My Mean Old Art Teacher Essays -- Personal Narrative Writing

My Mean doddering cunning TeacherMr. Arnold stands smugly by his row inhabit door betwixt classes, with his arms proudly crossed over his chest as trails of students trampling past his fine art room each twenty-four hour period. Many of the passers-by recognize this homophile simply as the scary art teacher. Those who have experienced Mr. Arnolds art class first-hand regard him otherwise. I had comprehend many stories about Mr. Arnold out front entering his grueling class. Most people dont like him, some warned me. Others commented, Ive heard his class is really difficult. I can remember my first day in his art class clearly. I entered his room a diffident freshman with unpleasant expectations. Maybe I was even a niggling more than timid. The concept of high school f soundened me, and having a teacher with a bad reputation didnt ease my fears. I was a furnish fourteen-year old girl a girl who had been babied most of her life. I entered room 28 for the first time on a war m late-summers afternoon, as the suns rays attempted to soothe me through the windows. The poignant tactile property of oil key filtered through the air, soft classical music drifted from his office and impressive artistry decorated the walls. Mr. Arnold always insisted, much to the students opposition, that, Classical music puts you in the right mind set to create art. It allow for not distract you, it will force you to focus. The shelves juggled piles of aged art supplies and half-filled canvases doffed the edges of the room. Mr. Arnold loomed in front of the class with his pointer, a man with frosty silver hair and an undeniable brassy spot, unraveling his list of arduous requirements. Art is not an easy B, he smirked, making reference to a sign on the wall, and squinting at us with his sharp icy eyes. Furt... ...der his tutelege. Mr. Arnolds guidance has made me realize that if I deeply and genuinely love what I do, I can succeed. Art has wisked me into lands of creativity and imagination I never knew. Ive learned to expand my boundaries by setting sail on risky bodies of water. I may be somewhat of a timid person, but when I create art, I can fly. Mr. Arnold has helped me gain more of the confidence I so urgently needed to break loose. I spent four years in that same room, a room where I grew to love the familiar smell of oil paint and the sound of classical music, listening to Mr. Arnold holler, narrate, criticize, instruct and laugh. I do know an art teacher, different from the one who stands smugly by the door of his art room, with his arms proudly crossed over his chest, and I will never forget him because his teaching has shaped me as an artist, and as a person.