The Adventures of the Crazy Art Lady
My friends insisted I get out more. They said I was getting weird and needed to try interacting with actual human beings. So I reluctantly got up from my computer and enrolled in a beginner’s art class at a nearby workshop. That’s where I met Crazy Art Lady. And now that I’ve had the pleasure of interacting with this unique human being I never would have met otherwise, I think I’ll go back to my computer and never emerge from my apartment again.
She was late for the class. Her husband arrived first and told the instructor, “We have one more coming — my wife is going to meet me here. She’ll probably be late. She’s navigationally impaired.” We all smiled at that. I even thought about how I could relate since I get lost in my own driveway. We went ahead and started class without her.
We started learning about pencils. We made smudges and shaded in boxes. I was having fun and even starting to think I could be good at this. That was until the woman next to me pointed to my paper and said to the instructor, “Why can’t I draw like that? I want to be able to stay in the lines just like her!” Great. If there’s one thing all brilliant artists are known for, it’s always staying in the lines.
That’s when we heard the shrieking. We were sitting at tables in the back of the bookstore, and the shrill voice sounded like it was coming from the parking lot. “SORRY I’M LATE! SORRY I’M LATE! SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY!!!”
She hadn’t even reached us yet. It took her almost five minutes to catch up to her voice. We all sat dumbfounded while every head in the bookstore turned to see who was making all the commotion.
She didn’t really arrive; it was more like she burst into existence from behind the rows of bookshelves. She was a hyperactive middle-aged woman with white hair and glasses. She flung herself into the seat next to me, waved wildly to her husband, and said, “Hi honey! Sorry I’m late everybody, I was hungry and had to have my protein, I just can’t draw anything until I’ve had my protein.” (pause for breath) “I can’t draw on the right side of my brain until I’ve had my protein.”
My first thought was that she’d overdosed.
She proceeded to take over the class. She talked nonstop. She was so excited about this workshop. She loved to draw. She was an ARTIST. She hoped everyone else didn’t feel discouraged when they saw her work because she’d been drawing for a long time and was taking this beginner drawing class to keep her husband company since he wasn’t an ARTIST and needed a beginner class. Hey, was that coffee? She really really really needed some coffee. She was going to go get some coffee and would be right back.
Yes, if there was something that woman needed, it was definitely coffee. I can’t believe the bookstore wasn’t supplying cocaine and Snickers Bars as well. I made a mental note to discuss this with the events coordinator.
The teacher tried to keep us on track. While Crazy Art Lady was getting her coffee, he told us about an art class he took in California. When Crazy Art Lady heard him mention California, she reappeared so fast, she scared him half to death and sloshed coffee on his shoes. “CALIFORNIA?? You lived in CALIFORNIA?? So did I! They have the BEST sushi out there, don’t they? Don’t tell me you didn’t eat sushi in California! Oh, you MUST! You HAVE to eat the sushi there! You HAVE to!”
I prayed that she would run right out to California that minute and get us some. Since she was navigationally impaired, that little errand could buy us a few months.
But no, she plopped right back down next to me and kept talking. “Isn’t this FUN? I love art. I love classes like this! My mother told me I could never be an artist. She told me I’d never be able to draw. My mother was wrong. Watch THIS!” She began scribbling madly on a sheet of paper, shaking the table. “You know, I have a lot more time for art since I was let go from my job!”
The woman on the other side of me did a classic spit-take with her coffee. Crazy Art Lady didn’t even notice. “Yup. They just let me go. So now I draw all the time.” Hard to believe that woman didn’t fit into the corporate environment.
She kept going. “I’m glad we’re not using a book. I never used any books. All my talent comes naturally. I never read. Never ever ever.” I guess that explains why she missed all those ads for Prozac and every Miss Manners column ever written.
I was starting to get tense. The teacher was starting to get tense. And from the way the woman on the other side of me was gripping her pencil, I could tell it was taking every ounce of control for her to keep from plunging it right into Crazy Art Lady’s neck. But suddenly, we had a reprieve. Crazy Art Lady jumped to her feet and announced to everyone in the bookstore, “I have to go to the bathroom!” And before we could blink, she was gone, leaving a sheet full of frantic scribbles on the table.
Silence.
No one really knew what to say. We all sat quietly, pushing our pencils around and not looking at each other. The teacher stammered and fumbled with his notes, trying to figure out where he’d been thrown off track. I noticed that the woman’s husband was chewing on his kneaded eraser. Evidently someone had forgotten to tell him erasers aren’t food.
Slowly, the class got going again. We talked about different kinds of paper. We drew more lines and learned about hatchet marks. We were enjoying ourselves, thinking that maybe Crazy Art Woman wasn’t coming back. She certainly was gone a long time. I figured she got sidetracked in the ladies’ room and was terrorizing some poor introvert in there. “My mother told me that I would never be able to swallow an entire roll of toilet paper, but watch THIS!”
Sadly, she reappeared at the tables like a human lightening bolt and began making up for lost time. “Whaddimiss whaddimiss whaddimiss? Oooh, are those hatchet marks? I know all about those already. I’m an ARTIST. Isn’t this fun? Are you out of coffee already? Is anybody going to make more?”
After a while, I couldn’t take anymore and excused myself as politely as I could. As I said goodbye to the instructor, I saw the silent, pleading message in his eyes: Please send help.
So what have I learned from my experience? What did I discover while masquerading as a person who does not spend every waking moment writing but actually goes outside and interacts with other people? I have learned I can never be one of you. I have tried. I will stay here with my computer, where it’s safe. I have also learned that despite my seclusion, I will find a husband someday. Being a total raving loon didn’t stop that woman from finding a husband. So somewhere out there, hiding behind his own computer screen, is the man for me. Please don’t let him be eating an eraser.
