#i think you guys should read up on Abramović's work. it's really good.

[mishkakagehishka]

I love everyone saying rest energy is bs bc "if she lets go he just falls, but if he lets go she dies!!!" like. Yeah. Ain't that the point.

Sometimes, art that represents the theme of "love" isn't "romantic". The feeling of love (infatuation) being present does not inherently imply romance and healthy relationships.

[ktrsss1fics]

AU Art School One Shot Series

Do you know what’s more fun than sitting through a lecture about Cubism?

Just about anything. Actually I take that back. Sitting in a crowded lecture hall while some middle-aged art history professor drones on and on about the stylistic differences between Georges Braque and Pablo Picasso is more fun than any course involving letters disguised as numbers. I don’t understand why anyone would want to pursue studies in maths. Another thing I don’t understand is why in the hell Harry Styles is so keen on being my friend. We first met in our First Year Drawing course. He made some idiotic joke about pencils and I unfortunately laughed at it. It’s been two years and I still can’t go anywhere art related without his stupid face popping up. It’s ridiculous. Harry is the type of guy that probably should be down in the liberal arts wing studying literature or psychology. He should be the leader of the decathlon team and president of the anti-bullying club. He should be spending his weekends hanging out by the pool before doing a pub crawl. He shouldn’t be buried knee deep in plaster gabbing on about how fantastic the Italian Renaissance actually was. He shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor of the printmaking building on a Friday night because his orange just isn’t right. He shouldn’t be walking in the door of this overstuffed lecture hall with his perfectly sculpted man-bun and a spool of chicken wire under his arm. But he was. “Hey Huckleberry.” He chirped slipping into the empty seat beside me. “That’s not my name Harry.” I mumbled annoyed. “For me it is.” He laughed grabbing his notebook from his bag. “Did you do the reading last night?” I shook my head before yawning, “Spent the entire night planning out my piece for Davidson’s final.” “You haven’t done that yet?” He asked shocked. Harry and I were taking an intermedia course that attempted to bridge the gap between various mediums. For our final project, we had to do some sort of performance piece around campus. Performance art might seem easy but it’s the real deal. Every ounce of energy in your body is poured into performing your piece. The projects performed so far had been brilliant. “I had the gist down but after yesterday I feel like I’m not doing enough.” I explained. “When’s your performance date?” He asked searching for a pen. “Next week.” “Lucky.” He sighed. “When’s yours?” “Uh an hour after this lecture.” Harry stated. “It’ll be out in front of The Hub.” I turned my full attention to him. “Well shit that’s quick.” “Tell me about it.” He smiled. I couldn’t imagine having to perform today. I still hadn’t truly finalised mine yet. Or gotten it approved for that matter. “What are you doing for it?” I asked throwing an extra pen at him. “I can’t tell you.” He smiled graciously. “You know the rules.” “I didn’t think Harry Styles played by the rules.” I smirked. His smile grew. “He doesn’t… usually. Davidson is making me.” “Oh right.” I nod. “ Blame it on him.” “Its true. He said its a genius plan and he doesn’t want any of you procrastinators to steal it.” Harry teased earning himself a dirty look. “I’m only joking Huck.” “All I can really say is that it’s going to make me look like a modern day Abramović.” He shrugged. I couldn’t fight the urge to roll my eyes. There was no way in hell this guy was going to create something that could even be compared to Marina Abramović. No offence to him but she is like the queen of performance art and Harry, well, doesn’t like doing Davidson’s warm up exercises. “I can already see the judgement in your eyes Sawyer Smith.” He smiled. “Go ahead and judge me.” “I’m not judging you Harry. That’s just a bold statement.” I explained. “Well I’m a bold lad.” He winked. I groaned. “Oh gag me.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully. “If you come to it, maybe I will.” “Why do you keep trying to make this happen?” He looked confused. “What?” “Us.” I said pointing between us. “Being friends.” Before he could reply, the lights dimmed and our professor started to speak. I readjusted myself in my seat and prepared for what was going to be another hour of boredom. The TA started up a discussion about the reading assignment from the night before and as usual, the three aggressively opinionated kiss asses of our class fought for the spotlight. A battle of the pretentious perspectives had begun. Harry fidgeted in his seat. I could tell he wanted to say something. I did my best to focus all of my attention on the screen in the front of the room. I hadn’t meant to be offensive or rude but it was true. He was constantly making an effort to form some type of friendship with me and I never understood why. We were two different people. He was loud and friendly and I just wasn’t. I kept to myself and got my work done. I didn’t see how we could make it work so I always kept my distance. Apparently that didn’t sit well with him. A pause in the conversation came and I felt the boy beside me start to move closer. His arm rested on the back of my chair as his mouth moved towards my ear. “Sawyer, you know I like you right?” His husky voice whispered softly. “Like you are really really cool.” “Harry…” I sighed. “No don’t ‘Harry’ me. I’m trying to explain myself because obviously me wanting to be friends is such a horrible concept.” He stayed annoyed. “I never said that.” I glanced at him. “Well I’m pretty sure it’s been painted across your fucking forehead for years.” He said frustrated. “Look I’m not really asking for much. I just want to be friends with you. I want to be able to make late night coffee runs with you while we are waiting for our canvases to dry.” “That’s oddly specific.” I replied dryly. “Will you please just stop? This is hard enough for me. You already are the most intimidating girl in this entire department.” He blushed. “What?” “You’re scary.” “No I’m not.” “Yes you are. You always have been.” I could feel my cheeks starting to grow warm. Was I really that scary? “It’s because you are quiet but have a really profound opinion. Don’t try to fight me on that because its true. You have one of the most unique perspectives on life and um I just want to pick your brain sometimes because I think it’d help me grow as an artist and a person for that matter.” He admitted shyly. “You know that human form sculpture we had to do for Kinney’s class? I still can’t get over how you made it.” A full fledged blush attacked my face. I wasn’t one who took compliments well especially from guys like him. “It wasn’t that tough to make.” “Yeah because you’re the one making it. I’ve attempted it three times since then and it’s never worked out.” He laughed. “You’re something else, Sawyer.” “I’m really not.” I shook my head. “And I’m not intimidating either.” “And I’m not the funniest person you’ve ever met.” He said crossing his arms over his chest. “You aren’t.” “Funny you should say that because if my memory is correct you were the one dying from laughter at my hilarious pencil joke way back when.” “Oh fuck off.” I said fighting back a smile. He leaned in close once more, “Hour after class. The Hub. Be there.”

++

The hour long lecture flew by. As I left the building, I realized I had two options. The first being a selfish decision to head home and sleep. The second being the more obvious choice. I grabbed myself a warm coffee and a muffin before searching for a seat outside The Hub.

I wasn’t here because I wanted to be friends with Harry Styles.

I was here because I appreciated art and, as much as I hated to admit it, Harry was a great artist. I don’t know how he did it but he always seemed to put a quirky spin on things.

And that was admirable.

I bit into my muffin and scanned the quad. Familiar faces started to appear as the anticipation started to build. For many of us art students, this was the equivalent to a football match. All of our energy and spirit was poured into watching whomever was performing.

It wasn’t long before a sign appeared. The message was simple, “Pick your weapon and induce war.”

Piles of pens, tubes of paint, and mounds of markers lay at the feet of a man who was Manchester’s version of Christ the Redeemer. With arms outstretched, he was dressed in white from head to toe. His hair was pulled into a perfectly sculpted bun and a blank stare adorned his features.

It was game time.

A few of our classmates were the first to make their move. It wasn’t long before random people passing by stopped to contribute to the chaos. They gathered round Harry with pens and markers hoping to create something great. They didn’t though because that wasn’t the point.

This wasn’t about the things that were created or the way his clothes looked in the end. This was more than that. Harry was the Messiah bringing modern art to the masses. He was educating a stubborn class of people on the beauty of creation and that was nearly mindblowing.

The boy who made a lousy joke about pencils first term had assembled one of the most thought provoking pieces in our entire class and I really couldn’t believe it.

The pain in the ass who always tried to get my attention finally had in the best way possible.

A good hour into the piece, there was a lull in the activity. No one had come up and scribbled something on him in a while. Everyone just sat watching and waiting. Waiting for him to move or speak or breathe wrongly.

The size of the crowd that had formed and the amount of whispers being shared throughout the quad really said something about the way our culture was. As people, we rarely investigate things on our own. If something abnormal is taking place, we don’t try to find out what it is. We stand back and gossip about what we think is going on.

And I think that was one of things Harry was trying to talk about.

Our ancestors were adventurers and thinkers and doers. They didn’t sit around waiting for things to be explained to them. They went out and sought answers. They dug in the dirt until artifacts were found. They swam in the sea until things made sense. They went into the world and thought for themselves.

They weren’t glued to their computers or mobiles or trashy magazines. They were glued to their imagination and life and curiosity.

At the end of it, isn’t that really what art is? Life, imagination, and curiosity wrapped into a single piece. It’s doing something to make others think. It’s getting a reaction from a planned out action. It’s standing in front of the busiest building on campus with your arms outstretched while people attack you with words and actions. It’s attempting to befriend the one girl in class that everyone’s afraid of. It’s proving that you’re worth it.

And after seeing the concentration on his face, I had a feeling that Harry was. Being his friend wouldn’t be as horrible as I originally intended. He wasn’t just that annoying guy in all of my classes. He wasn’t the know-it-all with the obnoxiously perfect hair. He was a serious artist trying to make the world a little less shitty and that in itself was somewhat appealing.

He closed his eyes. The pain of keeping still was obviously started to set in. This was the perfect time to make my move. I threw away my trash before heading towards the table to find a tool to use. I settled on an orange calligraphy marker and walked towards Harry’s back. After a few moments of planning, I decided on what I was going leave scrawled on his body. A simple “Huck” and a string of numbers that I knew Harry would appreciate took up the space between his shoulder blades.

I dropped the pen off at the table, sent the focused boy a nod, and was on my way.

++

My phone buzzed loudly on my desk. A text message from an unknown number appeared across the screen. A tiny smile formed as I read what it had said.

I knew you’d come around Huck x