<p>this is a general essay i wrote for a bunch of schools: kenyon, bowdoin, maybe harvard, who knows...what do ya thinK!</p>
<p>Here is my attempt at the "Best teacher you have ever had and why" essay. I thought it was fitting for Thanksgiving and the recent Oprah's Favorite Things Episode </p>
<p>One day last year, I came across an essay prompt that read If you could sit down for dinner with one human being, living or dead, who would it be? I thought long and hard about the the prompt until I realized that the answer stood right before me in the form of a screaming Ms. Wolf, angered that I was looking down at a college application and not at the Kama Sutra books she was passing around the room. </p>
<p>Class, please commence your investigations of the links between Indian art and the sexual positions detailed in these books immediately.</p>
<p>And just like that, she was off like a whirlwind that sweeps through a room, screaming and laughing, poking and prodding, throwing books at kids, painting pictures, turning on her inspirational Seal album, even calling her old professor from Pratt who introduced her to the history of art. This teacher was like no other. Eccentric, peculiar, perhaps even deranged, Ms. Wolf carried a multitude of labels assigned by students who had never seen the woman in her glory. Rumors spread through the school like wildfire of this creature of the art wing. The one who had her students sing along with The Supremes at double-Chipmunk-speed on her record player for a full month. The one who planned a field trip to The Metropolitan but instead went to see the graffiti artists of Greenwich Village. This teacher was the one, the one who would change my life forever.</p>
<p>It was on course selection day, sophomore year, that I realize my only shot at carrying out a full conversation with Ms. Wolf was to enroll in one of her classes, particularly the AP 2D course I had heard so much about. Since it couldnt hurt to try for two, I also enrolled in Art History, prepared to come to my own conclusions on such an unconventional teacher. On the first day of class, she outlined the set up. Come to my class, do what you want, Ill help you a long the way. </p>
<p>The freedom of the situation was something I was unaccustomed to, but quickly grew to love. While Ms. Wolf remained distant, only popping her head by me in two to four sentence intervals, I quietly accumulated a series of photographic works that I grew proud of. Ms. Wolfs criticism may not have been planned, but the occasional chance to sit down with her and hear her speak was enough to keep me going for weeks on end. When the add/drop date came and went, I hardly noticed what had happened. Until one day, when I walked into class for a critique, I noticed just 12 students. Apparently the scattered grades and bizarre teaching tactics didnt sit well with some, but I knew that I had met my match. </p>
<p>In the next few months, a relationship unfolded with Ms. Wolf unlike any other I had ever had. A group of students sat after class each day, debating the quality of Van Goghs sketches or putting together our AP portfolios, as Ms. Wolf scurried around the room hollering at us random facts or hurling books at us to review. Sometimes, we were lucky enough to have her stand before us like Mother Goose and tell us the history of a certain painting or its hidden symbols. Even more remarkable than our after school group sessions was that I found time to meet Ms. Wolf at the only hour she could ever sit still lunch. Now, dont get me wrong, this was not a formal dinner .and it was almost as scattered as our other meetings, but at lunch we could talk about everything. She became a mentor, a friend, an educator, and a story-teller. She was everything all at once, and when I had time to see it all come together, I could hardly wait to get home and let her inspiration shine through in my art. </p>
<p>Today, I continue to visit Ms. Wolf, only now I feel myself becoming the same crazy person she is. I come to her classes early, help set up her slides at warp speed, pass out books and spit out chunks of information, tell her students stories, and digest information and art at a pace even Ms. Wolf couldnt keep up with. So while others may choose Shakespeare or Elvis, I dont think I could ever give up the chance to spend a dinner with Ms. Wolf after all, look how far lunch has taken me.</p>