Thursday, February 16, 2006


The entire art class brushed in their naive paintings of a forest. When they had completed the task the instructor clapped his hands together and stood by as his students vanished into their newly created worlds. It was the only way to teach them art appreciation. Let them live in their simple perspectives and their scenes without detail or depth. Let them spend a fantasy lifetime there and suffer firsthand the banalities they created. Let them return better artists, more thoughtful of affect, more appreciative of nuance, more feeling for form and composition. It worked for everyone. Except Sven. He had taken care to paint a tractor into his canvas. This he drove to the nearest town and lived the high life until it was time to return. The rest of the class went on to jobs as illustrators, portrait painters, decorative designers, and what not. But no one would take Sven. He went on to a life of poverty and non-appreciation and relative obscurity, though he was later recognized as the most brilliant artist of the era.

Story #336

2 comments:

Doug said...

Haha, Indie. I'm just wondering if we were sent to the worlds we write. I bet I'd come back less sarcastic and you with a moderate affection for surprise. Naive forests, indeed.

weirsdo said...

No! Please don't make me live with the cast of NG4J!

Seriously, I would like to have some composers live in their own audio worlds for a while.