Essay On My Art Sir..
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Have you ever been to a point in your life where there were to many decisions and not enough time? This is what happened to me in my senior year of high school. Throughout my teen years, I never discussed college with my family or did they with me. College for some reason was not on my agenda. Then I realized that I wanted to go to further my education. The reason I chose to go to college was that I am an artist, and felt that I needed to learn more about art techniques. I didn’t want to loose my talent, and I realized how much I enjoyed being in class. I had the privilege of being a student of some wonderful teachers at the high school I attended, and they influenced my decision to becoming an art teacher.
Teaching is a challenging profession, but also very rewarding. I had the opportunity to do an art project with local kids of Monroe County over the summer. That experience helped me a great deal to see a glimpse of my future. During the four-week program the kids worked and learned about all forms of art. The teaching experience gave me pleasure on departing some knowledge and interest to the children that were there. That feeling of accomplishment for myself and seeing it in the faces of the children encourages me to proceed in my goals on becoming an art teacher.
My goals as a teacher will be managing my classroom in an eclectic way of combining philosophies. Differing seating arrangements in art classes are limited, therefore are materials need to be
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My Mean Old Art Teacher
Mr. Arnold stands smugly by his classroom door between classes, with his arms proudly crossed over his chest as trails of students trample past his art room each day. Many of the passers-by recognize this man simply as "the scary art teacher." Those who have experienced Mr. Arnold's art class first-hand regard him otherwise.
I had heard many stories about Mr. Arnold before entering his grueling class. "Most people don't like him," some warned me. Others commented, "I've heard his class is really difficult." I can remember my first day in his art class clearly. I entered his room a timid freshman with unpleasant expectations. Maybe I was even a little more than timid. The concept of high school frightened me, and having a teacher with a bad reputation didn't ease my fears. I was a sheltered fourteen-year old girl; a girl who had been babied most of her life. I entered room 28 for the first time on a warm late-summer's afternoon, as the sun's rays attempted to soothe me through the windows. The poignant smell of oil paint filtered through the air, soft classical music drifted from his office and impressive artwork decorated the walls. Mr. Arnold always insisted, much to the students' opposition, that, "Classical music puts you in the right mind set to create art. It will not distract you, it will force you to focus." The shelves juggled piles of aged art supplies and half-filled canvases doffed the edges of the room. Mr. Arnold loomed in front of the class with his pointer, a man with frosty silver hair and an undeniable bald spot, unraveling his list of arduous requirements. "Art is not an easy "he smirked, making reference to a sign on the wall, and squinting at us with his sharp icy eyes. he is my role model.
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