The art of an intercultural art class

Today was the last day I actually had to go to the university for a class! Yeah, I'm still gonna call it a class, even though my pumpkin whoopie pies only took up a small corner of the food table. Yup, food table. I think the janitors really appreciated our class today.

I have mixed feelings about the end of most of those classes. I've learned quite a bit in them, after all. (You have mixed feelings Dani? Never.) But honestly, there was one class that I could not wait to get my butt out of. And it wasn't one of the ones for which I did tons of research or burned the midnight oil....

It was art. And an entry level art class at that.

But before you judge me an uncultured art-hater, let me explain. It wasn't the creation of the art specifically that I disliked. It was professor. And I feel horrible saying it, because I think she's probably quite a nice lady.

But interacting well with people who don't speak your language easily, or don't always understand you the first time, is difficult. I've only met a few people who really excel at it, and I've met a whole lot who really suck at it.

This professor's solution to the problem was to speak to me and, worse, treat me like I was five. I think she was trying to be helpful. She really just had me on the verge of tears more times than I care to admit. In a class where we made collages, for goodness sake! Not my finest moments.

But anyway, the bad interactions at least teach me how not to speak to my own English students, I hope.

Well, onward and upward.


It says that because my class was on Tuesday. But wouldn't "martes" be a cool last name?

The little photo shoot we did on the last day. Two minute photography unit?