Critique by Liv Dugford
I’ve been an artist since I can remember. Just recently started college, but once you’ve gotten through a couple of semesters you get the hang of things. You make artwork, your professor rips it apart, you make final changes or if it’s bad enough you might even redo it all. But one thing that always comes after a big art project is the dreaded project critique. It was always the same in Dr. Deverough’s class. It was an advanced drawing class and the current project was linear development, or something like that. Basically, whatever we drew had to be defined by the lines in the pieces. Anyway, no reason to bore you to tears. After the artwork was created, you take four tacks and hang it up on the wall. All the artwork is lined up for every one of your classmates to see, and then you, as Dr. Deverough says, “constructively” criticize them. I was a bit intimidated by this project. I hadn’t been crazy about doing a line project. But whatever, I just got to get through this class. So as usual I grabbed four tacks, got past the crowded up classmates and hung up my piece. It’s always the most complicated part because you look over to one side and there’s always someone who makes your art look like kindergartners made it. There was one guy in our class named Zeke who surpassed everyone else’s work. I’m sure this is boring, but it’s important to know there is structure to these things. There were ten of us in total, ten people and ten pieces. Or at least, there should’ve been ten. But this particular day, as we all sat back in our chairs in order to prepare to write down our critique, I found myself fascinated by one piece. It looked to be made out of charcoal; it was a black and
white image. The piece showed what appeared to be a man, with an abnormally large mouth curved into a smile. It appeared to come out of smoke the way it was drawn on there, and in the distance looked to be a street. The only color in the piece was this oddly red balloon. In order to distract myself from the twisted creepy nature of this piece, I began to imagine how Dr. Deverough was going to rip this piece apart. She didn’t like anything that wasn’t proportionate so I knew she would hate the distorted smile. Dr. Deverough fixed her glasses which had slipped down her slim nose, before walking over to look at the pieces. She too was drawn to this odd piece. “Well,” she began, “This is certainly not a linear defined piece. One of you seemed to not get the idea. So whose is it?” Dr. Deverough was met with a reply of silence. At first I had thought someone was embarrassed by her blunt statement, but the look of confusion on everyone else’s faces led to me also getting confused. Dr. Deverough smirked, “Come on guys.” Then I began counting the pieces in my head. Six on top, five on bottom. There were eleven pieces. Ten people in class and eleven pieces. Dr. Deverough chose to start eliminating students in order to figure out who did the piece. But everyone took their turn, we got done with our critique, and the piece remained up after the rest of us took ours down. I thought how strange it was, but then that’s only the tip of the iceberg as you’d say. Zeke had the locker right beside mine, and I watched him start to fiddle with his combination. From the distance, I could see what appeared to be a man. It looked actually quite similar to the one in that creepy image I had thought, minus the huge mouth. Zeke opened his locker, got out a book and closed it. And just like that the man was gone. I was in a hurry due to my rushed schedule; I had to be on the opposite side of campus and had no car to drive there. As I was walking out the building and crossed the road I managed to drop one of my pens and bent down to pick it up. That was when I saw it. Across the street, was a red balloon. The same red balloon. Just like a camera, it was as if everything came into focus. I suddenly saw the same road that was previously sketched out on a piece of paper right in front of me moments ago. Zeke was coming out of the building at that exact moment. He had pulled out his phone and was crossing the street. He looked up to check the street and it resulted in him seeing me on the other side. This look of horror came over his face. I barely had time to see it when suddenly out of nowhere this car just hit him! That was weird, but I was still willing to try to dismiss it at first. Luckily Zeke made it, he was seriously injured and a bunch of us got together to visit him at the hospital. He was in good spirits; we talked about how annoying Dr. Deverough was and visited for quite a while. We decided it was time to get dinner, but he asked me to stay behind for a moment. As soon as everyone left, his face just fell. He stuttered out, “Are you ok?” I nodded, confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked. He pressed his lips together thinly as if he was just afraid to tell me. Then he cleared his throat, “Because that day in the parking lot, I was checking my phone. When
I looked up…. I saw that thing. The thing from the artwork in class. The one no one would claim.” I felt my heart sink and little electric bolts shoot through my arm hair. I could tell he was serious. I wasn’t going to be fool enough to deny it at that point, however, Zeke was genuinely a nice guy and I didn’t want to upset him by admitting I’d seen anything. So I shrugged it off saying if it was after me then it probably would’ve gotten me when I was so distracted by the accident. Zeke rested against the pillow, muttering to himself. “It said that it didn’t want to catch anyone yet.” My eyebrow cocked and I said, “What do you mean by that?” The look in his eyes told me he was distraught in some way I could never understand. He uttered hopelessly, “He’s in my dreams.” I patted his shoulder told him that they were just dreams. He shook his head, “I’m dreaming even when I’m awake now.” I gave him a hug before leaving. It had bothered me. I mean I was having those dreams too. Dreams sound too careless, these were outright night terrors. I’d wake up in pure sweats. Each time I’d see that balloon. The same creepy balloon. And each time… that face would follow. The next assignment came up, and yet again another critique. The critique went on like normal it seemed. The girl I absolutely despised, Becky, started tearing into my piece. It always drives me crazy when she does that, but it's nothing unusually out of character. It didn’t work out for her because Dr. Deverough wasn’t impressed with her. After smiling to myself because I was not one of the victims of Dr. Deverough’s rants, I felt my heart drop. In the center of everyone’s work was a similar charcoal image. The figure with the big smile was on the right side of the piece, and behind him was a hospital bed. Above the hospital bed was…. a red balloon. I didn’t even stay through class. I rushed to the hospital. Zeke was curled in a ball in the corner of the room when I got there. I tried to get a word out of him, begged him to tell me what was wrong. He was shaking all over, but finally pointed to the wall on the other end of the room. Suddenly, I felt like joining him there in that corner. There was yet another charcoal drawing. This time the man was there in the center, surrounded by a burned down building. This was more horrifying than the previous pieces. In the hallway, I could see the red balloon, rotating in a circle. It was as if it was beckoning me. I decided against better judgment to follow the balloon. I know people must’ve thought I looked crazy, but I did my best to closely follow it. I wanted to at least clear this all up, to find out what this madness was all about. After walking out the door, the balloon led me to a children’s playground across the street. It centered over the swing set, rotating there. I stood under looking up at the balloon. I was startled when it suddenly popped, and I closed my eyes and braced for pain. When I opened my eyes, oh how I wish I hadn’t. There he was. The man who I’d been haunted by in my dreams. The man with the obscured smile.
I felt saliva build up as my eyes focused on his teeth, his long, thick, sharp teeth. I suddenly remembered how pit bulls have 235 pounds of bite pressure. His teeth looked far longer and I feared how much bite pressure he had. He didn’t move, he just smiled at me. I backed away, not taking my eyes off him. I tried to move so slow that it wouldn’t be noticeable, but he did notice. I heard a laugh, a deep chuckle emerging from his throat. It got louder, uncontrolled, insane sounding. It was then that I noticed the gaping holes where his eyes should be. I turned and ran. I didn’t dare to look back. The next week I did my work outside of class, because there was something about being in that class I felt that drove whatever that sadistic monster was. Dr. Deverough emailed me a threatening message about missing anymore days. I had no choice. I’d have to be there for the critique. I came in and tried to rush. I hung up my piece quickly, skipped four tacks and only hung it with two. I sat in the back of the class. Dr. Deverough started going over and critiquing the pieces. Becky tore into this other girl in our class named Dani’s piece. I felt my body quiver when the charcoal image appeared on the wall. This time I saw it though. It was as if the dust of the charcoal brought up the image. This time the man was center focused. It was a detailed drawing of his face, but this time, in the sockets where his eyes should be, there were two red spots. They appeared to glow. Dr. Deverough seemed annoyed. “Whoever keeps doing these it’s not funny and not a joke.” Becky leaned back, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder before spitting out, “Don’t understand why someone would put those pictures up. They’re ugly.” I watched the red disappear from the piece. I felt my heart drop. The charcoal fell off the image. Literally like sand just slid down. Everyone in class got wide eyed. The charcoal didn’t stop there, it moved across the floor. I dare say… it slithered. It stopped in front of Becky’s chair, moving upwards into the air, before falling on top of her. She shrieked loudly, running out of class. I watched the empty paper as it curled inward balling up on itself, revealing a hole in the wall. Suddenly, from it emerged red balloons. So many red balloons it was impossible to count. Everyone remained quiet. But we watched. I braced myself for the worst. I watched the red balloons trail through the hallway. I knew it was only going to get worse. I closed my eyes. I heard the laughter. That sinister laughter. Then I felt the heat. An overwhelming heat. I collapsed on the ground. I tried to inhale but bits of debris kept swarming through my lungs. I gave into the exhaustion and everything went black. I came to in the hospital bed. The fireman said that the welder from the nearby sculpture room started the fire. The art building is burnt to a crisp now. There’s nothing left. I know the truth though. It was him. He who haunts my sleep. Haunts my lucid moments. I try not to think about it. But he follows me. Some days I wish he’d kill me. But I know he won’t. He wants me alive. Wants to invade my mind. My mind… where is it now…. it’s like a fading shore line. A fading shore line that curves into a sadistic soul shattering grin.