Saturday, July 22, 2006

Then there were twelve...

I lit a wooden match; I let it all burn down
I've broken every rule; I've wrecked it all down

One was filled with pain and sorrow so beautiful it made us all cry, one a head of red like a beacon for us all
one darkly dancing to banff, one who did not do pretty art,
one who taught us rusty vinegar, one who started with a glue gun but buried it in the dirt,
one who burst into the class at the last minute with nothing but gave lots,
one, a raging granny who was anything but raging, one who ignored instructions but it didn't matter,
one who made us laugh and made our art smell like instant coffee,
one who could've been high maintenance but ended up simply charming.

...and then there were twelve,
twelve wonderful students who came out to the metchosin summer school of the arts and created beautiful things for a week.
All of you, thank you.



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