You're very lucky to have had a great art teacher, Ikyoto. I HATED art class. I had the same teacher every damn year, this fatassed foul-tempered trailer park sow whose idea of art was making clay ashtrays. She failed ANYONE who made something that wasn't completely mundane, she stunk of hairspray and Virginia Slims, and had the most HORRIBLE beehive hairdo you could imagine in your worst John Waters nightmare. I imagine she had one of those damned clocks on her wall, the jewel-encrusted cat with the eyes that rocked back and forth. Thankfully, she was obese enough that I'm sure she's now long-dead from her excessive nicotine-and-pork-rind intake. In a way, she eventually did me a favor I guess. I learned that the best way for me to determine artistic merit was by asking myself, "Would Mrs.Davidson hate this?" If she would, it was probably art. But I digress. My point? Consider yourself lucky to have had her influence.