This past week marked the end of my first full semester of classes. I am very emotional about it. I’ll see my professors once more for my final critiques.
My figure drawing professor lent me a pencil and told me I could keep it. I feel sentimental about it. I want to draw with it and I don’t. I don’t want to use it up, but I know he would rather I draw with it.
I struggled with him a bit in the beginning. After I complained that he was not providing enough instruction, it opened the flood gate for another student to have an overly dramatic confrontation with him. I felt bad I had encouraged that. I should have brought up my grievance in private. As I am a professional artist, he had some high expectations of me and sometimes was pretty curt in his complaint of my work. I didn’t want to work to please him, but I found myself trying to. When I did that, I didn’t find my groove and I produced crap. When I blocked him out, I did so much better. His is the first formal training I’ve received since middle school. I really enjoyed it. I’m going to miss it and him.
All these goodbyes hurt.
Namaste, my friends.