Thread: New studio
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Old 04-15-2014, 04:20 AM
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joseph engraver joseph engraver is offline
Join Date: Sep 2007
Location: Sarzana,Italy
Posts: 638
Default Re:School

Here are a couple of new paintings and a bit more of my writings.
I am not sure whether I like the paintings. They certainly cause me to think in different ways. I Hope you find them interesting. As for the writing: biggrin
It is odd how some incidents are so stark that you can still vividly remember their smells and tastes seventy years later.
One taste that the thought of school brings to my mind so sharply is that of raw horse radish.
Big white horse radishes grew behind the kitchen where the sink drain water flowed. They were very hot and I did not like them.
There was kept on the kitchen table, a jar of ground horseradish. One morning as I was getting ready for school the brothers Bob and Carl way-laid me in the kitchen, got me down on the floor and started stuffing tablespoons of ground horse radish in my mouth. I fought, I bit, I kicked, and spit and I swallowed several spoons full of horse radish.
Over the years I have forgotten and forgiven them, but never the horse radish. Strangely, I love the stuff, and always have it available as a condiment.
By the time I was old enough to start school I was a tough little farm boy that in a fight could take it, and dish it out as well.
Bob, who was the youngest of Andrew’s sons, went to school with me and made no bones about telling his friends that I was a liar, a bastard ,and a crybaby. I would listen to the taunts of my classmates and be brought to tears, Fights came and went, and I sat for many hours on a tall stool facing the corner wearing the dunce’s tall red hat.
Despite my personal skirmishes, I liked school and was a bright student. I quickly learned to read, write, and won the spelling bee. When the teacher discovered that I was the only one in my class left-handed, she determined to correct my wrong handed deficiency, and another shame was placed on my shoulders I was made to feel that I did not fit. I guess that was when I started to hate God
A pencil was put in my right hand and a penny was then placed upon the top of my wrist, then I was told to write that way. If the penny fell off I would get rapped on the wrist with a wooden ruler. Eventually I learned to write right-handed, until the day fate intervened.
Some of the school boys had put a long wooden plank against the schoolhouse wall and were seeing how far up it they could run. They dared me to go up it. I took off running and got part way when they kicked the plank out from underneath me. Down I went, landing with a thump, the plank following. It landed on my right arm and broke it in two while my classmates laughed. When I returned to school with my arm in a cast the teacher relented and let me write with my left hand.

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"What a large volume of adventures may be grasped within this little span of life by him who interests his heart in everything"-Lawrence Sterne
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