Words and Pictures Page #2

moved out of the city, hmm?

Interesting.

And odd, because I have no curiosity

at all about your private lives.

I don't need to get to know you.

I don't need anyone's life story.

We're not going to

become good friends,

and I'm not the kind of teacher

you're going to come back to

visit when you're all grown up,

bringing a box of chocolates

and a Hallmark card.

No.

Whose work is this?

Oh, uh, that's mine, Gloria Belser.

This is skill.

We all appreciate skill.

The dictionary says "art

is human creative skill."

So if you accept that definition,

this is art, correct?

What's your definition, Miss?

Correct?

- Yes.

- Yes.

Thank you. And this one?

Uh, um... that's mine.

This has skill, too,

and something else.

I feel the presence of

something else here.

I feel.

Maybe that's the key.

This one registers in my brain.

This one registers in my

brain and in my chest,

- or I could say...

- Chest.

Stop.

Heart, or I could say...

Lower.

Shut up.

Emotion?

Is that the key, emotion?

Oh, be careful,

'cause if your doggy just

died and you look at that,

you might become very

emotional and call that art.

But that's not the art

we're interested in.

In this class, we're interested

in what we might call fine art.

Fine art, whatever that means.

The trouble is in the words.

Don't trust the words.

The words are lies.

The words are traps.

We're going to look,

we're going to feel,

we're going to see,

we're going to learn,

until you can show me what

fine art is, all right?

You can start.

Greetings, my Captain.

Lieutenant Swint, all secure?

Yes, sir.

Any duties for me?

Flood the moat, keep the

rabble from the gates.

Hey, Mr. Marc?

Why do you always eat

lunch in your car?

So that for half an hour

nobody can ask me

an inane question.

I'm the moment between

the striking and the fire

Hey, read my lips

'Cause all they say is kiss,

kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss

No, it'll never stop

My hands are in the air

Yes, I'm in love

My heart is beating

like a jungle drum

Like a dunk-a-dunka

dunka-dunka dun dun

My heart is beating

like a jungle drum

Like a ducka-ducka-ga-ga

ducka-ducka-ducka dun

My heart is beating

like a jungle drum

Oh, Mr. Marc, there are sixty

new girls in school today.

One of them is going to

break your heart, Finetti.

I hope so.

You're going to turn an award-

winning magazine into a what?

An online blog?

They don't even give

those awards anymore.

There hasn't been a lit

mag competition in years.

They are too expensive,

and frankly I don't...

Elspeth, um...

Jack, you know Miss

Croyden from our board.

Miss Croyden, yes.

Imagine a low bow here.

Will was just about to get frank.

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