A Teacher’s Accusation

Nothing was appealing when there was no longer any rooms for an art student like me to stay behind. The ceramic room was closed. It was under a paint construction for the layer of kaolin dust was too thick for the walls to withstand. Jesse Wan called off the class, so she could do the wall paintings all by herself without any disturbance from her students (like me). I used to stand at the corner of the courtyard so I could take such thoughts to watch over the frame, the happenings inside the glass door: Jesse working on her fine pots with such delicate touch and rub on the clay bowls. Yet I did not consider myself to be a voyeur. I was just looking over a woman in her early thirties. Or maybe it was her obsession on the yellow green color that fascinated me. Pantone 376 Mushy Pea, the code marked with a black dymo tape at the hard cover of her visual diary that she put on her desk every morning before class. At times when I came with such thoughts, it was interrupting and enduring to find myself needing such a visual distance to understand everything of her. And that was the time when I told myself to break off my vision as I imagined the scene when I would tell her I did not peer or did I pry into you.


Cheng Nichola
Age 22
Hong Kong

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