Dear Visual Language:

We need to talk.

You know, it's been fun these past few month, all of the travelling to Oakville every Wednesday to go to you, it's been fine. I don't mind the hours that I spend on the bus, really, it's okay. It's not that.

I have spent so many night awake in order to make you happy, all of the squares, all of the shapes and colours that I stared at, hour after hour, evaluating contrast in form texture space colour scale and rhythm, and it never became any more clear exactly why I was doing it. I gave you the best hours of my night, and what did you give me in return? C's? B-'s?

The squares, oh the squares. 5x5 inches, always 5x5 inches. I have nightmares, nightmares about the squares devouring my very soul. It keeps me up at night, in fear.

I was hurt, V.L, I was. The hours that I spent organizing all of my process work, binding it for you, writing the write-ups and labeling the labels. It was all supposed to be for something, and it's all lead to this; one week from the last class, and you are bearing down on me again.

A book! A book you want this time! Bound, with a jacket, in colour, oh in colour. And for what? Another C? another B-? Enough is enough.

I will do your assignment, Visual Language, I will do it and that's it. When this class ends I never want to see your face again.

You are a cold heartless bitch Visual Language, and I will not miss you.

Keith