Page 13 of His Wild Storm
I hold my hands up to him in surrender. “When you’re the one creating the art, there are no lines you need to stay within. You can mix whoever you want to make the perfect team.”
He nods his head sharply and gives me a look of appreciation. It goes straight to my heart.
“Wilde,” I start, “you’re incredibly talented. Far more talented than most kids your age.” I look him over, my eyes narrowed playfully, my voice matching, “Are you sure you’re really four?”
When he giggles it feels like a victory. “I promise, Knox, I’m only four.”
“Well,” I huff out, “I’m impressed. Are there areas where you wish things looked different in your drawing? Maybe I can help?”
“You want to help me get better?” He sounds unsure and it feels like a punch to my chest.
“Of course,” my voice is bright. “If I can help everyone in the class get better it means people will think I’m a very good teacher.” I make a funny face at him, and he laughs, the sound bright and full of amusement.
Next to the sound of my tattoo rig working, it’s my new favorite sound. My gut is telling me he’s not a kid who has had the chance to laugh a lot, at least not before his mom got them out of whatever situation they used to be in. Hearing it now feels so fucking special it takes a lot of effort not to squirm in my seat.
“This place doesn’t feel quite right,” he points to one of the corners of the room. “I don’t know why, but it doesn’t sit right.” He looks up at me with curiosity shining in his eyes. “Does that make sense?”
“It does,” I assure him. “As artists we use the contrast between light and dark to add depth and to help push perspective when we need to. It’s a technique called chiaroscuro.”
“Chiaroscuro,” Wilde tries to repeat the word, but doesn’t get it quite right.
“Chiaroscuro,” I repeat.
This time when he says it, he nails it, “Chiaroscuro.”
“Perfect,” I assure him. “You can use light and dark in the background,” I point to the corner of the room before pointing toward the front of the drawing, “and foreground to help createthe look of distance even though the paper you’re drawing on is flat. It’s not an easy technique to master and takes a lot of practice.”
“Background,” he points to the corner. “Foreground,” he points to the front edge of the drawing, repeating my words back to me like they’re gospel.
“Exactly. By making things that are supposed to be farther away darker, and things closer lighter it can add depth to your art,” I explain.
Wilde is nodding with my words with his eyes tracking over his drawing. Without me prompting him, he picks up a pastel and starts layering some shadows into the far corner of the room he’s drawn. He’s meticulous and slow, not rushing the process but experiencing it like he was always meant to be an artist.
Maybe he was.
When he’s done, he leans back slightly, and his lips tip up into a crooked grin perfect for a four-year-old boy to wear. He looks proud of himself. And he should be.
“I think it’s better,” he muses before looking up at me. “What do you think?”
“I’m kind of blown away, Wilde,” I tell him honestly. “You took a concept, one I didn’t even show you how to do practically, and you put it into practice.” I narrow my eyes and poke his shoulder gently. “Are you real? You’re not some kind of art robot from the future, are you? If you’re a robot, you have to tell me.”
Wilde’s laughter fills the room and some of the other kids laugh along with him, unable to resist the sound. “I’m not a robot,” he giggles out and looks at me like I’m the silliest thing he’s ever encountered.
I both love and hate that I probably am.
“I guess I’ll believe you, for now.” I wink at him and then direct my attention to some of the superheroes. “You can use the same technique in these areas to help make the superheroes pop. It’ll make them feel like they’re really standing in the room instead of floating in front of it.”
I make sure to point this out to him gently. The last thing I want is for him to feel like I’m coming down on him. I’m not, but if I see a place where he can use his skills to improve his art then I’m going to tell him.
“Oh,” he holds the word out like I’ve just given him a gift, not seeing anything negative in me wanting to make him better.
He grabs a lighter color and uses it to layer on the foreground characters before using a darker color to add some shadows and dimension. All I can do is sit back with my mouth hanging open. Who the hell is this kid?
“I like using these pastels,” he whispers and I’m not sure if he’s talking more to himself or me until he glances over at me. “They blend really nice, and I like layering them like you mentioned before we started.”
“Pastels aren’t the only medium which can blend well. You can do it with colored pencils and even markers. It is a little harder with markers, and I’ve found it only works when layering a darker color and not a lighter one, but that just means you have to plan ahead.”
Wilde’s eyes are filled with awe. “I like using markers. It’s what people use for comic books, right?”
