My second grade teacher was Mrs Caldwell. I remember her being oldish, short tempered, and stern. A few months ago I saw her obituary and accompanying article in the paper. They described her as a true Irish woman complete with red hair. She was ninety-something at her death. Sixty-five years ago she had to have been much younger than I perceived she was!
I took the street car by myself to Joslyn Art Museum for art lessons. We sat astraddle wooden benches with an easel like board at one end. I don't remember learning anything. I do remember being very upset that the teacher was always drawing or painting on my paper to show me something. I always thought that she ruined my efforts. I don't know whether to think that I was arrogant or that I was justified in not liking the method used to try to teach me. I would have been happy for the teacher to show me something on a different sheet of paper.
1 comment:
Funny how the creative being within has a hard time with correction - especially when it simply seems short sighted of our vision.
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