I've never been a stickler for arriving early to events or appointments. I guess it depends on my role in the activities. I usually arrive early to the Art School where I teach in order to prepare the classroom before class. I'll sometimes arrive early to my main Monday-through-Friday job at the publishing company where I work as a graphic artist. But three out of the five days I'm either just on time or maybe five minutes late.
That being said, however, I love the quietness of the Art School when I get there before anyone else. The sun's clean morning beams streaming through the windows onto the walls that display the colors and distinctive innocent whimsy of children's art. The space is made hallow by the reverberation of smiles, wonder and discovery that has been witnessed by those vintage walls of the old converted town house. I reach my arms into the supply closet to pull out pencils, markers and paper that I carefully arrange on the classroom tables. Giving each place where a student will sit to draw it's own folder with the student's name. I place the books that I and the students use for reference on a side folding tray table and make sure that the easel at the front of the class has requisite sheets of large paper for my demonstrations of technique.
I usually see Miss Alayne, fellow teacher and school curriculum director with her cheerful smile and greeting as she arrives before her class. "You can leave the chairs out after your classes today", she might say. "We have a birthday party later this afternoon". Usually I put the chairs on the tables before I leave for the day. Miss Alayne also wears the hat of Janitor and will mop the old wooden floors before classes resume on Monday. I might have time to check my mail box before my first class. Office manager Randy is usually there paying bills. He's a burly retired police officer who always sports a baseball cap and bushy mustache. His mom founded the school over 25 years ago. Randy's not an artist but he's told me how much he enjoys the creative atmosphere of the school.
At nine o'clock, as I finish last-minute preparations, I'll hear the door at the foot of the steep stairs fly open followed by the clamor of children's feet and voices ascending. "Hi, Mr Doug!" Class begins. I'm glad I had the quiet time before hand. Now I'm ready for the excited sounds of kids making art.
That being said, however, I love the quietness of the Art School when I get there before anyone else. The sun's clean morning beams streaming through the windows onto the walls that display the colors and distinctive innocent whimsy of children's art. The space is made hallow by the reverberation of smiles, wonder and discovery that has been witnessed by those vintage walls of the old converted town house. I reach my arms into the supply closet to pull out pencils, markers and paper that I carefully arrange on the classroom tables. Giving each place where a student will sit to draw it's own folder with the student's name. I place the books that I and the students use for reference on a side folding tray table and make sure that the easel at the front of the class has requisite sheets of large paper for my demonstrations of technique.
I usually see Miss Alayne, fellow teacher and school curriculum director with her cheerful smile and greeting as she arrives before her class. "You can leave the chairs out after your classes today", she might say. "We have a birthday party later this afternoon". Usually I put the chairs on the tables before I leave for the day. Miss Alayne also wears the hat of Janitor and will mop the old wooden floors before classes resume on Monday. I might have time to check my mail box before my first class. Office manager Randy is usually there paying bills. He's a burly retired police officer who always sports a baseball cap and bushy mustache. His mom founded the school over 25 years ago. Randy's not an artist but he's told me how much he enjoys the creative atmosphere of the school.
At nine o'clock, as I finish last-minute preparations, I'll hear the door at the foot of the steep stairs fly open followed by the clamor of children's feet and voices ascending. "Hi, Mr Doug!" Class begins. I'm glad I had the quiet time before hand. Now I'm ready for the excited sounds of kids making art.
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