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fighting for fantasy

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the will to fight, and those who believe in us [Sep. 26th, 2006|02:05 am]
fighting for fantasy

akeyla
""fantasy?" the teacher asked, having catched the word I had tried to hide between mystical and fairy tales.
He looked over the table to me sitting there on the other side biting my tongue for having let the word slip. We had been talking about my past and that ridiculous task the teachers had given us, to find an initial memory of the past that has changed us until today. It had to be related to art so I had chosen the memory of me and my grandfather making up wolf stories and then me, a kid at the tender age of 5, illustrating them in shakey circles with sticks for leggs and triangles for ears. "So through those scetches of the ideas you had made up with your grandfather you had improved your art. But speaking wolves, they are not really what you could call a common subject" he had digged deeper. And then I had said it.
I stared at him, watching for an ever so tiny wink of reaction. Fear crawled at the back of my brain yelling "lie to him! tell him you never did it!"
But his face remained silent, supporting his head with his hand he waited patiently for what he knew was a story to be told about one of the bigger stages in my life.
What was there to loose? I knew he was not one of my regular teachers, he could not influence my grades. And with the basics said it was not as easy as to say " no I never sculpted before" , for the sake to save my C.
"yes" I began, cautiously, ready to change the subject at any time. " it was the beginning of a passion, until today"
he bent forward, folded his hands and giving me a surprised look he said: " how did you survive? here? at this school?"
I looked away. "I just never told. It is something I keep secret. Do in my freetime." I answered, realizing that he was the second teacher I had told so far, and even then he was not a main teacher, just like our other teachers assistant. I wanted no crossing ways, no running fires in the teachers rooms.
"Why?"
I eyed his face, he was curious, and there was a shimmer of symphaty in his eyes.
"I was burnt" I answered, silently. "I was heavyly burnt. for painting a unicorn. I was burnt for painting a subject that somehow displeased a teacher. And I've kept it an iron secret because I could not bear the words "fantasy is awful and I wont ever take a second look at it"."
he stared in silence, then, with a shimmer of disbelief he asked if that was true, if that could really be said by teachers.
"It has been everytime I revealed it. With one exception. I had grades lowerd for it. And I had people trying to mock me and by it just revealing that they even had no idea about that subject they abhored so much, they would even compare me with an artist that I was worlds appart." I laughed, falsely, bit my lip and looked out of the window.
He looked at me, scratched his head and sighed. "I've been telling them all the time. I have been fighting agains these narrowmined people here who fought agains every natural interest found in a student". He paused, I looked back at him, surprised.
"Our schools here try to extinguish an every personal characteristic and emotional freedom, an every own world at its root. Pushed away and caged up students are forced to work with the sterilized square surface, their arms pinned down and their head fixed in one direction How are people like thes euspposed to deal with children that come full of the most marvelous ideas and stories only a child has? and after all, what has it got to do with the subject? its the idea, the emotion, the learing and the quality behind it that counts, not wheter it is cubism or surreal related or whatever..." he paused , putting his palm over his face he continued: "But they just dont want to see it. I cant hardly believe you are here, sitting infront of me, shrugging off what is your greates passion and where your heart belongs..."
"it is my best way to keep it off me..." I whispered.
"But this is so sad..." he answered
"I will survive it."
he paused, long, looking at me, then he asked:
"But then why are you here? wanting to become a teacher? here at a school that turns its back on everything that does not fit its ideals..."
I straightened my back.
"I am here , I am here to teach what they did not want to see can be learned through fantasy. To render what is on your mind, to paint freely. I am here to stand up for those those like me, to help them and to never let my history be repeated again."
He smiled at me, somewhere I saw pride in his slightly wet eyes.
"You have to break through" he said.
"No.It does not matter wheter I win or lose or get my fantasy to be openly welcomed here, what matters is that I can be a good teacher."









There is still hope. There will be always hope. Just as long as you
dont give up what you know truly is in your heart.


And we are not alone



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(no subject) [Sep. 12th, 2006|03:31 pm]
fighting for fantasy

akeyla
I am also adding the paintings I made short after the story beneath occured. The color ones are A2 each. They helped me a lot, and their chronological order even tells you my emotions.
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the great scar, my story [Sep. 12th, 2006|12:35 pm]
fighting for fantasy

akeyla
I am living fantasy through my artwork. It has always been so, down to the very first thing I painted. I had no fear to paint dragons and other creatures or things that could not be. It was my passion to make them up and give them life with those few lines I could do holding a pen. Until today I know I am still one of the quicker artists at school when it means coming up with an idea and rendering it creative.
But in January 2005 I learnd my hardest lesson.
A lesson that has made stop sharing myself as I truely am with everyone. I have become cautios. I have become the silent wall that has no life and blends with every other student.
I am studying art. ARt teacher to be exact. I have always wanted to be a freelancer but I decided to have a second basis. I like to teach, or should I say, support an every artist trying to be one. I may not be psychologically or , from what I consider a powerful traditional art theory basis, capable, but the liking was there.
The scar I earned I carry with pride, it has made me what I am now, a silent and glaring creature that will fight to death for those who are like me before I become this.
Somewhere I will never forget this. its been over a year now and it still burns as if it was yesterday. I just stopped talking a lot of it.

January 2005, Basel, artschool
The subject we had was called something like creating art, it was a suject held over a few months once a week and we were rather free to create our own projects and works to a main title.
This time our subject was TIME.
being both a writer and an artist I wrote within one day a short story based on my childhoods idea of the immortal Uniconr. If you wish, you can read it here:
http://akeyla.livejournal.com/172370.html
I illustratet it in various versions and made some guide books to go along with it, one of them full of illustrations of studies for unicorns and descriptions of their kind and their history.
WHen I eventually got back the project the two teachers had graded it pretty low. At first i understood as they had , rushed, pointed the low quality of the presentation. Some of the papers had different sizes. But lateron i realized, comparing with my fellow students, that it could not only be that.
SO I spoke again with the, what i knew was the main teacher, as the other one always seemed to just follow her lead.
She took my works and told me her main reason. the fantasy. I told her that a fairy tale has fantasy. Then she began to dig and with some horror I saw what I had never expected to see from a teacher or have as a sample. She showed that she purely hated fantasy. All was fantasy. And it was bad. She would not want to take a second look at it as soon as either Unicorn, dragon or whatever symbol, name titel only HINTED the word fantasy. Because fantasy is no art. I stared in disbeliev. SHe tried to argue that she already knew all the fantasy because she had some "friends who did it". I did not know what to say. SHe asked me what I wanted to be and when I said art teacher she said if I added these images in the folio I would definitly fail. Then she dug out my scetch book with the unicorns and said that she could specifically see the fantasy in the way I DREW MY LINES.
I asked her how she could know that and she said "the way you make a horse head in a few lines". As to her believe you had to image google a horse, print it and then use the tracing table to copy it to paper.
She literarely told me I sucked because I drew fantasy and because I CAN DRAW.
I was numbed. I packed my stuff and left home, my fellow dear students had waited for me, asked me how it had gone, but as they met a cold and silent wall, stopped asking. My dearest friend gave me a nudge and said "dont listen". But I had already heard.
And it had hit be deeper than i thought. I never really told the people around me that week. I spoke about it here on LJ and other places because I thought I'd burst and rage in my little appartment. I even kept still from my parents, close friends. My parents only noticed something was wrong when my Dragoncon application got through, they called me and I started to cry on the phone like a baby. I was down on the very lowest ground in my sould, but when my Mum said she's come the next week to visit me in Basel and my honey was to come over I ripped my arse up and tried to be happy.
I hated that teacher so much that moment that i hated myself for feeling something like that.
I got protective over my artwork, hid it from public view at schools. And partially darkness creeped into my works.

eventually I calmed down a bit and beside my anger I felt something new.
Determination.
now I even more wanted to become an art teacher. I wanted to be able to prevent with all power that something like this could ever be repeated again.
But until then I would be the silent and the still student that had no life and nothing that could only hint fantasy.
I have been at school for one year now and until today 95% percent of the students and all of the teachers (atleast teachers i frequent) do NOT KNOW what I do.
I will even lie to them telling that I have never done sculpture before so they cannot ask me what was the subject of my already done works. Lies. White lies. I feel ashame but I have to. This determines me even more.

Do not be mistaken, this was not the only case.
She, that teacher, had an excuse to directly attack my work, but with another teacher I had a similar problem. I made the mistake of sending him my homepage link. apparently he looked at it and asked me about it. WIth an almost stupid question of if I had done those works. A week after we had grades feedback and he also commented on my colors to be to much fantasy. In color. By then I was already numb and I took it with a shrug, because if I tell you what object I painted you will shrug at him too: http://www.mineralminers.com/images/abalone/mins/abam101x.jpg
again that was a reason for his grading.
Another month later another teacher told me that my work was scary. Like Giger, HR Giger from Alien.

It is a long time ago. From then until now I have occaisonally raged, pittied the persons, raged at them, shed a few tears inside myself. For the new year I burried it and called it PAST. Past, with a lesson learnt.
The novel and the illustrations I made died that very week I got that teachers feedback. It could have been a good projekt, maybe. But I experienced the first time what it meant to have an artwork killed. Right now the whole collection of artworks and writings reside with a good friend.

This is my story. I will have a better one for you next week, but for now I leave you with an encouragement.
Things can hurt, but if you really love them and you know they are part of you then it is still better to turn your back at the world and wait for your time.
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(no subject) [Sep. 12th, 2006|12:16 pm]
fighting for fantasy

akeyla
Fantasy

it was and it has ever been.
It is the first thing I got to know, and until today it is my only freedom. It is in our blood, it is what we see when we close our eyes and follow our dreams.
It is much much more than unicorns or dragons or knights of the old table, kids books. It is the base of our creativity. removing it would not "just" remove those few brightly illustrated novels you find at the candy store but every one of us. Down to our very beginning.
There is no such thing as "growing up" the way in eliminating what was before. I am still what I was when I began.
Clearly there is a difference between keeping your made up friends alive as if they were real or just treasuring the fact that you can still close your eyes and dream, close your eyes and see MORE.
The hardes lesson I got to learn was when I was degraded for doing precisely that.
which is why I am here.
To tell you my story. To tell you you are not alone.
and that it is worth every scar to go on on your path, a path of the fantastic that has no beginning and no end.

And if you are here still reading then it is because you have not stopped to dream.
I invite you to share your experience
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