end of a journey. or beginning?

i remember the first day of class, wurster 170 was bursting with nervous people unsure if they would be in the class, trying to impress the teacher, weird topical tangents that took us to Ukraine, Oceanside, and Argentina.  every week, from 6-10 on thursday, instead of working on my math 54 problem set, i left my ordinary, talent-less life, to this magical room with the low hung lights to sing.  what makes singing such a transformative process? we traveled through time and to different places on these songs, emotionally visiting the different eras of american history, i've never been.  at home, the process is replicated, my little netbook playing songs that were sung decades ago.  looking back on my artwork, i improved...laterally...my technical skill is still severely lacking but i had, through weeks on self-reflection and listening to tony's advice to other people, realized what art making was about.  its a feeling, its an inspiration.

i'm really grateful to have this place and time as a refuge from my daily troubles that would melt away as we sang; as we poured our frustrations and annoyances into "goodnight irene" the people, the conversations, the activities, were all a little bit extraordinary.  by half way in the semester, we'd started to recognize each other identity's in the artwork; what cultivation!

i can't really put what i learned from this class into words but if there were words they would be lifeline, white, occupy, front porch, dylan, important, where does this come from.