Reflections on Authority

B. was the great artist one year ahead of my class in college. We all wanted to draw as well as he did. We all tried. It was our goal.

Near the end of my junior year (B.'s senior year), talking to Pat Schuchard (painter/professor) while looking at our work hung on the wall during a break in one of those long studio classes... looking at B.'s in particular... Pat says, "It's good."

"Very good," I agreed. Still in awe, I guess.

A pause.

"You know, he was that good when he was a freshman."

I did know that.

Silence between us (where the real communication happens). I got what Pat meant. B. had spent nearly four years here and to what end? All this time, energy, money and B. had never allowed himself to be a student... never allowed himself to submit to a master... never grew.