I emerged from underneath a veiled path, that has only recently become clear to me. The fronds of a giant weeping willow acting as my last gossamer gate between the me that has been, and the me that will be.

I lifted up my right hand and with a single, delicate, but determined movement I parted this veil, mother natures version of a beaded curtain, and planted my foot squarely on the concrete sidewalk in front of me, the literal and figurative path that will lead to my new life in art.

Wanting to do things properly, not wanting to rush or skip pieces in any way, I walked down to the corner, instead of perpetrating one of my normal jaywalks. Crossed at the crosswalk, walked with determination across the too small Glassell parking lot, and entered into the building that would house and foster my new personal renaissance. The arching glass block ceiling towers over me as I walk to the staircase that will bring me to my very first class. Eager to meet the Swedish born teacher, who I'm sure will become a new fast friend.

The doors to the lecture hall were not open yet, so I set down next to others on broad, leather upholstered benches, centering myself under the broad, towering arch of the ceiling. As I set there I was filled with the most wonderful realization that this building will become my artistic womb, culminating in weekly quickenings and rebirths of artistic realizations.

I watched a young woman, on another area of the second story catwalk that overlooks the great space that is divided by a central gallery area that I have yet to explore. I watched her with a bundle of keys, unlocking and entering various rooms then reemerging with yet more supplies in her already too full arms, then relocking the doors. Little did I realize that she, a diminutive elfish looking girl, with a haircut that reminded me of eastern Europe for some reason, was my much anticipated Swedish instructor. I had found myself wanting to know her story, wondering what secret inner workings of this womb of a building this person possessed. She moved about with an air of familiarity. At the locking of the last door in a long series of lockings and unlockings she walked over and entered the drawing auditorium. With that I entered, I the first to follow her.

I picked a drawing table near the front, one seat left empty in the front of me, and with that my journey on the path was firmly established and confirmed.

I took this picture over the top of my truck as I was leaving my first art class. I was struck by the palm over The Society for Jungian Thought building. It just seemed to stir something inside of me, I wondered at the ironicness of it all and pondered it's possible iconic significance for me. It's primordial symbolism somehow embedded in my genetic psyche.