//------------------------------// // Chapter 33: Master Classes // Story: The Last Impressionist // by CrackedInkWell //------------------------------// There are many differences between Hoity Toity and I. However one of those differences particularly stand out to me; that is, that unlike him, I don’t go around telling everypony what happened during those intimate moments in the bedroom. Besides, I come to think of telling such activities to be… personal. However, I will tell you about the morning after if you’re so curious. On Hearths Warming morning, the whole house was exchanging presents from me to the servants and vice-versa. My coltfriend and I were sitting on the loveseat in the living room where the tree was. Our gifts were put aside on the coffee table beside the couch. “You know,” Acrylic said, looking at his pile, “I have to say that this is the most amounts of presents that I’ve been given on Hearths Warming.” I smiled slyly, “Well that’s what you get for having a coltfriend that spoils you.” Chuckling, he blushed and looked around, “Hey, are you sure that you’re okay?” “Yes, yes, I already told you. I’m fine, it’s just… it’s been a while for me. You?” “Well… I’m still a little sore, but not as much,” he whispered so that the other servants didn’t hear him. I frowned, “Are you sure you don’t want me to get you anything?” “No, I just need some rest, and so do you.” Snorting, I replied, “Oh you don’t have to worry about little old me dear. I know what my own body is capable of; it’s just you that I’m concerned about. I want to know that you’re okay.” He looked around at the other servants in the room, “Do you think they noticed?” “Unlikely. Though just to be sure, regardless of the festivity, I want you to take it easy for a bit.” This made him laugh, “It’s not that bad. I think I’ll be fine in another hour or so.” “If you say so,” I looked down at my presents and realized something. “Oh! I nearly forgot! Acrylic, I have a present for you as well, or rather, some great news that you need to hear.” He raises an eyebrow, “Oh? What news?” “Well,” I took his hooves, “What if I told you that I have a friend of mine that is willing to help open the door to Canterlot University for you?” The artist looked at me flatly, clearly unconvinced, “But the letter, you know what it said.” “Yes, I know. But there’s a loophole,” this got his ears to perk up. “You see, Lord Night Light knows that the university has a certain program for young artists, called a Master’s Class, where experienced artists like you get to teach students the best of their crafts. Since you have a reputation of being a Modern Impressionist, we’re making arrangements for you to teach a couple of classes on the art of painting.” He blinked, “And how is this going to get me into the school?” “Since you’ll be technically working at the University, the staff over there will see up close, what you’re truly capable of doing as a student. So by the time you reached your required level of education with Princess Luna, they will have to let you in since you’ve worked for them. Not only that, but with the money, you’re making off of your art, and being able to teach, that will also help pave the way into the school.” His jaw dropped, for a minute, I gave him some time to process this. Then he started to tear up. “Acrylic? I’m sorry, is this too much?” The response came through squeezing the daylights out of me, “F-Fancy, you’re a miracle worker! I don’t know what to say.” “Well, a ‘thank you’ would be proper.” I hugged back. He laughed as broke the hug, “Thank you so much. What did I do to deserve somepony like you?” I shrugged, “Simply being you I guess.” I kissed him on the nose, “Happy Hearths Warming Acrylic.” “So when am I expected to start teaching these classes anyway? And what exactly will I do?” “I’ll talk to Lord Night about the finer details once we get things secured for you. But once you get in, it’s all a matter of making an,” I smirked, “impression, on the college staff there.” He snorted, “That’s gotta be the worst use of a pun I’ve ever heard.” “Maybe, but you liked it.” Acrylic rolled his eyes. “So when is it?” “It will be after the New Year, taught at the university.” He sat back, thinking for a moment, “Would you come with me, since I’ve never done anything like it before?” “Of course,” I told him. _*_ Canterlot University is quite a monumental structure, even during the winter when the dome roofs are covered in ice. White columns towed over the front entrance of the three-story building made entirely out of stone. Acrylic and I walked down the narrow stretch of salted sidewalk. On his back, a canvas, easel, and bag that held his paints and brushes that were on top of the thick, black coat that came with a hood. He looked like he was going to explore the North Pole with all the equipment clinging on. “Where did you say it was again?” he asked as we approached the massive steps. “It said that we are in the west wing, room 248.” Before we could make the climb, I noticed that my coltfriend’s hooves were still. Turning around, I saw him looking up at the structure, “Are you coming?” “Sorry,” he shook his head, “It’s just… here I thought that I would never set hoof in this place as a student, but now I come as a teacher. Fancy, do you think I’m ready for this?” “All you’ll be doing is demonstrating how you paint impressionist style, and to give some advice to the students. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” “But, what if I mess up? What if they find me boring? Or they can’t understand me? Or-” I wrapped my foreleg around his neck, “Acrylic, you’re going to do brilliantly. Now come along, they’re waiting for you.” After trotting upstairs so titanic that they lead up to the second floor, we went down some unfamiliar hallways to the room where the Impressionist would be teaching in. The classroom was quite large, as it held twenty or so students; each of them had canvas, paints and a small mirror nearby. They were chatting away, works of other students were on full display on the walls. My coltfriend gulped as he walked towards the front of the classroom. The other students went quiet as he set his things up; meanwhile, I found a seat in the back of the room to observe. Once he was ready, he faced the students and nodded. “Afternoon everypony, my name is Acrylic Brush... and I’m sorry.” This got several confused glances from everyone, including me. “I’ll have you know that this is not only the first time I’ve taught a class but the first time of stepping in one, period. I am not a teacher. All I’m here for is to give all of you some instructions, and some advice, on the style of Impressionism. So if I say something that isn’t clear, or that you have some sort of question about something, please, don’t be afraid to ask. I’m just learning how to do this as much as you are learning how to paint. So before we get started, are there any questions for me?” A mare raised her hoof, “Mr. Brush, what’s our objective with what we’re doing today?” He blinked, “Sorry?” “I mean, what are we doing with our paintings in this class?” “Oh,” Acrylic said, “Today, we’re doing to do self-portraits in the style of Impressionism. As one myself, I tend to use a lot of colors, use complementary colors, which by the way, you don’t need to draw them all out accurately. I mean heck, the truth is I’m terrible at drawing, but it’s the colors you’ll be putting on that will make the difference.” This time a stallion’s hoof raised, “Since we’re doing self-portraits, what do we put in the background?” “Well,” he said as he opened his bag, “when I’m doing portraits, sometimes I use the colors that are behind the pony or I put on what I feel like painting that day. Sometimes it’s a grey day, other times it’s a yellow day, or maybe today is pink. So use whatever paint that you think will make all the other colors pop.” Another hoof was raised, “I’ve heard somewhere that Impressionists used to use a thin brush in blue to paint their outlines, so do we do that or draw them out with a pencil?” “Personally, I prefer both,” he told them. “I sketch out something first on the canvas and then retrace them in blue. But I think whatever you think is best. The first thing I want all of you to do is to make your outline of yourself. Don’t worry about the background, just focus on yourself.” As they picked up their pencils and brushes, putting their outlines onto the canvas, the door to the classroom opened up. A mare came in one that was older than me. She quietly walked back of the class, right where I was. The mare had a grey mane that was tied up in a bun matching her coat. She had a dull scroll for a cutie mark. She raised an eyebrow at me, “Mr. Pants I presume?” I nodded, “It is. And you are?” She offered to shake my hoof, “Call me Mrs. Scholar; I’m here to observe Mr. Brush’s academic performance. May I take a seat?” Offering the other chair next to me, she too sat down, taking out a clipboard and a pen in her magic. “So who exactly are you?” I inquired. “You’re not the headmaster, are you?” “No,” she replied, “an assistant is more like it. But what are you doing here on campus?” “Giving Mr. Brush some support for his first day of teaching,” I nodded over to the artist who had already done the outline of himself, he now walked between the lines of canvases. “This is something he’s never done before, so it’s best to have someone he trusts here.” She shrugged, “Fair enough, as long as you don’t cause a distraction among the students. For now, let me do my job and observe him.” We turned back to the class where my coltfriend went up to a mare that, at this angle, she seemed to struggle to get her face in the right proportions since she kept erasing and redrawing it. “Mind if I give you a little advice that might help you?” he asked and she nodded. “Sorry, it’s just I hate doing portraits. I can never get the eyes right.” “You know, I had the exact same problem when I first painted ponies,” he said. “Look at my sketch; I’ve learned a little trick that will help get the face in the right place. Have you noticed that the distance between the pupils of one’s eye to the chin is the exact same space between the pupils and the top of the head. I mean,” he held out both of his hooves, one touching his chin while the other level to his eyes. “If I measured it out like so, then this should be the same as this.” Then he shifted the space of his hooves to his eye to the top of his head. “You see? Exactly the same, so a good rule to go by is to make sure your eyes are roughly in the center.” “So, something like this?” she redrew her oval in which she marked the center with a line in order to proceed in placing a smaller circle in it. “That looks about right, does that help?” “Yeah,” she nodded, “I think I can work off from here.” After going from student to student to see how they were doing and giving the same advice, he returned to his canvas. “Okay, now this next part, which I’ve learned through trial and error, is that we’re going to apply color to our portraits. In Impressionism, the whole idea of it is to add layers of color on top of one another. The way we do that is by establishing the first layer to the painting in which you start out with some distinct yet, bright colors. The reason behind this is because I found out that it will give your picture much light then if you only did it in darker tones. “As I said about the background, look at the colors of yourself first and then either find a color that makes your portrait pop or uses a color that you feel right about. But the important thing is to get as much paint on the canvas as quickly as possible. Just fill in the gaps between the outlines in an establishing color.” The other students started to follow his example as Acrylic applied the first layer of paint onto his canvas. I looked over at the mare next to me, who was jotting down some notes. “Are you sure this is his first time teaching?” she asked me. “It is,” I nodded. “You should have seen how nervous he was when we got here.” She didn’t respond for a few minutes before she looked up her notes. “Can I ask you something since you apparently know Mr. Brush quite well?” “Of course.” “Do you know what college degree he has?” she pointed her pen at him. I chuckled, “You haven’t heard, haven’t you?” Mrs. Scholar raised an eyebrow, “He’s never been to an art class. In fact, he has never set hoof in a high school either.” This received a surprised look from her, “You’re pulling my tail.” “Oh no, it’s true. He taught himself how to paint.” “But… I thought he is a successful artist?” “With my help, he is, and he’s been trying to go to college himself. To this very school in fact, only… it was denied.” Her face contorted in disbelief, “What? How’s that possible? I mean look at him, he’s doing fine up there.” “Well, according to his education history, he hasn’t earned the requirement of having a high school degree. It is barring him from attending this school. However, he’s in the process of earning it.” She shook her head, “Unbelievable,” I heard her mutter. Our attention returned to the red stallion who after applying the first layer on his portrait, went around the classroom. He didn’t say much as he weaved between the rows of students until he came across a stallion that was slower compared to his other classmates. “May I ask why there’s so much white on your canvas?” “I’m trying to make sure I don’t make mistakes,” he said. Acrylic put his hoof on the artist’s brush to indicate to him to stop. The pony looked up to him. “I’m going to tell you a secret about painting in this style. Even if you do mess up, just remember one thing: its paint. You can always come back to cover it up. Plus, I’m not sure if you notice from my painting, but there’s not a single straight line or a perfect circle, is there? This is because of two reasons: I can’t draw a straight line to save my life. And as an Impressionist, I’ve recently come to adopt a philosophy that imperfection is perfection. So don’t worry about getting every little detail right, just try to quickly cover all of the blank spots up as you can. Don’t worry about feeling restricted, okay? This art form is about freedom, about expression. Straight lines don’t show that.” He nodded before my coltfriend inspected the rest. Finally, Acrylic returned to his canvas, “Now, for the next step, this is where the real fun comes in. Once we’ve put our first layer on, we’re now going to give our portraits that Impressionist signature. For this, use a small brush, we’re going to add layers on our pictures in short strokes or dots. This is the most expressive stag. For colors, think of them not only as light and shadow but also as a way of highlighting as well.” He picked up his brush and dipped it into a darker shade of red, “Say for example I wanted to draw out the shade of my chin like so.” He then proceeded to paint his lower jaw, “Notice that I’m not doing too many strokes, but watch what happens when I added another color contrast to it.” He then dipped his brush in plum purple and applied it to the jaw. “See how it’s already making it stand out? Color is important in Impressionism because it shows the relationship of one color to another. Now you could add two or three layers of different shades of paint in one place, but every so often, use complementary colors to make the picture pop. For me, this is not only the best part, but also the hardest part because you need to find a balance between extreme passion, and control. Where you have to attack the canvas with all sorts of colors but have the restraint to not apply too much, am I making sense?” They nodded. Taking to their canvases the pieces started to really take color. All around the room, students put on a wide spectrum of pigment on their portraits. This time, my coltfriend walked around, giving pointers for those to either get more passionate or to reel them back. All around, students started to get creative with their backgrounds from swirls to dots, and even horizontal brushstrokes that create harmony with their pictures. Before class was over, Acrylic went up to each student, giving a few words for each. Saying things like, “I think what you have is an excellent painting, you’ve created a nice harmony between the background and foreground.” Or, “I think that the next time you do this style, try to watch for that control when you’re adding the details onto it.” Or even, “Even though this one could have used a little more passion, I do think what you got here is a really good start.” When class was over, the students gathered up their paintings and set them aside for them to dry before they left while their teacher finished his painting. Finally, the mare next to me went up to him, “Mr. Brush?” He turned around, “Yes?” She raised a hoof, “Mrs. Scholar, I was sent here by the headmaster to observe your teaching skills.” He shook her hoof in respect. “I must say, Mr. Brush, for somepony that has never taught in a classroom full of students, I think you’ve done pretty well.” He nodded, “Thank you, ma’am.” She flipped over to her notes, “I’ve observed that you were patient with the students; able to teach in a clear, understandable way; answered all their questions as best as you could, and were able to teach them individually.” Looking up, she added, “Mr. Pants over here has told me that you don’t even have a high school degree and that you’ve taught yourself to paint. Is this true?” “Yes, ma’am.” Humming, Mrs. Scholar glanced through her notes again. “Overall, I do think that you’re capable of teaching future Master Classes for Canterlot University. Oh, that reminds me, I was told that you tried to apply here but you were rejected to attend classes, is that true?” He nodded. “I’ll tell you what,” she put her clipboard away. “I’ll put my report together for you so that you may continue to teach when the time calls for it. After all, we have more than one artist teaching in this class. So, we can always call you up when conditions are favorable. However, I will also recommend to the student-faculty to grant you an acceptance letter once you gained the education needed to attend. Besides,” she smiled, “you are quite the teacher Mr. Brush. I hope the school will see you again soon.” With that, she turned and walked out of the classroom without saying another word. When the door closed behind us, leaving us a moment alone, I kissed him. “Well done! That was excellent!” He smiled, “One step closer now Fancy.” Acrylic kissed me back, “You’re really are the best pony anyone could ask for.” “Let’s go home to celebrate,” I offered him his coat. “Today, you’ve earned it.”