sunder-the-gold:bamboozled-rainbow-superhell:kwermaid09:im-a-dragon-cawcaw: bogleech: lynati:movem
sunder-the-gold:bamboozled-rainbow-superhell:kwermaid09:im-a-dragon-cawcaw: bogleech: lynati: movemequotes: Once a little boy went to school.One morningThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.He liked to make all kinds;Lions and tigers,Chickens and cows,Trains and boats;And he took out his box of crayonsAnd began to draw. But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make flowers.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make beautiful onesWith his pink and orange and blue crayons.But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And it was red, with a green stem.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.” The little boy looked at his teacher’s flowerThen he looked at his own flower.He liked his flower better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just turned his paper over,And made a flower like the teacher’s.It was red, with a green stem. On another dayThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make something with clay.”“Good!” thought the little boy;He liked clay.He could make all kinds of things with clay:Snakes and snowmen,Elephants and mice,Cars and trucksAnd he began to pull and pinchHis ball of clay. But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make a dish.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make dishes.And he began to make someThat were all shapes and sizes. But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And she showed everyone how to makeOne deep dish.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.” The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish;Then he looked at his own.He liked his better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just rolled his clay into a big ball againAnd made a dish like the teacher’s.It was a deep dish. And pretty soonThe little boy learned to wait,And to watchAnd to make things just like the teacher.And pretty soonHe didn’t make things of his own anymore. Then it happenedThat the little boy and his familyMoved to another house,In another city,And the little boyHad to go to another school. The teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.And he waited for the teacherTo tell what to do.But the teacher didn’t say anything.She just walked around the room. When she came to the little boyShe asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”“Yes,” said the little boy.“What are we going to make?”“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.“Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher.“And any color?” asked the little boy.“Any color,” said the teacher.And he began to make a red flower with a green stem. ~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy … I hate that I hesitated to reblog this just because I expect people to think it’s pretentious or melodramatic when it’s seriously real as fuck and I’ve witnessed it I feel like I understand but I don’t understand. I know what this is trying to say but I can’t explain it. It means that the teacher basically destroyed this kids creativity The little boy went first day of schoolHe got some crayons and started to drawHe put colors all over the paperFor colors was what he sawAnd the teacher said.. What you doin’ young manI’m paintin’ flowers he saidShe said,It’s not the time for art young manAnd anyway flowers are green and redThere’s a time for everything young manAnd a way it should be doneYou’ve got to show concern for everyone elseFor you’re not the only oneAnd she saidFlowers are red young manGreen leaves are greenThere’s no need to see flowers any other wayThan the way they always have been seenBut the little boy saidThere are so many colors in the rainbowSo many colors in the morning sunSo many colors in the flower and I see every oneWell the teacher saidYou’re sassyThere’s ways that things should beAnd you’ll paint flowers the way they areSo repeat after meAnd she saidFlowers are red young manGreen leaves are greenThere’s no need to see flowers any other wayThan the way they always have been seenBut the little boy saidThere are so many colors in the rainbowSo many colors in the morning sunSo many colors in the flower and I see every oneThe teacher put him in a cornerShe saidIt’s for your own goodAnd you won’t come out ‘til you get it rightAnd all responding like you shouldWell finally he got lonelyFrightened thoughts filled his headAnd he went up to the teacherAnd this is what he said, and he saidFlowers are red, green leaves are greenThere’s no need to see flowers any other wayThan the way they always have been seenTime went by like it always doesAnd they moved to another townAnd the little boy went to another schoolAnd this is what he foundThe teacher there was smilin’She saidPainting should be funAnd there are so many colors in a flowerSo let’s use every oneBut that little boy painted flowersIn neat rows of green and redAnd when the teacher asked him whyThis is what he saidAnd he saidFlowers are red, green leaves are greenThere’s no need to see flowers any other wayThan the way they always have been seen.“Flowers are Red”, by Harry Chapin I’ve frequently wanted to link to this post when I came across posts about artistic freedom and how authoritarianism crushes artistic expression.This time, I’ve tagged this post so that, if I ever run across those other posts again, or anything like them, I can share the connection. -- source link