Spark of Light

It starts out a most intriguing morning. The crisp, clean air is indicative of a perfect fall day, not a trace of summer stickiness. Temple's campus is clean and bustling, and the Norris Street strip is lined with food trucks, serving everything from Korean tacos to gourmet grilled cheese. I sometimes feel, in not attending a traditional college, that I missed something; I think that's why I like working at colleges: I get to indulge in a taste of campus life, experiencing them all. 

Rubens comes sweeping up the hallway with a presence much larger than his stature. He's young, only barely taller than I, thin with a big scruffy beard and large round glasses. He has a strong handshake and a welcoming smile. He offers such a wonderful exclamation of confidence in his class that I am instantly at ease.

I detect a hint of an accent that I can't put my finger on; I think at first it sounds urban South American, maybe Colombian or Argentinian, though the lilting guitar stylings of Joao Gilberto in the classroom later have me thinking I overlooked Brazil as an obvious choice.

I have ample time to reflect on this while the class tackles challenging exercises: first blind contour drawing, where students are unable to look at the page while they draw; then drawing with their non-dominant hand, and finally drawing with their feet. I am impressed with their sketches, as I believe, were they.

A year later I fly into class late, after sticking and unsticking my truck in heavy wet snow on the roof of a parking garage. I am frantic and out of breath. Rubens exudes the same vibrancy I remember from a year ago. He is the rare professor who can tell a student their work is generic or uninteresting, and instead of beating them down, inspire them to do great work. The crackling energy in the classroom is positive and supportive, and the day goes by in a blink.