AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Bethany and Jeff each jotted down a few notes. Cressida Marks leaned forward a little over the table, hands clasped together in front of her. “Why haven’t you thought of teaching art before?”
I considered that. When I’d practiced interview questions with Sam last night, we’d agreed this one would likely come up. The answer we agreed I’d give, though—that I’d just been waiting for the right teaching opportunity to come along, that Harmony Academy was the first school I thought might be a good fit—didn’t feel right, now that I was here.
For one thing, it was a lie. I’d applied to several teaching positions over the past few years and was rejected by each of them.
For another, sitting there in that sparsely furnishedconference room, with three people who might be my coworkers soon—if all went well—a better answer finally came to me.
“I didn’t think any school would have me.”
That caused Bethany to look up from her notepad.
“Why is that?” she asked.
We were off the script Sam and I had rehearsed, but that didn’t matter. I knew the answer all the same.
“My art isn’t conventional.” I gestured to the copy of my portfolio in the center of the conference room table. “I don’t paint pretty pictures or make coffee mugs on the potter’s wheel that people can buy for their sisters at Christmas. I take trash, ephemera—things other people throw away—and turn them into something beautiful.” I shook my head. “I didn’t think my vision fit in with the kinds of things kids were taught in art classes when I was in school.”
“But you decided to go for it with us,” Cressida said. “What made you change your mind?”
I pondered that a moment. Whatdidmake me change my mind?
Suddenly, I knew.
Frederick, in our living room, telling me he could see that I brought a real, unique vision to my work. The awe in his voice as he said the words. The look in his eyes when he told me that anyone who refused to hire me was a fool.
“I realized that I’m good, actually.” I smiled and sat up a little straighter in my chair. “And that Harmony would be lucky to have me.”
All three of them nodded a little. The woman with the pink hair jotted down a few notes. As they continued to ask me questions about my career goals and my résumé, I started worrying whether that answer had been what they were looking for. But at least it was the truth.
And either way, there was no taking it back now.
“Do you have any questions for us?” Jeff asked, closing the folder he’d been consulting throughout the interview. He had a warm, inviting voice that put me at ease despite my roiling nerves.
I thought over everything Sam and I had talked about, trying to filter it all through the ground this interview had already covered.
“I do,” I said. “I’d like to hear more about what I’ll be teaching here. What can you tell me about the kinds of arts programming you have here at Harmony, and where my classes would fit into that?”
“I can speak to that.” Bethany set down my portfolio and folded her hands neatly in front of her on the table. “Here at Harmony we take nurturing students’ artistic expression very seriously. From kindergarten through eighth grade students are exposed to visual, musical, or literary arts every day. By the time students are in the Upper School—or high school, as it’s known in the public schools—students select one of four different art tracks that they pursue all four years.”
“For some students, the artistic track they pursue may be music,” Jeff clarified. “For others, it may be theater, or creative writing. Upper School students who select the fourth track—visual arts—would be the ones in your classes.”
“Harmony Academy is proud of all four of its artistic expression tracks,” Cressida Marks said, glancing at her colleagues. They nodded. “That said, our visual arts track has traditionally had the least adventurous and diverse offerings.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant by that. “Least adventurous and diverse? How do you mean?”
“Historically, a lot of our visual arts classes have covered thesorts of things you said earlier that you don’t do,” Bethany said, glancing at her colleagues. “Painting watercolor still lifes. Art history classes covering the famous paintings you’d find in the Art Institute of Chicago or the Louvre. Lessons on the pottery wheel. And while any Upper School visual arts program worth its saltmustcover these things, we believe we do our students a disservice if we stop there.”
“And that,” Cressida said, “is why we wanted to interview you for this position. We are looking for art teachers who think about art in innovative ways and are excited about sharing these innovations with our Upper School kids.”
All three of them looked at me, as though gauging my response to what they’d just said. My mind was going a mile a minute trying to process everything.
What they were describing sounded...
Well. It soundedperfect. Like, too-good-to-be-true perfect.
“That sounds incredible.” I didn’t know if I should be playing my genuine excitement closer to the chest than this, but I couldn’t help it.
Cressida smiled. “We’re glad you think so.”
