Look I do write

Part of what I wrote about the summer, which I haven't worked on in forever.

At work, I reproduce. I look at a thing and say, yes this is a thing and this is what things look like. This is how you make things.
I have been teaching art for six years. When I was eighteen I was a cashier at a department store during winter break, an associate they are called. I had a nametag. It said my name, associate. We had to wear all black. Men came up to me and asked me to help find clothing for their wives, she was my size, maybe a little bigger. After three and a half weeks I went back to college. My associate badge sat in the bottom of my purse. I pulled it out months later, covered in gum.
People ask what I make and I say things that other people have made mostly. People ask what I teach and I say it’s all very technical really.
The only memory I have of my kindergarten teacher is how once she colored in a picture of Christopher Columbus with crayon and I wanted my Christopher Columbus to look exactly like hers and it didn’t. Later that year she slipped on ice and broke her back and we had another teacher, but I don’t remember her at all.
I wanted to be an artist for a little while because in second grade I drew a bird and thought that it looked good. My Uncle tells the same story, only about himself and he is an artist. He paints a lot of rocks.
These are not applicable skills. I look at a line and make it like another line. I put lines together and I make an arm, a back. Over here, there’s shadow because that’s where the muscle lies. Art teaches that the image has meaning. The symbolic expression. The way a person can look at another person’s face and understand what they are feeling, but this never works entirely. These are the lines that make up your face, together they make you whole.
Logically, off in the distance, things become bluer.