…on basement lighting

I was tagged in a post on the book of face this afternoon by my colleague from art school.

I don't talk about art school as much anymore because when I do, people looked bored.

people i talk to at parties like to hrar about magazines and deer meat and how great it is to barely art direct killing stuff monthly.

no one gives a good god damn about sfumato,

or about arabesque,

or pendentives.

nah. no one gives a shit about how this painting was very indicative of the fall of man.

no one wants to hear about basement lighting and about Caravaggio.

but Leo did.

Leo was a broken man. born in the wrong time. hated art majors who came to class and a used tule at will.

you see Leo failed as a painter in his youth.

because no one gave a shit about sfumato in a time when Warhol was painting soup cans.

so he didn't teach so much as he seethed at you,

you young fucker.

you don't know shit.

and I'm going to make you know about it.

but once, for a week during the semester, he changed his tone, to speak about Caravaggio.

and during this segment of the course,  this angry man lit up in a way I never saw an educator come to life about a subject in 16 years of being in the educational system.

it changed me forever.

because he loved Caravaggio so much.

Leo is dead now so, I never got to thank him for bringing some light into the basement of my soul.

I miss talking about art school.

—the bastard