Every student of Marla Connelly's was different, they all had different styles and interpretations and it was always interesting to see how each new class was so different from the class before. However, after nearly 15 years of studio art instruction, Marla had determined most of the time her students fit in three broad categories.

The first and most common category were the students taking the class as an elective; they dabbled in art in high school and liked it enough to seek more instruction but not enough to seriously pursue it. They were also the most likely to drop out after the first critique when they discover Marla wanted the critiques and discussion to go beyond “That looks good” and “I like this and that”.

“This class was supposed to be fun and relaxing.” Marla had seen that comment or something close to it on many end-of-term evaluations. She knew she was a little tougher than her colleagues, that relatively few students took art classes at Scranton Community College with the intention of transferring to a four-year school to get a bachelors degree in Fine Art.

That was the second category; the students who wanted to seriously pursue art, but finances or poor grades were getting in the way. In theory Marla knew she should enjoy those students the most, most of them were very naturally talented and displayed a grasp of composition that the elective students struggled to achieve even by the end of the term. But Marla was frequently put off by the general arrogance of these students. They accepted criticism from her just fine, but when their classmates said something, they all too often adopted a snide, better-than attitude.

The third category was composed of Marla’s favorite students. They were the people that the college dubbed “non-traditional students” and as an evening-time instructor, Marla had several of them every term. They were parents and career people, people in their late-twenties, thirties, and beyond. She even would have a retiree in about every other class. They weren’t taking the class as an elective or to bide their time until they could get into a better school; they genuinely wanted to be there and wanted to improve their art.

Yes, Marla greatly enjoyed her older students, and last fall in her introductory drawing class, Marla was instantly drawn to a quiet woman with curly hair tied half-back who stood and introduced herself as Pam Beesly. As a way to get familiar with her students, Marla always started off the term asking them to fill out a survey about themselves and their goals with the class. There wasn’t much on Pam’s paper; a few neatly written words that she worked as a receptionist, hadn’t taken art classes since high school, and liked watercolors best.

Marla would walk around the studio as her students worked and she couldn’t help but go by Pam often, lingering behind her and studying her method until Pam would glance back nervously. Marla noticed Pam worked slowly and precisely, preferring pencils and sharpened charcoal and thin marks to larger tools and broader marks. She excelled at still life, replicating the displays Marla constructed for the class with great detail and accuracy. But she seemed lost when she drew live models, spending all her time perfecting complicated features like faces and hands and rarely producing a complete drawing by the end of the class. Marla gently urged Pam to draw an outline of the whole figure before focusing in on any features. Pam did improve in that area throughout the term, but still lagged behind her classmates in figure drawing.

When Marla received her class roster for the spring term, she was thrilled to see Pam’s name. February was when the department had an art show and she was eager to see how Pam would respond to the challenge. Pam's art had improved steadily through the fall term, and she was finally using a looser, broader and more expressive stroke. But something happened the first week of February, and Pam once again started to use a thin, precise stroke and worked exclusively on pencil and watercolor still-lifes. Marla encouraged Pam to display some of her sketches from the end of the fall term for the show, but Pam said she was most comfortable showing some watercolors.

The evening of the show, Marla felt herself keeping one eye on Pam’s wall, watching Pam waiting for someone to stop and glance at her work while nervously playing with the overlong sleeves of her purple turtleneck. Few people took more than a couple seconds to study Pam’s art; an old woman, a tall bearded man who Marla figured Pam was involved with, and a short tan man with a thin, balding man. As the show wound down and Marla was called over by the other instructors to help take apart the reception tables, she took one last look at Pam, who stood alone with her gaze on the hall for any last-minute visitors.

* * * * *

The next class, Marla took a couple moments with each student as they worked, asking them what they thought of the art show. She purposely kept Pam for last, timing it so that she reached Pam just as the other students were leaving.

“Hey Pam,” Marla said brightly, pulling a stool up next to her.

“Hi Marla,” Pam said nervously as she packed away her supplies.

“So, I was just asking everyone how their show experience was.”

Pam put on a smile that Marla could sense was fake and nodded, “It was good, very good experience.”

“What would you say was the general response to your work?”

“Positive,” Pam said quickly. “But I mean, I think everyone there was a friend or relative of one of the students, so of course it's positive."

“Yeah, we put out cheese and crackers to try to lure in wayward visitors, but I really think next time we should try wine," Marla said with a smirk.

Pam laughed softly and kept her eyes on the final student wandering out of the classroom. Marla knew she had to be careful with her next words.

“Well, that’s all I wanted to ask, and you know I’m here if you have any questions.” Marla closed her grade book and took her time to stand up while Pam looked down to her hands.

“Actually-” Pam started. Marla sat back down and waiting as Pam took a deep breath and looked up at her. “Not all the feedback I got was positive.” 

“Oh?” Marla responded softly. 

“Yeah, my co-worker’s boyfriend, he didn’t know I was standing behind him, and he called my stuff ‘Motel Art’.”

Marla arched an eyebrow, “Motel Art?”

Pam’s eyes darted from Marla’s face to her easel and she took another deep breath. “I guess he didn’t think my work showed any emotion. ‘Courage and Honesty’ in particular.” 

Marla nodded slowly, “And do you agree with that?”

Pam knitted her brows, “Huh?”

"Sometimes critics have a good point, sometimes they're critiquing just to critique, and trust me it can take an artist a long time to spot the difference,” Marla said with a slight smile.

Pam nodded, and glanced back down to her hands, “I do think my art is lacking ... something. I can't say what, though.” 

Marla looked at the piece Pam was working on today; another delicately drawn picture of what appeared to be a desk with pens, pencils and scissors. “You gravitate towards still lifes, do you think there’s a reason for that?”

Pam glanced at her own drawing, “Because they don’t change, I guess. Like, they stay in one place.”

Marla smiled, wondering if Pam knew how honest the answer she gave was. “On Wednesday I'm going to have your class start your midterm project, and the assignment is to create a piece that includes yourself in some way.”

“Like a self portrait?”

“It could be a self portrait, or a landscape of a park with you at a bench, it could just your hand holding an object with significance to you. Just some part of you has to be included. So, start thinking about what you might make, and maybe sketch out some ideas if you find the time.”

Marla couldn’t read Pam’s expression as she looked to nothing in particular before meeting her eyes and saying that sounded good.

* * * * *

The following Monday, Pam came to class late. Marla couldn't help but notice the bags under her eyes and her slumped shoulders. As class ended, Marla called Pam over. She assumed Marla wanted to talk about her tardiness and started apologizing profusely, but Marla assured her it was no big deal and asked how her midterm project was going.

Pam nodded furiously and said it was fine, before biting her lip and admitting that she hadn’t worked on it much. “There’s been some personal stuff going on,” she said quietly and quickly. 

Marla assured her that was okay, and she still had another two weeks, and noticed Pam’s eyes getting shiny. “Is it something you need to talk about?” 

Pam shook her head and took an unsteady breath. “It’s just…”

Marla took a glance around the room. “We’re the only ones in here, Pam.”

A sob escaped Pam’s lips before she could cover her mouth, and Marla rested her hand on Pam’s shoulder. Pam somehow found the courage to look at her with red eyes and a trembling chin. 

“I have made so many mistakes this last year,” Pam whispered. “And when I try to fix them…I just keep…” Her chin was shaking too much to continue and she looked down to her shoes. 

“Oh, sweetie,” Marla said softly as she pulled a tissue from her pocket. Pam thanked her and whipped her eyes and nose. 

“And I have no idea what to draw,” Pam said after she composed herself. Marla chuckled at her concern about her project, and Pam let out a soft laugh before look down to her shoes.

“Maybe a mistake can be your subject.”

Pam sniffed, her brows knitted in confusion when she looked back up.

“You said you’ve made a lot of mistakes, so maybe that should be the subject, how you felt at the time, how you feel about it now.”

Pam nodded slowly and blew her nose one last time. "And we'll have a class critique?"

"We will, and I know it can be very daunting to share personal work with others, but try your best not to think about that part of it, just focus on your work," Marla said. She smirked, "Remember that guy who said your art lacked courage and honesty?"

"Yeah," Pam said with a light scoff.

Marla reached up to squeeze Pam's shoulder. "Prove him wrong." 

Pam took out her eraser and removed the beginning sketches of what was supposed to be the Dunder Mifflin break room from the paper. It was Friday, her project was due Monday, and she had discovered Marla’s advice to “draw a mistake” didn’t do much to narrow down her topic. She started off drawing herself leaving Marywood University to show she dropped out, but somehow that didn't feel like a very significant mistake. There were certainly plenty of Roy-related mistakes to pull inspiration from, including the mistake of rekindling their relationship, fooling herself into thinking it was somehow going to be different. 

She flipped through her sketchbook and stopped on her most recent sketch. Yesterday, the entire sales staff went out for a team building lunch, but he was able to weasel out of it under the guise of having some very important client calls. And he did make a handful of calls, but from what Pam could make out they were hardly important and hardly took longer than a few minutes. She had the small hope that once off the phone he would come to her desk and start talking about Michael’s strained metaphors from the last conference room meeting or asking if she had any ideas for a prank on Dwight. But his stayed in place, his head lowered and focused on the papers on his desk. So Pam pulled out her sketchbook and started doodling the view in front of her.  

She studied the outline of floppy hair and broad shoulders, then picked up a pencil and started filling in the shirt, leaving the collar, until it looked like a black sweater over a white dress shirt. Pam gazed into the mirror set up beside her easel and knew what she needed to draw, knew the moment that was a catalyst for many if not all of her mistakes of the last year. 

Standing slowly, she almost felt like something besides herself was taking control of her body and guiding her to her bedroom, to the bottom draw of her dresser. She opened it slowly, and ran a finger over a small embroidered flower before taking the dress by the shoulder straps, lifting it out of the drawer and laying it on her bed. Removed her jeans and shirt, she then took the satiny fabric in her hands, unzipping the side and stepping into it, remembering getting ready that night last May. She recalled Roy peeking in the bathroom as she put on lip gloss and fussed with her hair, blushing when he asked who she was getting herself gussied up for.

She pulled the zipper up and walked back out to the living room. Standing before the mirror, she pulled out her low ponytail and finger-combed through her hair, pulling half of it back up. She dropped her hands slowly, studying the lavender fabric, and a rush of cold came over when she heard what she could have sworn was a truck speeding off outside. 

A week after the wedding was supposed to happen, Pam received a package from her favorite aunt with what was going to be her wedding gift, a new digital camera. “To new memories,” her aunt wrote with a smiley face. While she hadn’t taken photos of any new exciting memories, Pam had been using the camera to take snapshots of anything she found interesting and wanted to refer to for a drawing later. 

After setting a timer, she propped the camera on the cross bar of her easel and press the shutter. The camera beeped and Pam lower her head, remembering that night how she clutched the ring on her finger, how it suddenly felt so tight and heavy on her hand, as the footsteps behind her grew further away.

The camera clicked several time and Pam scrolled through the pictures, her chest tightening and her mind racing trying to talk herself out of this. But she ignored the voice in the back of her head telling her this was a bad idea and went to her computer to print out the photo. With all her reference pictures laid out on a side table and the dress still on, she stood before the easel and started sketching out a new scene. Once her figures were outlined, she picked up the light purple out of her pastels case and after several deep breaths she set it to the paper.

* * * * *

“Okay everyone,” Marla said adjusting the lights shining on the display area. “Let’s get started with our mid-term critique. You know the rules, we’ll go in order of who volunteers, and once we’re out volunteers I start to pick in the order of how uncomfortable you look.” The class chuckled and Marla took her seat in the back. She couldn’t help but notice Pam also in the back, slouched in her chair. Marla was afraid she would be in the “not volunteering” group and wasn’t looking forward to having to call on her.

The first few students were the usual group of eager volunteers, and they stood up proudly next to their pieces, basking in the praise from their classmates and graciously accepting any criticism, though Marla could see them clenching their jaws at anything that wasn’t a glowing review.

Marla lead a small round of applause after the third critique and jotted down a couple quick remarks in her gradebook. “Okay, who would like to go next?” 

Her eyes were on the student she suspected would volunteer and was surprised to hear a small voice just a couple desks over. 

“I‘ll go next,” Pam said, her hand raised. Marla nodded and Pam stood with her portfolio in hand and walked to the front of the classroom.

“Great, more office supplies,” Marla heard one of the students whisper, and a couple others giggled in response. Marla made sure to put a mark next to each of their names. Pam careful pinned her piece to the display board, and when she stood back all the chuckling students were silenced.

It wasn’t like anything Marla had seen from Pam; a pastel drawing with a figure with a purple dress standing in the middle, her head lowered and her fingers twisted together. Behind the woman in the dress was the outline of a man walking away, his white color and cuff popping against the mostly black background. Pam nervously returned to her seat and there was continued silence before Marla asked what people’s impressions were of Pam’s method.

“Your negative space is very strong,” one student replied.

“Keeping the figures to one side rather than centering them creates a nice tension.”

“Your stroke is very expressive.” 

Marla couldn’t help but feel pleased as the students gave Pam actual constructive comments. In the past the other students seemed to have little to say about Pam’s pieces, but today they didn’t stop talking.

“So, what feelings do you get from this piece?” Marla asked.

“Regret,” a student chimed in quickly. 

“Fear,” another said.

“What do you mean?” Marla asked.

“She’s letting him walk away, she’s too afraid to go after him,” the student said. 

Marla took a quick glance to Pam to find her biting her lip and holding her sides. Marla opened her mouth ready to try to steer the group away from the emotional aspect when the student who made the comment about office supplies looked back at her.

“But she’s not looking back.”

“That's true, she's not. What could that mean, do you think?” Marla responded. 

“Maybe she's letting him go."

Marla turned to Pam and could see a tear roll down her cheek. “Okay, thank you everyone. Let's take a five minute break before we start our next critique.” As every started to stand and move around, Marla quickly walked to where Pam was seated. “I’ll go grab your piece, don’t worry,” Marla whispered. 

Pam sniffed and nodded. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Carefully removing the pins, Marla carried Pam’s drawing to the table where she was collecting projects. She turned to walk back to the desk with her gradebook and was surprised to see a small group gathered around Pam. As she walked toward the group she could hear the other student showering Pam with compliments, remarking on her color use and asking what techniques she utilized. Marla took a seat and opened up her grade book to make a note next to Pam’s name. “Great reaction to Pam’s piece, most comments and questions she’s received all term.” Marla smiled to herself and wrote down one more note. “Piece displayed great courage and honesty.”

* * * * *

For the rest of the term, Marla was pleased to see Pam continue to experiment and improve with her projects, working with bright colors and bold strokes. Critiques of her works continued to be lively and she was much more social with her classmates.

Before Marla knew it, it was May, Even after 15 years of teaching, Marla always had a very bittersweet feeling about terms end. She was happy to see how the students have progressed, excited to imagine what they would do with their art next. And yet she always a little sad to say goodbye, sad to realized she wouldn’t get to watch these student work and grow week to week. The final session was just students coming in to fill out evaluations and pick up their final projects, and Marla especially had that bittersweet end-of-term emotion when Pam walked in. 

There was something different about Pam, her cheeks looked rosy and her gait was light and easy, and Marla felt herself smile when she handed Pam an evaluation sheet.

Slipping her finished evaluation into the envelope, Pam looked at Marla’s smirking face. “What?”

“You just seem to be in a good mood, maybe got a little sun,” Marla replied.

Pam laughed nervously, “Oh yeah, we had this work thing at the beach yesterday. I did get a little sunburned, but…” Pam looked off at nothing in particular for a moment then smiled brightly, “It was a good day.”

“Well, hopefully the good feelings continue with this,” Marla said, handing Pam a folded paper with comments and a grade on her final project. Pam took a peek at the paper, her eyes widening at the high score. “I’m so proud of the work you did this term Pam. I know it was a little tough at the start but you really had a breakthrough.” 

Pam blinked a few times and looked up with shiny eyes, “Thank you Marla. For everything.”

Marla could hardly believe it was already February and time for the department art show again. She upped the order of cheese and crackers, hoping this year they wouldn’t run out after an hour. The school answered their inquiries into serving wine with a resounding “no”, but Henry the sculpture teacher promised to buy first round at The Bog after they got everything cleaned and locked up.  

Just as Marla washed down her cracker with some soda, she heard a voice softly call her name. She turned and it took a moment to recognize the young woman with shiny curls. “Pam,” she said with a smile. 

Pam grinned and raised her arms for a hug. “I was hoping you’d be here.” 

“Oh I’m always here.” A figure appeared beside Pam and Marla had to crane her neck to see the man's face. 

“Marla, this is Jim, my boyfriend. Jim, Marla was my art instructor all last year.” 

Marla shook the handsome young man’s hand and wondered why he seemed so familiar. “Lovely to meet you, Jim. I hope you’re encouraging Pam to draw often.” 

“Oh I always ask to see her sketchbook and tell her how great she is. I think she’s finally starting to believe me.” Jim said with a dazzling smile, giving Pam’s shoulder a squeeze while she rolled her eyes.

“Well don’t just talk to me, grab some snacks, take a look around, I think we have a great collection this year.” Marla said, motioning toward the exhibits. After filling a paper plate with crackers, Pam walked off, shoulder to shoulder with Jim. Jim shrugged off his coat, revealing a dark blue sweater over a dress shirt, and once she saw the brown hair curling just above the white collar, Marla immediately knew where she recognized Jim from. 

After a few (okay fine, several) more cheese and crackers, Marla noticed Pam making her way back over.

“I’m so happy you could make it Pam,” Marla said. She nodded over to Jim standing a few exhibits away, intensely studying a group of pointillism drawings. “He’s cute.” 

Pam blush wildly, smiling from ear to ear. “Yeah, he’s just …. I’m really happy.” 

Much as Marla would have loved to talk about Jim, she instead asked Pam if she was continuing art classes. 

Pam nodded and said she was taking some beginners animation and design classes. “I actually am thinking about applying to a design program. Someone told me Philadelphia or New York is where I need to look.”

Marla nodded, “Well, I have colleagues at UArts in Philly and Pratt in Brooklyn, both great schools. I can send you their contact info. And I’m happy to take a look at your portfolio.” 

“I’d really appreciate that, thank you,” Pam said.

Marla glanced over Pam’s shoulder to Jim again, now studying a surrealist painting. “I hope your mid-term project from last year is in your portfolio, though.”

Instinctively, Pam looked to Jim, then nodded, “Yes, that’s definitely in there.”

Jim looked towards them, shooting another thousand watt smile their direction, and Pam turned to Marla. “Thanks again, I’ll be in touch about the school search and portfolio.”

Marla once again thanked Pam for coming and watched her walk away. She remembered Pam just one year ago at this show, standing quietly and slump-shouldered next to her drawings. Now she watched Pam practically float towards Jim, every move effortless.

* * * * *

The following Monday, Marla introduced the self-portrait assignment to her Drawing II classes, showing some example slides of how past students tackled the assignment. She flipped to the most recently added example, a drawing of a women in purple looking at her hands, a male figure walking away. “This student decided to depict a mistake in this pastel, something that influenced her life. She was a little nervous to draw something so personal, but she aimed to draw with courage and honesty, and I think it‘s very successful at evoking emotion. Any questions about this one?”

One student looked back to Marla and smirked. “Did she go after him?” she said and several students turned their head, also eager to hear the answer. 

“Oh I think that’s up to viewer interpretation,” Marla said, careful not to laugh when the student who asked the question pouted at her reply. Her and the other students turned around and Marla reached over to the slide machine. “But I’d like to think so,” she said with a small smile, pressing next.