over a large red piece. "Ready ... begin! Stare at the colors! Make sure you're looking at both colors!"
We stared.
"Do you see how the colors are vibrating? This is what happens when two complementary colors are beside one another! Boy, is that crazy, or what? Here we have two inanimate objects, but my eyes are picking up movement! Vibrations!"
Ed rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
"Okay, you can stop staring," he said, putting the white on top once more.
This time the red and green had traded places.
"Ed, isn't this bad for our eyes?" Ralph asked.
"No. No, Ralph. Not at all. On the contrary. This is great training for your eyes. It will help your color sense significantly."
"I mean, all you're doing is making us see spots. Couldn't you teach us color theory without making us see spots?"
"I suppose so, Ralph. But I find that this demonstration is a
great introduction for first-year students. And I have such fun every time I teach it!"
He grabbed Ralph by the sleeve.
"Ralph! Just look at your shirt! It doesn't get any better than this!" It was purple with a yellow paisley print.
Ed focused on the fabric. Then he turned to the white paper.
"Holy bazungas! You guys should check this out! That is great! Those yellow spots are purple now! Try it, Ellie. Try it, Sam. And Ralph, if you can get a good enough angle on that shirt, you try it too! It would be a shame for you to miss such a textbook example!"
Meat Market Girl
While I was walking down Artist's Row Friday morning, Nate whooshed by with a fresh painting about half his size.
"Can't talk. I'm in a rush!" he yelled, as if I couldn't tell. "Call me tonight!"
The canvas bumped against his back as he ran. It was another girl. But this beauty was buck-naked. Or "nude," as they say in art school.
No, if it's a classmate, she's buck-naked.
I knew who it was. Sloane Boocock, who had stood behind me in the new ID line. She'd lost her old one at the Artist's Ball. Her voice was high-pitched, as if only her body had made it through puberty. She wore a clingy cropped sweater beneath her unzipped coat.
"This school is a meat market," she'd warned me, pointer finger extended. "Don't let 'em fool you. They're all assholes."
Maybe he
was
just painting them. Art students must pose for each other all the time. Besides, I wasn't his girlfriend anyway.
She's
the one who should be bothered by all this.
A Big Stink
I had to go bad. And I don't mean number one. I made a run for the dining hall.
There was only one unclogged stall left and I got to it just in time. As I finally began to relax, two chatty girls came in. I hoped they wouldn't be waiting for my seat. Luckily, it seemed they were only making a quick appearance-check. Through the crack in the door I could see them examining their pores.
They were in the middle of an animated debate.
"I
told
you I never posed for that scumsucking bastard of a shit!" one of them said.
"Well, neither did I!
You
at least got to wear clothes!" the other one answered in a little girl's voice. Her breasts looked like they wanted to jump out of her low-cut stretch shirt.
"But they weren't my clothes? I never wear anything that tight?
And are my breasts really that big? And my thighs? I don't think so?" Almost everything this one said sounded like a question.
I squinted through the door. It was them all right.
"No, I'm sure he exaggerated," Sloane said. "His only guide for your proportions was his imagination!"
"Whatever. He could've at least given me something flattering to wear? A robe would have been better? Or even a bathing suit?" Poor Maura; she was always asking questions that would never be answered.
"I just can't believe Fritz didn't say anything!" Sloane ranted. "It's like he actually thinks I took my clothes off for a picture my entire class would crit!"
"Leggings and a bodysuit are just as bad?" Maura's voice trailed off with the groaning door.
As they stomped away in platform-shoe unison, one of them flipped the light
We stared.
"Do you see how the colors are vibrating? This is what happens when two complementary colors are beside one another! Boy, is that crazy, or what? Here we have two inanimate objects, but my eyes are picking up movement! Vibrations!"
Ed rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
"Okay, you can stop staring," he said, putting the white on top once more.
This time the red and green had traded places.
"Ed, isn't this bad for our eyes?" Ralph asked.
"No. No, Ralph. Not at all. On the contrary. This is great training for your eyes. It will help your color sense significantly."
"I mean, all you're doing is making us see spots. Couldn't you teach us color theory without making us see spots?"
"I suppose so, Ralph. But I find that this demonstration is a
great introduction for first-year students. And I have such fun every time I teach it!"
He grabbed Ralph by the sleeve.
"Ralph! Just look at your shirt! It doesn't get any better than this!" It was purple with a yellow paisley print.
Ed focused on the fabric. Then he turned to the white paper.
"Holy bazungas! You guys should check this out! That is great! Those yellow spots are purple now! Try it, Ellie. Try it, Sam. And Ralph, if you can get a good enough angle on that shirt, you try it too! It would be a shame for you to miss such a textbook example!"
Meat Market Girl
While I was walking down Artist's Row Friday morning, Nate whooshed by with a fresh painting about half his size.
"Can't talk. I'm in a rush!" he yelled, as if I couldn't tell. "Call me tonight!"
The canvas bumped against his back as he ran. It was another girl. But this beauty was buck-naked. Or "nude," as they say in art school.
No, if it's a classmate, she's buck-naked.
I knew who it was. Sloane Boocock, who had stood behind me in the new ID line. She'd lost her old one at the Artist's Ball. Her voice was high-pitched, as if only her body had made it through puberty. She wore a clingy cropped sweater beneath her unzipped coat.
"This school is a meat market," she'd warned me, pointer finger extended. "Don't let 'em fool you. They're all assholes."
Maybe he
was
just painting them. Art students must pose for each other all the time. Besides, I wasn't his girlfriend anyway.
She's
the one who should be bothered by all this.
A Big Stink
I had to go bad. And I don't mean number one. I made a run for the dining hall.
There was only one unclogged stall left and I got to it just in time. As I finally began to relax, two chatty girls came in. I hoped they wouldn't be waiting for my seat. Luckily, it seemed they were only making a quick appearance-check. Through the crack in the door I could see them examining their pores.
They were in the middle of an animated debate.
"I
told
you I never posed for that scumsucking bastard of a shit!" one of them said.
"Well, neither did I!
You
at least got to wear clothes!" the other one answered in a little girl's voice. Her breasts looked like they wanted to jump out of her low-cut stretch shirt.
"But they weren't my clothes? I never wear anything that tight?
And are my breasts really that big? And my thighs? I don't think so?" Almost everything this one said sounded like a question.
I squinted through the door. It was them all right.
"No, I'm sure he exaggerated," Sloane said. "His only guide for your proportions was his imagination!"
"Whatever. He could've at least given me something flattering to wear? A robe would have been better? Or even a bathing suit?" Poor Maura; she was always asking questions that would never be answered.
"I just can't believe Fritz didn't say anything!" Sloane ranted. "It's like he actually thinks I took my clothes off for a picture my entire class would crit!"
"Leggings and a bodysuit are just as bad?" Maura's voice trailed off with the groaning door.
As they stomped away in platform-shoe unison, one of them flipped the light
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