For John
I wrote the following in memory of John. The Critique It was quite possibly the worst day ever; the kind of day when your authentic self has been pounded into a pulp and then smeared across the floor. I have had some brutal art critiques, but none of those compared to the one that I found myself in on this particular Thursday afternoon. I stood there, with tears coursing down my cheeks as I endured the criticism. Earlier that afternoon I had stood in the gallery, marveling at the artwork that hung on the walls. My artwork—I still couldn’t believe that I had completed 20 pieces of work in 2 months. Which is not something I would encourage any future art student to do—procrastination is not a wise way to view school projects. And while I had finished all 20 pieces—only a handful of them were up to my standards. I knew I was in for a scolding; I just wasn’t prepared for the disappointment. John C. Williams was a legend at the School of Visual Art a