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Mitzi Kay Jackson

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A Calling
By Mitzi Kay Jackson
Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Rated "PG13" by the Author.

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Erika splashes the cool waters on her face she had never though to do it before. The spring was cool against the days heat and she closed the door on the world.

"Yes, but what is it? I mean what are you trying to say with this, this"  Erika enteruppted "it is a neck scrupltor" Her art teacher stood back from it and looked again as if she was trying to understand what it was that her young art student was trying to convey. The other students in the class snickered and giggled and the sound ran up Erika's back lifting hair. after a few more moments her her trying to understand her difficult but fine student she turned to Erika and hushed the class. Erika's eyes was dead on her as they have laid before at other times when it seems they were just not understanding each other. The teacher looked around the class at the other black students to gain some kind of support or acknowledgement of her not being a racist or just picking on Erika, but she truly didn't understand where this young lady was coming from.

"See students", she gathered her wits "we all see art different what one sees, maynot not be what the other sees". A sure fire "a" student who had molded a beautiful face bowl that looked like something antique yelled out "but Mrs. Harris that don't look like no scrulptor to me!" and alot of the class agreed and some even laughed out loud. Erika turned to her classmates and opened her mouth to speak but the teacher put her hand up to silenced her. Mrs. Harris again wressled with her words, "we may not understand right now what it is we are looking at but this is definitely art, this is definitelt a scrulptor, the rods of copper were worked out" she looked at Erika to answer her, and Erika nodded with a yes. "Then Erika, Mrs. Harris sat down near the window, "will you explain your artwork to us then"

Erika not really wanting to share herself with this class or this teacher who seem to always have such a hard time relating or understanding her stood quiet looking at her piece she had choosen for this project feeling now as if she had made the wrong choice. Then she faces her classmates again whom all eyes seemed locked on her. "I dream women, I dream black women from,here home (usa) and I guess all parts of Africa. And even though I have never been, never did any real hard research or anything images come to me sometimes, with words or numbers and stories and my hand and mind reacts, this pointing at her scrulptor is a reflection of one of those images and it is not exactly but it is close" looking at her teacher. "I know art isn't always about me feeling herself defining herself as when she is in her creative writing class, that she passing with the same enthassium as with this art class. "My heritage isn't something I can wash off even if I am not profienct in it as I should be, this is how I choss to express myself. This scrulptor is a representation of womenhood, motherhood, godliness,originality. It is something slightly exzaggerrated of something my mother's mother's mother's mothers and on some more would have been adorned with.

Kyle spoke out another "a" student "I get it, I kinda knew that was what you were going for, it is really innovative, you know . Art don't have to fit in everybodies head right?" Looking at Mrs. Harris who was still looking at Erika's artwork "right". The class clapped and Erika grabbed up her scurlptor and sat it on her space of the table.

After the ending of class Erika took her time packing up and leaving out not sure if she was angry or sad or both at the same time. Mrs. Harris left out of the class to meet another teacher but not before saying to her "good job". Kyle stopped at her desk I reallymeant what I said, I enjoy everything you have brought in this class your things are always controvesail, exciting and fresh, I hope you keep doing what your doing and not conform to what we all are doing." Erika looked at Kyle not realling knowing what to say, not knowing what his motives were and decieded to take him for the words that just came out of his mouth, thanks.

Always fighting the ideal of school, only going for family sake she skipped all her other classes and drove out to her parents home parked in the backyard and stood in lake with all her clothes on splashing water all over her face. Not even noticing Mrs. Betty family neighbor riding her power chair checking her garden, who nose went up in the air surely when her family moved in and defintiely at the sight of her fully clothed standing in the lake in the middle on the late morning, "huh artist". 


(sorry for the missed spelled words rushing to get it down will clean it up later)


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Reviewed by Muhammad Al Mahdi 3/8/2009
Yes, it often is like that, isn't it. You do crazy things to keep your sanity and you are called crazy. Maybe it is true, from a certain perspective,and maybe it is not. But there is a kind of madness that is sacred. If you're the only one who's seeing things, how would you reach those who see nothing? Or let's say this: one is not seen if one is not known.
Reviewed by Ronald Hull 11/12/2008
Art is in the eye of the beholder.

Reviewed by Walter Jones 11/12/2008
Day and words work to bring forth a writer and the need is met, a skill set waiting to explode, always the gift shines.. Walt
Reviewed by Karen Vanderlaan 11/11/2008
neat story--enjoyed!
Reviewed by Regis Auffray 11/11/2008
Most interesting, Mitzi. Your story makes me wish I could meet Erika. Thank you. Love and best wishes,


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