I was planning something fancy and extravagant for my destruction project, but all those plans came crashing down one winter's day.
It was as close as it possibly could be to christmas at school (note the sock-monkey-santa-hat) in the picture, the day before winter break. I was celebrating the completion of my most brilliant work yet, a painting of a certain colossal feline attacking a certain capital of England during a certain industrial era, but I shan't say too much about that. Anyway, the end of the period approached and ms. Rossi, bread-hater extraordinaire, requested of me in a tone that implied that what she was about to say was in no way a request, but a demand, that I dispose of my beautiful bread windmill. I know not why she would want to rid the room of such a thing, besides of all the totally valid reasons which would drive somebody to rid the room of such a thing, one of which was that it was about to stay in school for about two weeks without any maintenance or supervision and who knows how many art thieves would try to break in and steal my masterpiece. I decided that instead of allowing my art to be grabbed up by the grimy hands of the black market, I should destroy the art that I had worked so hard to create. I set it upon the table, said my goodbyes, and then tore it apart with my bear hands. I assembled the mangled, segmented, pulverized corpse of my creation into a new creation. A memorial, of sorts, to the fun times this piece and I had had, with a smiley face at the heart of the pile. Then I threw everything into the trash and never saw it again. Though this story may have began and ended within five minutes, and the nature of the world is temporal and temporary, as I realized after abandoning the shards of my art in the trash and left the art room door one last time before christmas break, I may take some comfort in knowing that this story has been immortalized on this blog, like a distinctly digital Akkadian tablet that upon second thought is not so much like an ancient Akkadian tablet and more like a computer.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorRaddahraddah raddah raddah raddahraddah raddah raddah Archives
January 2015
Categories |