I usually draw at a brisk pace, but I’ve learned that slowing down to look-really look- is a crucial part of the artistic process.

My formal training in art is limited, but a printmaking class, while I studied in Italy decades ago, stands out. I can recall the professore saying  to me again and again and again, “piano, piano” which I came quickly to understand meant, “slowly, slowly.”

In his class I made my first and only lithograph, a rose,  by drawing painstakingly on a  smooth stone with a waxy crayon, and alchemy–transferring that image onto paper with a huge antiquated press. I also dabbled with linocuts (linoleum printing), something I recalled doing and enjoying while in elementary school.

But I bristled during his old-school-instruction: demonstrating what I should be doing directly on my pieces.  Watching my efforts increasingly transformed by the teacher’s hand was becoming unbearable. I felt the work was no longer something I could claim as my own. I dropped out of the class.

I suspect if I had stayed, the professore would have taught me many things.

These days I find myself saying, “piano, piano,” and think of him.