It's a first level class, designed to keep artists from falling into old habits, to make them think outside of the box -- and it's what Rabi himself is best at. It means that each class is playing with different materials, sometimes a mix of multiple materials, rarely anything flat or one-dimensional. It's about putting emotions on a page, or into a sculpture, or paper mache'd to the outside of a pair of shoes.

There's no wrong way to do it, theoretically. But Rabi isn't a traditional teacher and he's not always nice about his critique. Not that there's anything specific that someone could put a finger on. It's in look, and tone.

The students who don't try get almost no attention, aside from try harder. The students who try too hard get almost no attention. It's the in betweens, the ones who show real skill or real emotion, that catch his attention. For better or worse.

It'd been a while since Tuck had had to do anything with mixed media—since sophomore year in high school, be he'd been able to cater his interests more specifically—and he hadn't really been in a hurry to sign up for it now four years later, but he knew it'd be beneficial in the long run to move out if his comfort zone of pencils and paper.  The more mediums he exposed himself to, was comfortable with, the better he'd be overall.

Which was all well and good except that it seemed like he'd managed to win the shitty teacher lottery. Lucky him.  And it wasn't as if Mr. Mahar was terrible at teaching, he wasn't, he just seemed to have decide, fir reasons Tucker could not imagine, to make Tuck his personal whipping boy for the semester. With decent grades and we'll rounded projects it didn't make sense, and Tucker was doing everything in his power to just let the snide, barbed comments slide, because if history had taught the young man nothing, it was that crossing authority figured usually ended badly.

Currently they were working on self portraits.  The media they used was up to them, and Tucker could have fallen into his comfort zone, but instead he'd gone with oil pastel and a limited pallet.  His hands were stained a soft green from the color he was using for skin tone, the tip of a finger blending at the hollow of his throat.

@blue

It was probably worse when Rabi settled behind Tucker, arms folded over his chest and head tilted to the side, to just watch -- for ten minutes, maybe more, frowning around the edges, eyes narrowed and fingers strumming out a loose beat against one arm. When he finally spoke, it had that build of anticipation behind it, making it more painful:

"You're so literal." On its own, it wasn't a bad comment. It was something he could get away with. It might even be helpful. Rabi's eyes lifted off of him to across the room, where two girls were lazily gluing bits and pieces from magazines to sheets of paper in a scattered way. Much less literal.

@Beejoux

It had really only been a matter of time.  When, not if the man made his way over to aim a critical eye down on what Tucker was working on, and the young man felt more than saw him standing there at his back.  It tightened his shoulders, an anticipatory tension causing knots and dread. 

At one point he'd thought the critical silence was better than the comments, but it hadn't taken long to realize that one was seldom without the other and the longer it took for that grating voice to present the unsolicited critisim, the longer the mounting anxiety stewed.  Now was no different, though for a moment or two it genuinely seemed like there was no comment coming, but Rabi Mahar didn't disappoint.  It came, and Tucker couldn't help the exasperated, frustrated sigh the followed, half muffled into his hand as he raked it up to smooth dark hair back.

"Nothing was said that suggested it couldn't be."  Arguing back was pointless, he j ew it was, but he didn't seem able to help but defend himself. 

@blue

"Nothing suggested you had to use oil pastels, either. And yet you made the choice." His tone was still so mild, so careless -- like it didn't matter to him at all -- that it was almost more mean. And as he said it, this time, he started away toward the girls, an effort to get the last word, probably.

At least for now. Give him another fifteen or twenty minutes of asking them what each thing on their project meant, while they bullshitted and he clearly saw through it, and he'd be back.

@Beejoux

Tuck didn't respond outwardly.  He continued his blending, thumb smudging along the thick pigment, but internally he was counting slowly in an attempt to reign in his temper.  It was fine that Mahar wandered off, good even, because day by day it was getting harder for Tucker not to snap at him when he dug in.  If it was more obvious, more intentional sounding, the young man would have gone to a councilor by now, but it was just so...

Tuck didn't know, but he was getting tired of it.

Exhaling sharply through his nose he tried to forget about it and returned to his project, shooting the occasional resentful glance at the teacher as he talked to the girls on the other side of the room that were making magazine collages for their self portraits.  Which, in Tucker's opinion, wasn't any more or less original than his project.

@blue

Another day

The project had been a still life -- this one simple, an early practice with charcoal. The scene had been the same for everyone, and the point had been to showcase different shading styles.

No matter how well Tucker had done, his project got handed back with a B+. Because, it seemed, no matter what he did -- good, bad -- it was always a B+.

@Beejoux

At this point in the semester Tucker had ceasd to be surprised by the grades, or disappointed.  There were worse marks to obtain, and he wasn't here on an art scholarship so Mahar's petty treatment of him wouldn't be effecting his future.  Probably

Hopefully.

Either way, B+ was passing, and so long as they did the dip below that things were...tolerable. 

All he had to do was get through the semester, then he could progress away from mixed media and into a new class with a new teacher. 

A Shane, too.  He actually really enjoyed the premise of the class, working with other material.

@blue

RUDE

"...simply putting the most interesting thing in the center might seem like a solution but - "

Rabi's lecture on the golden ratio was cropped short by the sudden sound of a phone going off -- and when it did, he went silent, attention raking over the class until he found the source. Of *course*. It wasn't the first time a phone had rung in his class, but it was the first time Tucker's had. His reaction was always sharp, but this one was enough to cut.

"Mr. Williams. Is that an emergency, or are you just special enough to have social events during class?" Each word was spat, short.

@Beejoux

The sound of the ringtone was jarring, and Tucker jumped, fumbling as he jerked the phone from his pocket and hastily silenced it, pale cheeks flushing as he murmured a quick apology, the beginning of an explanation.

It trailed off as Mahar interrupted him, and his teeth clacked together as he snapped his mouth shut, looking as close to furious as he'd even come.  Without another word he powered the phone off completely and stuffed it roughly into his pocket.  Then he picked up his pencil again, holding it poised over the page of notes he'd been taking, and waited for the lecture to continue on track.

@blue

Instead of the lecture starting, Rabi watched him for another moment -- not kindly. Quite the opposite, instead. It was mock patient, like he was waiting for something to happen --

"Are you sure it's not an emergency, Mr. Williams?"

@Beejoux

Pale blue eyes narrowed in frustration and embarrassment.  With everything else that had been going on so far in three semester, why wouldn't Mahar give him shit for this a as well?  It would have been more surprising if he had just let it go.

Silly Tuck for thinking it'd play out any differently.

"It's nothing."  He refused to give the man the satisfaction of a defending excuse.  Fuck him.

@blue

Had this been high school, he would have confiscated the phone. It would have gone into a drawer and sat there for the rest of the week, likely. As it was, Rabi thought about it -- watching Tucker with a flat expression, just a hint of something calculating behind his eyes. It meant the silence dragged out another long moment, with a couple of sniggers from his classmates at Tucker's expense, before Rabi launched back into his lecture.

Over, maybe.

Except that when Tucker turned in his project on the golden ratio, it was marked down a good half point for inattention during the lecture.

@Beejoux