CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XLIX: Yesteryears

Mr. Wexlar had a tendency to wave the eighth graders out, out and toward the rising sun of high school, like it was his business to shuffle them along, toward the next art teacher. The motion became more pronounced the closer Brendon got to promotion, like Mr. Wexlar had a habit of swatting flies from his face, except those flies might well have been early teens just about to start their most troubling years.

He’d come in with a ruddy face blotchy with bug bites, assumedly from a night out on the lake, and demand perfection up until that last bittersweet week where he became maudlin, repeating himself.

“You’ll come back now. Show me upgrades you’ve done to that portfolio. It’s a good one. Serve you well until you make another.”

“I will.” And Brendon meant it at the time, though later his mind feasted on fears that kept him from lugging new paintings back to middle school to show Mr. Wexlar.

“If you need help with college applications. Or need a recommendation. Or anything at all.” Another wave across his face at an imaginary fly. “You’ve got vision, Brendon. You’ll go far.” Continue reading →

CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XLVIII: Yesteryears

Mr. Wexlar showed Brendon how to fold used cardboard and poster board into a makeshift portfolio. Was a project for the week for the entire eighth grade glass toward the end of the school year, but while Mr. Wexlar didn’t seem to care much what other kids did with theirs, he paid special attention, much of it critical, to Brendon’s work.

“You’ll want to smooth those edges. Here. Here’s a file. Get to shaping that. And make it even. Marks off if the angles are wrong. No, I don’t care if you haven’t had trig yet. You at least have your protractor, well, use it and your ruler and figure it out.”

And later, during decorating:

“You want to stand out, but not be gaudy. You want to say, ‘I’m worthy of attention’, not ‘look at me, look at me, look at me.’ See all that glitter Emma and Jasmine are using? Yeah, don’t do that.”

“I wasn’t going to use glitter.”

“Of course you weren’t. Not my point.”

“What was your point?”

“To push yourself just shy of the glitter stage. There’s a sweet spot, between too-much and not-enough. And more often than not you like to swim about in not-enough because it’s comfortable.”

“I do not,” muttered Brendon. Because yes, yes he did. Continue reading →

CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XLVII: Present

“As you wish.” Orion set his glass down. “I’m too curious about people, normally a positive trait, unless one takes it to extremes and ceases to think of a person as a person and instead as a puzzle. I lack a certain amount of empathetic capability, but have taught myself to see things I can’t understand, to remember what gets me the response I want and what to do to avoid situations I dislike.”

“You sound like you’re describing a psychopath.”

Orion laughed and gave a rolling, one-shouldered shrug, his gaze like knives flicking about the room. “I have emotions. I’m just selfish and wish everyone thought as I do even knowing that’s unrealistic to the extreme. But knowing is half the battle and being in control of myself allows me to avoid much of the drama of my youth.”

“You? Having drama?” The anger hadn’t fled, but it’d banked in the easy acceptance Orion had of laying himself bare in such a simplistic, open manner. His faults on display, his complacence lacking in malicious intent.

“I assure you, the amount of drama existing around my younger years would have drown you. Especially if you’ve become less reserved, as shy persons are wont to do as they gain experiences that teach them to be less afraid of the world in general.”

“I’m not afraid of the world. I just don’t like it invading my space.”

“You’re afraid now.” Orion’s gaze turned considering. “I’m just not sure of what.”

“I’m not a puzzle,” murmured Brendon. Continue reading →

CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XLVI: Yesteryears

They talked about running away. Not to the circus, but to the races, of course. To Dayton, to Nashville, to France for the Grand Prix, all the places that made sense in middle school because those places couldn’t be that far away, could they?

The talks were cathartic to Brendon for those days when life felt unfair because he’d been forced to do extra dishes or bathroom scrubbing or burgeoning yard work as the season did its slow change. He hadn’t quite been aware of Casey’s seriousness, even after that afternoon spent hidden away with Taylor L. Casey certainly didn’t talk much of it, though he got surly and muttered worse things about his father than he ever had about Tori Kel.

“Maybe we could talk to Robbie, the three of us do something like we used to. Paintball, maybe? Robbie’s got the extra guns.”

Casey’s expression about split Brendon’s head in two it was so vitriolic and cruel as he returned Brendon’s words in a mocking tone. “Robbie’s got extra guns. Of course Robbie’s got extra guns. Got extra everything. I thought you were my friend.”

“I am.”

He’d been nostalgic, thinking of the days the three of them had rode their bikes down The Big Hill, racing against age and time and color and all things grown-up. Back when he hadn’t noticed that Robbie’s bike had been newer, cleaner, more expensive. That Casey’s clung to sun-warped stickers that had originally been pink, now faded a dirty white. Continue reading →