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 ^{(it's beta!)}

Carpentry is a large portion of my school that few ever see. Right across from the sculpture room is an open door leading to a warehouse-like workshop Inside to the right is a row of tan-ish lockers and just beyond them nearer to the center of the room lies the “work area”.

House foundations line the floor in a neat row and large white walled structures stand idly by. The carpenters leave their class room in the back and suit up at the lockers. Although laughter echoes up to the high-ceiling of the warehouse, they set about their work diligently, checking the details of their projects like artists. The teacher shouts, “Cut, cut, cut!” and the carpenters remove the excess dry wall paper with knife-like scrapers.

Spackle is spread over the line of paper like icing and smoothed in, as it dries it turns from its light tan to pure white until the paper becomes invisible. Eyes flicker behind florescent glasses, spackle flies, dotting their jeans and shirts.

In the corner of the room is a large metal gazebo casting a shadow on the concrete floor, bits of wood and saw dust are swept up in the in the corner, the smell of it mingles with the clay making my nose burn with sensation.

Red wires stream from the rafters like confetti, and the floor resembles the entrails of a parade. The clanking of metal on metal, scraping, banging ring in the room like percussion instruments.

Two students fence in the center of the room with makeshift swords. As the class winds down, the teacher calls for the brooms to debut and the carpenters flock to clean up the aftermath of a day in the workshop. Soon a thin layer of fog hangs in the air. The carpenters return to the row of lockers, removing their boots and gloves, they become regular students again as they leave at the bell.

Some still carry flakes of carpentry snow on their clothes.