas and battles. Ultimately, this collection was a reminder that we are not our past and our mistakes, we are who we choose to be.

The time for getting everything ready elapsed. Professor Agnes (who was supervising us and thus wouldn't be part if the judging panel) made us all leave the area. David caught up to me as we left the atrium and gave me a pat on the shoulder.

"Excited?" He asked, his eye beaming. He knew his collection was perfect. Of course he was excited.

"Expectant," I replied. "I just want this to be over soon. Just the thought of having to wait three hours for the judges to grade everyone... It's only going to make me more nervous."

"Don't worry about it!" He said, reassuringly. "Let's get Maddie and sit outside with some nice iced coffee. We deserve to finally sit in the sun, bask in the sunshine!"

If it wasn't for David's enthusiasm, I would've waited by the atrium entrance the whole time, biting my nails and overthinking everything. I followed him to where the sculpture students were displaying their work on the other side of Evergreen. When we got there, Maddie's face lit up and she didn't think twice before joining us on the green lawn.