Imaginationland
by Sarah Ickes
Alisia slinked away from her 3rd Grade class and walked cautiously on the wooden floorboards of the art museum. She kept peering over her left shoulder to make sure that Mrs. Frankson didn’t catch her. The rest of the class was making their way to the west wing of the museum while Alisia went toward the east. Something had caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Her curiosity overwhelmed her, even with the construction tape up and all over the hall’s entrance.
This side of the museum was closed down for remodeling and it was quite evident. Painting cans and brushes were laid askew on worn drop clothes. Hammers were pre carelessly situated on top of various tool boxes that were condensed to the farthest wall. Paintings were removed, but a faint silhouette lingered on the walls where their multi-million dollar canvases had been for the past thirteen years.
Alisia’s dress, of blue and white polka dots, bumped into one of the hammers. She held her breath in horror as it slipped from the toolbox’s weak grip and landed with a booming sound on the floor below. Panic raced her heartbeat up while the sound echoed continuously down the long hallway. It seemed so empty and frightening now. She didn’t care about the curiosity that had motivated her seconds before. She desperately wanted to find her class again and join them on their tour.
The hammer’s fall had ended its scream while she bit her nails nervous to the core. The possible repercussions that she might endure flashed through her mind all at once. The museum people would yell at her and Mrs. Frankson would give her that dreadful glare that she had seemed to perfect down to a science. She might have to stand at the wall during recess for the next month and miss snack time for the next three months. “What about my parents?” she thought.
Her stomach grew sick with dread, but as she stood frozen in place, nothing seemed to happen. No one came to see what she had done and what that loud noise was all about. No one came to scold her for leaving the class group and no one had come to punish her for entering an area that off limits to people like her. Nothing happened. She didn’t know what to make of it. Nothing was going on at all. She just stood there in the empty hall, nails in mouth, and scanned the area around her.
The sickness in her stomach began to subside and she was thinking about taking a step forward when something sparked her curiosity again. Near the back of the hall, under a drop cloth, something shined from the little light that hung in the hall. She looked down at the floor as her right foot dared to move from her frozen state. Her right foot went up into the air and came back down on the floorboards a few inches away. A small creaking noise protruded from the boards, and she quickly looked around for someone to come from the shadows. When no one came forth, she continued to walk toward the shining object one step at a time.
It seemed like forever to her by the time that she had reached the end of the hall where the object was covered by a tan drop cloth. Her hand reached into the air in order to pull the cloth down from the object. The cloth was yanked to the ground and its treasure was revealed. An old fashioned mirror hung on the wall. Dust was piled on top of the elaborate border that framed the tall oval. As Alisia stepped up to the mirror, her eyes froze in the horror that she saw.
Standing behind her was a museum person in a red vest. The lady was young and had red curls that fell on her face and down to her shoulders. Her smile was kind and her eyes looked soothing. She just stood there and looked at Alisia with only kindness on her face. Alisia reached an all new level of panic and dread. A bead of sweat appeared on her forehead and she whipped around to look at the women. But no one was standing there. Her head cocked to the side as she was confused more than anything now.
Looking back at the mirror, she saw the women still smiling at her. Turning around again, she saw no such person standing anywhere in the hall. She was the only person there.
“Don’t be shy. We have been expecting you.”
Alisia stared at the mirror as the woman motioned her hand out to her. She backed up a few steps when the hand came out of the mirror. The women smiled and allowed her teeth to show now. They were perfectly white and in nice rows.
“Don’t be shy. Come and take my hand. You came to see the museum, right?”
Alisia listened to the lady’s nice and sweet voice. It was welcoming and seemed to have a magical power over her. Before she knew it, she was taking the lady’s hand and stepping into the mirror.
She looked at herself after she reached the other side. She seemed normal but what she was standing on was not normal. It moved and shaped like brush strokes of paint on a canvas as the artist was applying them. She looked up at the woman who smiled and motioned for her to follow the brown path that kept changing colors with the scenery.
“We know about you Alisia Browning. We know that you don’t think much of art.”
Alisia was only half listening to the woman and was, instead, taking in what was all around her. Animals were running across the fields that started out as deer and then ended up being horses after a couple different changes. Trees began as bushes and changed into furs a couple different times before becoming maple trees. It was weird.
“You need to see something Alisia; something that may change your point of view.”
Alisia followed the tour guide down a flight of steps and near a lake of water lilies with bridges running over a stream nearby. A painter was painting a canvas on an easel while the sky kept changing its lighting on him. Frustration boiled within himself.
“Alisia is here Claude.”
“Oh, she is huh?” his gruff voice scared Alisia out of her surreal moment. “Look here, Alisia. Art is no picnic. Different lighting can make my whole painting turn out ruined and weird. It is not so simple in trying to get the shadows right and the highlights perfect. Those are what it look real and life like. See those ducks?” he pointed to a young family across the way.
Alisia nodded shyly.
“What do you see?”
“I see blue, green, brown, and black.” Her response came back nervous and small.
“Look closer. See the lights on the tops of their heads and the shadows under their wings? That is what distinguishes them from a two dimension drawing. That is what makes them real. That is a true challenge of skill and eye right there.”
Alisia looked at the ducks and listened to what he said. After a little staring, she began to see what he was talking about. A smile formed on her face as understanding formed in her mind. Her moment was stifled when the woman bumped her on the shoulder. Alisia looked up at her.
“Come on. We need to keep moving. We don’t want to disturb him any longer.”
She led the way down a small trail that ran parallel to a babbling brook. The day was pleasant and the air smelled fresher than any she had breathed in before. The woman did not hesitate to glance at any of the surroundings and Alisia wondered why.
“This way to the farm by the mountain’s valley and there we will meet another famous painter.”
“Why are you showing me this?”
The woman stopped and looked at her. The smile was replaced by sympathy. “You don’t have an appreciation for art because your family looks down on that lifestyle, right?”
“I am also not very good,” Alisia stated firmly with a hint of depression. The women smiled with her kindness once more.
“But you have creativity and you do have talent. It is just not where you think it should lie.” She continued to walk at a quick pace and took Alisia to a hill that overlooked a farm in the distance. But the farm did not contain the usual wheat and straw from back home. It had sunflowers and cypresses trees on it. The women brought her up to another man painting on a canvas. His subject was the sunflowers in a vase in front of him.
“She is here, Van. Want to give her some advice on anything?”
The man looked around at her with a crazed look in his eye and a brush sticking out of his mouth. He started to talk but hesitated when he realized that he still had the brush in the way of his lips.
“Simple and sweet is my advice. Look at the movement that those flowers are creating with the way they slump in the vase. Look at the strong and bold colors that they project from their pigment. They are great examples of nature expressing her natural beauty.”
He turned away from his guests and looked back at the fields. Alisia was looking at the fields and just as she was starting to comprehend his advice, the lady gently gestured her to move on down the yellow path. So, onward she went.
Some time had passed by the time that they had reached the third artist. They came upon a deserted town and there, a man was painting not the realism in front of him. Instead, his people were disfigured into simple shapes and the scene was pain through the whole piece. The woman stopped behind him.
“She is here Pablo.”
The man turned around and looked at her first. Alisia wondered if he was breaking her down into simpler shapes in his mind as the people in his painting were. He voice was not as gruff as the first two.
“Expression is what defines an artist from another. It is what makes you, you. Your style is different from others because you are seeing it through your eyes and not anyone else's. Art helps you identify with yourself and the world from your point of view.”
Alisia allowed a big smile take shape on her face when the man said that. Her parents kept telling her what they wanted her to be and what they wanted her to do in life. This artist was telling her that art was a way for her to be herself without interference from other’s pursuits. Happiness welled inside her. The man smiled, pleased with his comment, and then turned back to his painting of agony. The woman gestured her along and they continued on the path that was turning brown again. Alisia didn’t realize that they were going back to the mirror.
The women stopped just short of the mirror and turned around to look at Alisia.
“You are destined for greatness in what you will do in the future, my child. You have the talents that will push you through challenges that life throws at you. Use what you have learned to an advantage.” She paused. “There is one more artist for you to meet.”
“Who?” Alisia was thrilled and excited to meet another.
“Yourself. Now go and be who you are. Don’t let anyone change yourself.” The woman motioned for her to go back thru the mirror. Alisia started to go toward the mirror and then looked back.
“What is your name?”
“I am a patron of the arts.”
Alisia turned back around, understanding that she probably would not get an answer, and walked through the mirror.
The alarm went off and Alisia looked at the clock. Her eyes got big when she realized what day it was. Her mom called from the kitchen for breakfast. Alisia dashed from the bed and went for her blue and white dress, excited for the museum trip that day. When she saw the dress, there was some dirt on it in the shape of the top of a hammer. She smiled.
This side of the museum was closed down for remodeling and it was quite evident. Painting cans and brushes were laid askew on worn drop clothes. Hammers were pre carelessly situated on top of various tool boxes that were condensed to the farthest wall. Paintings were removed, but a faint silhouette lingered on the walls where their multi-million dollar canvases had been for the past thirteen years.
Alisia’s dress, of blue and white polka dots, bumped into one of the hammers. She held her breath in horror as it slipped from the toolbox’s weak grip and landed with a booming sound on the floor below. Panic raced her heartbeat up while the sound echoed continuously down the long hallway. It seemed so empty and frightening now. She didn’t care about the curiosity that had motivated her seconds before. She desperately wanted to find her class again and join them on their tour.
The hammer’s fall had ended its scream while she bit her nails nervous to the core. The possible repercussions that she might endure flashed through her mind all at once. The museum people would yell at her and Mrs. Frankson would give her that dreadful glare that she had seemed to perfect down to a science. She might have to stand at the wall during recess for the next month and miss snack time for the next three months. “What about my parents?” she thought.
Her stomach grew sick with dread, but as she stood frozen in place, nothing seemed to happen. No one came to see what she had done and what that loud noise was all about. No one came to scold her for leaving the class group and no one had come to punish her for entering an area that off limits to people like her. Nothing happened. She didn’t know what to make of it. Nothing was going on at all. She just stood there in the empty hall, nails in mouth, and scanned the area around her.
The sickness in her stomach began to subside and she was thinking about taking a step forward when something sparked her curiosity again. Near the back of the hall, under a drop cloth, something shined from the little light that hung in the hall. She looked down at the floor as her right foot dared to move from her frozen state. Her right foot went up into the air and came back down on the floorboards a few inches away. A small creaking noise protruded from the boards, and she quickly looked around for someone to come from the shadows. When no one came forth, she continued to walk toward the shining object one step at a time.
It seemed like forever to her by the time that she had reached the end of the hall where the object was covered by a tan drop cloth. Her hand reached into the air in order to pull the cloth down from the object. The cloth was yanked to the ground and its treasure was revealed. An old fashioned mirror hung on the wall. Dust was piled on top of the elaborate border that framed the tall oval. As Alisia stepped up to the mirror, her eyes froze in the horror that she saw.
Standing behind her was a museum person in a red vest. The lady was young and had red curls that fell on her face and down to her shoulders. Her smile was kind and her eyes looked soothing. She just stood there and looked at Alisia with only kindness on her face. Alisia reached an all new level of panic and dread. A bead of sweat appeared on her forehead and she whipped around to look at the women. But no one was standing there. Her head cocked to the side as she was confused more than anything now.
Looking back at the mirror, she saw the women still smiling at her. Turning around again, she saw no such person standing anywhere in the hall. She was the only person there.
“Don’t be shy. We have been expecting you.”
Alisia stared at the mirror as the woman motioned her hand out to her. She backed up a few steps when the hand came out of the mirror. The women smiled and allowed her teeth to show now. They were perfectly white and in nice rows.
“Don’t be shy. Come and take my hand. You came to see the museum, right?”
Alisia listened to the lady’s nice and sweet voice. It was welcoming and seemed to have a magical power over her. Before she knew it, she was taking the lady’s hand and stepping into the mirror.
She looked at herself after she reached the other side. She seemed normal but what she was standing on was not normal. It moved and shaped like brush strokes of paint on a canvas as the artist was applying them. She looked up at the woman who smiled and motioned for her to follow the brown path that kept changing colors with the scenery.
“We know about you Alisia Browning. We know that you don’t think much of art.”
Alisia was only half listening to the woman and was, instead, taking in what was all around her. Animals were running across the fields that started out as deer and then ended up being horses after a couple different changes. Trees began as bushes and changed into furs a couple different times before becoming maple trees. It was weird.
“You need to see something Alisia; something that may change your point of view.”
Alisia followed the tour guide down a flight of steps and near a lake of water lilies with bridges running over a stream nearby. A painter was painting a canvas on an easel while the sky kept changing its lighting on him. Frustration boiled within himself.
“Alisia is here Claude.”
“Oh, she is huh?” his gruff voice scared Alisia out of her surreal moment. “Look here, Alisia. Art is no picnic. Different lighting can make my whole painting turn out ruined and weird. It is not so simple in trying to get the shadows right and the highlights perfect. Those are what it look real and life like. See those ducks?” he pointed to a young family across the way.
Alisia nodded shyly.
“What do you see?”
“I see blue, green, brown, and black.” Her response came back nervous and small.
“Look closer. See the lights on the tops of their heads and the shadows under their wings? That is what distinguishes them from a two dimension drawing. That is what makes them real. That is a true challenge of skill and eye right there.”
Alisia looked at the ducks and listened to what he said. After a little staring, she began to see what he was talking about. A smile formed on her face as understanding formed in her mind. Her moment was stifled when the woman bumped her on the shoulder. Alisia looked up at her.
“Come on. We need to keep moving. We don’t want to disturb him any longer.”
She led the way down a small trail that ran parallel to a babbling brook. The day was pleasant and the air smelled fresher than any she had breathed in before. The woman did not hesitate to glance at any of the surroundings and Alisia wondered why.
“This way to the farm by the mountain’s valley and there we will meet another famous painter.”
“Why are you showing me this?”
The woman stopped and looked at her. The smile was replaced by sympathy. “You don’t have an appreciation for art because your family looks down on that lifestyle, right?”
“I am also not very good,” Alisia stated firmly with a hint of depression. The women smiled with her kindness once more.
“But you have creativity and you do have talent. It is just not where you think it should lie.” She continued to walk at a quick pace and took Alisia to a hill that overlooked a farm in the distance. But the farm did not contain the usual wheat and straw from back home. It had sunflowers and cypresses trees on it. The women brought her up to another man painting on a canvas. His subject was the sunflowers in a vase in front of him.
“She is here, Van. Want to give her some advice on anything?”
The man looked around at her with a crazed look in his eye and a brush sticking out of his mouth. He started to talk but hesitated when he realized that he still had the brush in the way of his lips.
“Simple and sweet is my advice. Look at the movement that those flowers are creating with the way they slump in the vase. Look at the strong and bold colors that they project from their pigment. They are great examples of nature expressing her natural beauty.”
He turned away from his guests and looked back at the fields. Alisia was looking at the fields and just as she was starting to comprehend his advice, the lady gently gestured her to move on down the yellow path. So, onward she went.
Some time had passed by the time that they had reached the third artist. They came upon a deserted town and there, a man was painting not the realism in front of him. Instead, his people were disfigured into simple shapes and the scene was pain through the whole piece. The woman stopped behind him.
“She is here Pablo.”
The man turned around and looked at her first. Alisia wondered if he was breaking her down into simpler shapes in his mind as the people in his painting were. He voice was not as gruff as the first two.
“Expression is what defines an artist from another. It is what makes you, you. Your style is different from others because you are seeing it through your eyes and not anyone else's. Art helps you identify with yourself and the world from your point of view.”
Alisia allowed a big smile take shape on her face when the man said that. Her parents kept telling her what they wanted her to be and what they wanted her to do in life. This artist was telling her that art was a way for her to be herself without interference from other’s pursuits. Happiness welled inside her. The man smiled, pleased with his comment, and then turned back to his painting of agony. The woman gestured her along and they continued on the path that was turning brown again. Alisia didn’t realize that they were going back to the mirror.
The women stopped just short of the mirror and turned around to look at Alisia.
“You are destined for greatness in what you will do in the future, my child. You have the talents that will push you through challenges that life throws at you. Use what you have learned to an advantage.” She paused. “There is one more artist for you to meet.”
“Who?” Alisia was thrilled and excited to meet another.
“Yourself. Now go and be who you are. Don’t let anyone change yourself.” The woman motioned for her to go back thru the mirror. Alisia started to go toward the mirror and then looked back.
“What is your name?”
“I am a patron of the arts.”
Alisia turned back around, understanding that she probably would not get an answer, and walked through the mirror.
The alarm went off and Alisia looked at the clock. Her eyes got big when she realized what day it was. Her mom called from the kitchen for breakfast. Alisia dashed from the bed and went for her blue and white dress, excited for the museum trip that day. When she saw the dress, there was some dirt on it in the shape of the top of a hammer. She smiled.