shades of red

hibiscus red;

Professor Augustine leaned against
the front of his desk as students
with their weary hearts and eyes
climbed into seats that had
little messages about their
personalities. Those who sat
in the front, or those who
immediately gravitated towards
the back of the room — it provided
a glimpse of the identities that
took temporary residencies in these
walls.

Professor Augustine placed a figurine
on one of the stands; it resembled
a human body but was masked with
delicately painted cherry blossom
flowers.

On the adjacent stand, he placed a
medium-sized canvas with three-
dimensionally shaped cherry blossom
flowers that had been pipetted on with paint.
The artist had waited weeks for their
painting to dry in order to obtain
this height.

Professor Augustine began his lecture,
"Look at the art objects that two people
have made before you. Tell me what
basic elements they share."

A student raised his hand, "They both
have flowers."

Another spoke up, "They both use
a shade of pink for the flowers."

Professor Augustine nodded at the
answers, "Yes, you two are right.
What else? Charlie?"

Charlie's face paled; he hated
being called on when he didn't
raise his hand.

He stared at the two objects in
front of him, carefully analyzing
the messages that they waved in his
face. "They both exist. They have
substance."

Professor Augustine raised one
of his dark brows, slowly nodding
but without giving away any notion
of amazement.

"They both are hiding something."
Rose's voice broke the white noise of
the room.

"Go on," Augustine encouraged. "How?"

"Well, the figurine uses the cherry blossom
flowers to mask its identity and the shape of their
body. The canvas, while it's two-dimensional,
uses the three-dimensional flowers to hide the
drawing at the base of the canvas. I know this
because when you were placing the canvas
down, at a certain angle, you can see pockets
of color embedded in between the flowers.
They are both hiding something."

Professor Augustine smiled, "Brilliant."
He pressed the projector's button to allow
the class to stare at his quote of the day.

"I thought becoming myself was
improving each part, piece by
piece.
But it was finding a hidden
wholeness, seeing the fractures
as design."
—Brianna Wiest.

"Do not limit yourself
when you design art.
Let's say you are a sculptor,
and you've worked on a sculpture
for months. Your thumbs are developing
calluses and your lower back has
started to ache whenever you bend
to mold the statue correctly.

Then, without any signal, the
art room's ceiling falls onto
the sculpture. Shattered, broken.
Into a thousand pieces. Some jagged,
others smooth, some large enough to
fit in a palm, and others so minute that
it takes a magnifying glass to capture.
What does the sculptor do?

Two options:
adapt or begin anew. 

Use the shards
to your advantage, glue them onto the
remaining piece that hasn't been completely
broken down. Show a new message—despite
the horrors of life that leave you
jagged and scarred, you will extend
and grow new tissue, new rock, new
meaning. Or you can sweep away the shards
and the sculpture into the garbage bin.
In the end, it is your decision. However, do not
allow a brink moment of despair taint the
heavenly clouds of creativity that rest in
your mind.

If a bright color shines in your eyes,
do not shoo it away due to your
pain. Let the pain subdue,
and then find the courage to find
peace in this shade."