My Experience At The Art Classroom

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The cliché and overused posters at the back caught my attention as soon as I entered the art classroom, making me look at the art teacher in disappointment. My young art teacher walked to her seat at the front right corner wearing glasses that made her look sixty. The tables in the art room stood in a u-shape, which supposedly made us students more “social and creative”. The white board in the front of the room filled with scribbles of drawings used for other classes. I could smell the vanilla scented candle in the air that the teacher kept at all times on her desk. I walked to my assigned seat at the front right corner where I saw my friend, Michayla, flash me a smile. All the other seats and desks empty. I came early.
As soon as I sat at my desk, my friend started gushing about how amazing her weekend was. Everything she said I, admittedly, ignored. I thought about the quote I read in my favorite book before I came to class. “Whatever you are physically…strong or weak, ill or healthy—all those things matter less than what your heart contains. All those other things, they are the glass that contains the lamp, but you are the light inside.” I shook my head, diverting my attention to the long pointy needles and black papers that our art teacher put on the center of the table, and took one of the pointy needles. I touched the sharp part of it as I leaned back onto my chair, still ignoring my friend. Ouch! I accidentally pinched my index finger with the needle. I sucked on my

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