06/02/2026
For three years, I had this ritual. Once a week, I’d grab my students and we’d head out into the city, the Louvre, Père Lachaise, old churches tucked away in the 4th...
I was supposed to be the one teaching them how to look at art, but honestly? I think I was the one getting schooled.
While they were busy sketching for their grades, I was busy getting lost. I started obsessing over the weirdest things, the way a gargoyle looked in the rain, the jagged texture of a 200-year-old carving, the « ugly » parts of the stone that everyone else just walked past.
The classes ended a long time ago. The students graduated and moved on. But I think a part of me never really left those halls.
I’m still chasing those same shadows today. Only now, I’m not teaching them, I’m forging them into patterns.
Call it a professional hazard. Or just a really long field trip that never ended.
