No Academy (boyxboy)

Chapt. 9

Waylon turned the lights on and took in the familiar space. The brick details of the wall and assortment of paintings. The array of colours could almost mask the ever present sense of dread the institution held. For a moment, there was personality, vulnerability. Waylon felt like when he looked at those walls, he saw his fellow students much clearer than when they were right in front of him.

The easels were set up, only one of them adorned with a canvas. Waylon had skipped the previous class despite the requested attendance of his teacher. He knew he had missed his opportunity to input his thoughts into the assignment but he hadn't had the energy to deal with Harlow. He just felt drained after every interaction.

Every morning, every conversation, every night they shared space. All of it was a chore, a roadblock in his hopes of getting better.

Waylon rummaged through the large metal storage locker that held the dried canvas he had painted on. His half baked still life now dry settled into its textures. A note was stuck to the top of the canvas;

'No show is no good! Check Harlow's easel for assignment brief and starting task.' Waylon swore he could hear the teachers voice while reading. Picturing her eccentric attire and unruly locks. He felt almost a sense of endearment, the woman seemed like a beacon of joy in this place.

Waylon carried the large canvas back to his spot, eyeing where a certain blonde would normally be stood. The idea of looking at Harlow's work made his skin goosebump. He could see the man bursting through the door to scold him for snooping when he shouldn't. Still, he needed to get his grades up and work on his growing Harlowphobia as well.

He walked to the canvas, which was placed to be perfectly illuminated by the lack lustre lighting. Waylon hadn't seen Harlow's work before and taking it in left him partially speechless. It was a pencil work of his assignment concept; an androgynous figure made of both sharp and soft angles against the impression of different patterns. The few colours that had been experimented with were bold and contrasted. They're were also scraps of fabric and material pinned to the easel along with the assignment brief showcasing different textures.

Small annotations were made with blue pen, to Waylon it almost appeared like a mad man's scribbling from his artistically illiterate perspective. He noted words such as; nouveau, Koloman Moser, Weimar and many more highlighting seemingly random aspects of the art.

Waylon managed to blink the surprise from his eyes and focus in on what was written on the sheet of paper.

'Student is to combine three distinct artistic elements from a chosen artist(s) into a work of their chosen medium.' A small note added to thank Harlow for brainstorming this brief.

Waylon didn't know what to think, he hadn't particularly thought of Harlow as artistic. In fact he imagined if he asked anyone to describe the guy 'artistic' would not be a word on that list. Although maybe he was artistic from the get go and it was Waylon's lack of notice. The boy clearly had an appreciation for music and had evidently took time into decorating his area. Harlow also seemed to take pride in his appearance, too much pride at times...

The other let these thoughts bounce around his head. For the first time he felt himself struggling to digest just how human this was. That Harlow had sat down and researched, planned and passionately began this peace. Something so far removed from violence, seemed bizarre. Waylon couldn't begin to analyse the work if he tried because it was just so foreign from everything he assumed. If anything he expected Harlow would make something provocative or against the assignment, not to build it's very foundation.