knack for it. Which I certainly don’t.
She continued to stare at the blank sheet of white paper. There was nothing really difficult in Mr. Smith’s assignment, she knew. It was meant to be an experiment, a learning assignment. But somehow she couldn’t manage to get started. She realized she was afraid.
Afraid! Christine Pratt? The girl who had given speeches to an entire auditoriumful of attentive students when she ran for student council office? Who had tried out for every club from cheerleading to debating to drama? Who had dated nearly every team captain, boys that most girls were too shy even to smile at? Yet as much as she tried to convince herself that there was nothing frightening about mixing a bunch of paints, she couldn’t bring herself to get started.
“What’s the matter, Susan?” Mr. Smith had been strolling around the classroom, glancing over people’s shoulders and offering suggestions. “I’m surprised that you haven’t gotten started yet. This is the kind of thing I would have expected you to throw your whole self into. Are you having trouble getting inspired?”
“I guess so, Mr. Smith. I seem to do better with the more structured kind of projects.”
“Nonsense! This is really no more difficult than anything else we’ve done this semester. I suspect that you’re just a bit shaky about confronting something as freewheeling and loose as this. But an artist can’t always rely on the conventional methods. Sometimes you have to search to find the medium that best expresses what it is you want to communicate. To be able to find that medium, you must be able to step beyond the ordinary limits. That’s what separates the true artist from someone who just plods along doing things that have already been done. Try loosening up!”
Loosening up! Chris started at Mr. Smith’s words. Why, that was what she was always telling Susan! “Be more daring. Don’t be so conventional! The safest way of approaching things is not always the best way!”
And here she was, the daring free spirit, held back by the same kind of fear. The fear of letting go, of experimenting, of possibly failing. So there was a little bit of that human weakness in her, too! It was painful to acknowledge but a lesson worth learning. From now on, besides recognizing it in herself, she would stop accusing Susan of being so timid. The only difference between them was that their fears were brought on by unrelated situations.
“Why don’t you take a walk around the classroom, Susan?” Mr. Smith suggested in a friendly tone. “You might be able to conquer your ‘artist’s block’ by looking at what some of the other students are doing.”
“That’s a good idea,” she sighed. Then she brightened. Not only would she get to see how other people were managing to mix their paints; she would also have the opportunity to talk to Keith West, her sister’s secret crush.
She stopped beside several desks, peering at people’s palettes and asking questions about their techniques before pausing before what she had ascertained must be Keith’s desk. Blond hair, green eyes, an expression of total absorption in his work.
“Hi, Keith,” she ventured, hoping that her sister’s description was accurate enough for her to pick him out of the whole class.
The boy looked up from his painting and blinked hard, as if his thoughts had been so far away that he needed a few seconds to get used to the fact that he was back on Planet Earth once again.
“Oh, hi, Susan. How’s it going?”
Chris couldn’t help noticing that he turned a bright shade of pink when he saw her. Was he just shy around girls, or was Susan Pratt someone special to him? She was also surprised to see that he was rather good-looking. She had assumed that her twin wasn’t a very good judge of that kind of thing, but Susan, she discovered, had a good eye after all. There was something pleasing about his even features and cautious smile. The round tortoiseshell
She continued to stare at the blank sheet of white paper. There was nothing really difficult in Mr. Smith’s assignment, she knew. It was meant to be an experiment, a learning assignment. But somehow she couldn’t manage to get started. She realized she was afraid.
Afraid! Christine Pratt? The girl who had given speeches to an entire auditoriumful of attentive students when she ran for student council office? Who had tried out for every club from cheerleading to debating to drama? Who had dated nearly every team captain, boys that most girls were too shy even to smile at? Yet as much as she tried to convince herself that there was nothing frightening about mixing a bunch of paints, she couldn’t bring herself to get started.
“What’s the matter, Susan?” Mr. Smith had been strolling around the classroom, glancing over people’s shoulders and offering suggestions. “I’m surprised that you haven’t gotten started yet. This is the kind of thing I would have expected you to throw your whole self into. Are you having trouble getting inspired?”
“I guess so, Mr. Smith. I seem to do better with the more structured kind of projects.”
“Nonsense! This is really no more difficult than anything else we’ve done this semester. I suspect that you’re just a bit shaky about confronting something as freewheeling and loose as this. But an artist can’t always rely on the conventional methods. Sometimes you have to search to find the medium that best expresses what it is you want to communicate. To be able to find that medium, you must be able to step beyond the ordinary limits. That’s what separates the true artist from someone who just plods along doing things that have already been done. Try loosening up!”
Loosening up! Chris started at Mr. Smith’s words. Why, that was what she was always telling Susan! “Be more daring. Don’t be so conventional! The safest way of approaching things is not always the best way!”
And here she was, the daring free spirit, held back by the same kind of fear. The fear of letting go, of experimenting, of possibly failing. So there was a little bit of that human weakness in her, too! It was painful to acknowledge but a lesson worth learning. From now on, besides recognizing it in herself, she would stop accusing Susan of being so timid. The only difference between them was that their fears were brought on by unrelated situations.
“Why don’t you take a walk around the classroom, Susan?” Mr. Smith suggested in a friendly tone. “You might be able to conquer your ‘artist’s block’ by looking at what some of the other students are doing.”
“That’s a good idea,” she sighed. Then she brightened. Not only would she get to see how other people were managing to mix their paints; she would also have the opportunity to talk to Keith West, her sister’s secret crush.
She stopped beside several desks, peering at people’s palettes and asking questions about their techniques before pausing before what she had ascertained must be Keith’s desk. Blond hair, green eyes, an expression of total absorption in his work.
“Hi, Keith,” she ventured, hoping that her sister’s description was accurate enough for her to pick him out of the whole class.
The boy looked up from his painting and blinked hard, as if his thoughts had been so far away that he needed a few seconds to get used to the fact that he was back on Planet Earth once again.
“Oh, hi, Susan. How’s it going?”
Chris couldn’t help noticing that he turned a bright shade of pink when he saw her. Was he just shy around girls, or was Susan Pratt someone special to him? She was also surprised to see that he was rather good-looking. She had assumed that her twin wasn’t a very good judge of that kind of thing, but Susan, she discovered, had a good eye after all. There was something pleasing about his even features and cautious smile. The round tortoiseshell
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