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July 02, 2020, 11:38:14 am

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Topic: A story about the time I was in art school, and my studio burned down  (Read 360 times)

woad

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woad

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In case you're wondering what was in those boxes btw it was mostly ripped canvases and so many drawing dummies it looked like a mass grave.

Lemon

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woad

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A sequel
The Painting Yale Lost
I used to work at a copy shop on the Upper East Side. It was an hour and a half commute at five in the morning for just above minimum wage. The wealthiest neighborhood I’ve spent a considerable amount of time in, for sure. I once saw an ad for a lost dog that said, “last seen wearing a Burberry coat.”
Once, a customer came up to my counter, exuberant: she had just gotten into Pratt Institute, she told me, and wanted to print her acceptance letter.

“Oh,” I commented, “I went there.”

I do not remember the exact change in her expression, but imagine the sound of lightly crushing a blown egg in your palm, as an emotion.

“You mean you took a few classes?”

“Oh, no, I got my BFA at Pratt.”

She looked absolutely terrified at this point, her voice was beginning to shake, and despite how I should have felt about her fear of becoming me, I felt bad for her.

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