Page 24 of His Wild Storm
Katie’s little cheeks turn pink and the smile on her face is a mix of shyness and pride. “Thank you,” she whispers.
Knox flashes her a genuine smile. “Wilde is absolutely correct, Katie. It’s one of the things we talked about as I came around. You really used light and shadow to make the banana in the forefront almost leap off the page.”
“I was afraid I added a little too much and it was starting to look fake,” Katie admits softly as if her words are a confession.
“While I don’t think you did, even if you had it wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world. Art is all about expression and trial and error. You are all still learning. Sometimes you’ll get things right and sometimes you’ll get things wrong.”
“I got these strawberries all wrong,” Oscar, who is about the same age as Katie, chimes in. “They’re not the right size in comparison to the other fruit and it looks like they’re floating on the wrong side of the bowl.”
The other kids in class giggle, but there’s nothing malicious in the sound. Oscar pouts slightly before crossing his arms and looking anywhere than at his drawing. Knox shoots a look at the kids who stop giggling, but they don’t look afraid which is a huge fucking win.
“Even though I don’t think you meant for your laughter to inflict pain, it’s obvious that you hurt Oscar’s feelings,” Knox points out. “Oscar,” the boy in question looks in his direction, “your strawberries are a little too big for the space, but that kind of fine tuning comes with practice. Do you know what one of themost powerful things you can do is when it comes to looking at your own work?”
“No,” Oscar shakes his eyes, his attention focused on Knox. His slight tantrum is forgotten. For now.
“Accept criticism and then look at your work with an artist’s eye. You find the areas where you can improve and then take that knowledge into the next piece. When it comes to art, practice doesn’t make perfect. It does make improvements, but there is no such thing as perfect. Everyone brings themselves into their art, which means everyone will see something a little different in the subject and in the finished piece. And that’s okay.”
Oscar looks down at his sketch pad and then over at the bowl of fruit, his eyes assessing in a new way. “Okay, Knox, that makes sense,” his tone is sage and makes him sound much older than he actually is.
It’s kind of adorable.
“So,” Knox claps and even though the sound is startling, no one flinches, “next week we’re working on a treasure box, and I have some homework for you.”
“Homework?” The kids groan in unison, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing.
“It’s nothing you need to worry much about. I just want you to think about something you love, a favorite thing of yours. It might be something you already have, but it also might be something you need to find. If you need to find it, then you’ll have two weeks to do so.”
As the kids start to chatter, their excitement is adorable. They talk about the art they made today, what they think might bein the treasure box next week, and their favorite thing which no one can wait to share. I take them all in and smile. I’ve seen the power of art when it comes to Wilde. Now, I’m seeing the same kind of confidence and vulnerability work its magic on the rest of the kids.
Wilde comes bouncing over to me and I smile at him. “Come on, let’s get going.”
“I can’t, Mommy,” his sweet voice turns me down. “Knox asked me to help clean things up and to be his helper.”
“Oh? He did, huh?”
I look up at Knox as he stalks closer to us, not even trying to hide the sly smile on his face. I have a feeling I know exactly why he asked Wilde to be his helper. The man is sneaky. What I don’t understand is why I like it so much.
CHAPTER 9
KNOX
As the kids start to leave the room, Haven calls Wilde over to her. If she thinks she’s going to be able to slip out of the room quickly, she’s going to be surprised. It might not be a good one for her, but I’m still going to take full advantage of it.
“Knox asked me to help clean things up and to be his helper,” Wilde informs Haven, and I have to swallow down my laughter.
The look of pure horror that flashes across Haven’s face is comical. Not that I would ever tell her that because I’m not a stupid man.
People have liked to think of me as stupid many times throughout my life, but that doesn’t mean it has ever been true. When I was growing up it was because of my size. I’ve always been a bigger kid, both in height and weight.
Why did people take one look at me and think I wasn’t intelligent? It never made sense to me, but people like to be cruel and find weakness in others. My parents are good people, but they never really encouraged me to be curious when it comes to education.
Maybe it’s because Mom only graduated high school and my father went to trade school.
Growing up I convinced myself they didn’t push me to do better in school because they thought I was stupid just like the people who would say it to my face. I learned quickly that my art never judged me and never expected more than I could give.
My skill, my ability, was the only thing that mattered. Is it intelligence? Is it smarts? Is it simply talent?
I don’t think I care about the answer. I didn’t then and I don’t now.
