Where else would you find this chair but outside the door of the art teacher on conference day? “Bonjour!” The chair is beckoning me with its colorfully streaked wooden canvas.
“I am no ordinary chair….mais non! I am the chair of an artiste. I am unique, playful, and bursting with the unexpected, like any good work of art, and like my mentor, the art teacher “
“If you want to see ordinary, stroll down the grade level hallways. Linoleum newly waxed floors are the red, or gray, carpet of every day existence. And those school color tinted plastic chairs, quelle cauchemare…They scream of eighties warehouse surplus. They line the hallways from one end of the building to the other, filled with parents waiting to see teachers. At the end of the day, they are merely endless rows of empty seats who no longer have a sense of purpose.”
Now I am classic and edgy all at the same time. I wasn’t born yesterday, I was here long before the plastic interlopers appeared.
I thought I heard the chair talking to me as I walked by I started to respond… “ So true, you are exquisite. You are a lovely invitation to parents on conference day to say, the world of art has a wide and deep seat ready to host you and arms ready to embrace the artistic impulse of your child
Let your painted freckles splash across the wooden palette, your alternative throne. You will remain a step above the molded plastic that slowly encroaches, making the unnatural natural.