For some strange reason, I'm feeling tired as hell after logging in here a few hours ago - reading stuff, leaving a few comments and voting. Of course I did a few other little things as well, spending some time daydreaming in a state of absolute stupor.
Now I have to come up with something to write about before my planned nap! Guess I'll just let my mind wander and let the ole fingers tap upon the keypad at will?
My teachers at school always complained about my daydreaming escapades in class, instead of paying attention...
They were mostly BORING...!!! Except for teachers like Mr. Eisenstadt, my Middle School art teacher. He was a tall, middle-aged man with thick glasses and crazy, wild hair that looked as if he just crawled out of bed from a restless night of sleeping.
Mr. Eisenstadt obviously LOVED art and teaching about it, for him, seemed to be a joy. He was a joy to behold, as well.
I remember the first day of seventh grade art class after we had piled into his classroom and settled down as he came storming, excitingly into the room from the hallway in a shockingly, exuberant manner.
Upon plopping down two arm-loads of various, miscellaneous and unidentifiable debris onto the desk, his booming hello trailed off into a an equally loud oration about how "ART EXISTS ALL AROUND US...!!!"
Rushing to the large sash window, Eisenstadt flared his arms out recklessly, wide as if he was about to hug a mysteriously, fat invisible entity standing in front of him.
"LOOK AT THE TREES... THE BIRDS, THE CLOUDS, THE LEAVES...!!!" He bellowed... "IT'S ALL ART"!!!
His loosely hanging, knotted tie had swung up over his shoulder and his huge, dark framed glasses sat precariously askew, low on his nose by the time he returned to the desk, leaning violently forward, bracing his hands on the mess before him.
Eisenstadt's oversized suit jacket had peeled back a ways, over his narrow shoulders, hanging limp and wrinkled. It looked as if he had bought that suit long before going on a diet and shedding about a hundred pounds...
The jacket wasn't tattered, dirty and torn, but it did look like he might have fallen asleep with it on the night before...???
I saw a lot of fear rising in the eyes of my fellow classmates; a few seemed to be ready to bolt for the door at any second, to escape.
Me? I was enjoying every minute of it. A quick glance around at a few of my miscreant school chums, shot me enough wide grins and smiles to signal their amusement too.
I suspected we had lucked out with at least one teacher in the new school that we'd look forward to seeing every day; and... I was right.
Mr. Eisenstadt was not only interesting with his mannerisms, he was also a very gracious, encouraging man who never failed at vocalizing praise towards anyone's artwork, regardless how ugly it appeared to the rest of us.
Those of us who he thought were a bit more gifted or advanced were deemed, "Wonder-boy" or "Wonder-girl" on regular occasion. Though, he made sure to tag everyone else a wonder-child as well once in awhile, to boost their esteem too.
Another thing I remember about that teacher... he never complained about my daydreaming ways...(Perhaps the only one) Maybe he understood what I might be envisioning behind those cloudy eyes of mine, when they went silent to the large Sycamore outside?
I'll never forget that man... He's got at least a small spot living within every piece of art I've ever created in this life till now and probably will into the future.
Ya gotta excuse me now... My eyes are getting a little watery; must me the strain of staring at this damned computer screen...
I don't remember ever thanking the man; though I hope he heard it in my smile... I really hope so...
Ciao
@AngryMan
, in Support of Resistance to CensorshipImages: Compliments of Pixabay.com