A Moment in the Art Room

A Moment in the Art Room

Zoe Green, Creative Writing student

Oliver stood in the doorway of the art room. The familiar scent of damp clay wafted about, paint fumes circulating throughout the air. The pencils smelled of earthy wood, the erasers of hot rubber. He could sense the dry, fibrous fragrance of piles and stacks of fresh paper amidst the myriad of pleasant odors. Taking a breath in, he inhaled the smell of art—the smell of endless potential and possibility. 

Entering the room, Oliver ran his hand across the bumpy, graffitied wooden tables. He took a seat on a wobbly stool that was too tall for the table. The stool creaked metallically as he shifted his weight and set his bag down. Vulgar words and obscene pictures were scratched and etched into the wood surface of the tables. Oliver laughed weakly to himself and sighed. He rested his chin on his propped-up hand, becoming mesmerized by the room’s peaceful ambiance.   

The art room was quiet, as Oliver was the first student to arrive to the class. It was a good silence—a light, refreshing one. The quiet reminded him of a blank canvas, temporarily untouched, but awaiting a spirited introduction to sound and color. 

Oliver’s eyes wandered about the room. Unfinished sculptures, projects, and paintings resided on large shelving units. Sinks with dusty, clay encrusted faucets lined the counters which were littered with miscellaneous tools and materials. Posters of Van Gough, Da Vinci, Picasso, O’Keefe, Monet, and Kahlo along with wall-mounted sculptures created by students crowded the wall-space. Oliver lifted his gaze to the closed wooden cabinets above the counters, knowing they were filled with paintbrushes and paints of all sorts, woods and metals and glass, plaster, beads and knick-knacks, adhesives, tools, sponges, and a fantastic array of other sculpting paraphernalia. 

 Soft, natural light shone through light gray blinds, casting a gentle, sunlit glow across the room. The art room emanated a certain promise, a sort of vitality driven by anticipation and creativity. Oliver sat still. He breathed. In this moment—in the art room—his mind became steady, focused, and keen to get creative.