TE PAINT BOX

“The Old Man Speaks Out”

HE Young Student labored disconsolately at the lettering on a vivid poster.

Occasionally he cocked an eye at the clock visible from the class-room

window, each time releasing a profound sigh, vibrant with a suppressed
feeling of impatience.

Page Sixteen

“And so you’re going to be an artist! Well, well, well!” A dry voice
crackled the words from the corner of the room. The Young Student. slid
around on his chair in the direction of the voice, dimly aware that the rest
of the class had somehow melted into thin air, and that he was alone. Again
the voice spoke, and this time it was apparent that a cast of an Old Man was
speaking.

“A fine specimen of student you are! I'll bet you've developed an out-
size in kinks in the neck from so much turning and twisting, and fooking at
the clock! Why don’t you get on with your work?”

“Oh blah, this lettering is the bunk, and besides....” the Young Student
was beginning forcibly and ungrammatically when the Old Man interupted.

“Ves, yes, yes, I know all about that. You dislike lettering. I thought so.
And, pray, what kind of a commercial artist do you think you'll be without a
thorough knowledge of lettering? Honestly, when I think of your attitude to
this and other sections of the curriculum I feel like shaking you!”

“Look here,’ expostulated the Young Student, “what right have you
Wiech <

“Ail the right in the world,” snapped the Old Man. “I’ve been sitting
here on this pedestal all term watching you at work. Do you think I haven't
spotted you peering in the door ten minutes late, muttering ‘oh for gosh
sakes, casts again!’, then ambling away to spend the morning in the design
room, ostensibly to work? Or if you do deign to come in, what bustle and
fuss, what choosing of paper, what dragging and bumping of stools and easels
before you settle down! Even then it’s ten to one you get ‘fed-up’ and desert
the class an hour or so before time. I ask you, is that how you proceed to
become an artist? Now don’t interrupt! This is all for your own good,
you know.”

“That’s all very well,” broke in the Young Student insistently, “but casts
are such a bore! Now, life models... .

“Tife models, indeed!” snorted the Old Man, seemingly determined not
to allow the other to finish a sentence. “Life models! Why, when you do
get one you don’t know how to get anything from it, simply because you won't
use your eyes. The trouble with you, young fellow, is that you come to the
class room expecting the teacher to give you some mysterious formula which
will enable you to produce works of art in short order. You don’t realize
that you must put in years of hard work in order to accomplish anything.”

“Another thing. Why on earth do you persistently ignore the excellent
opportunities for some good practice in color work and accurate draughts-
manship you have around you?”

“What do you mean?” asked the Young Student.