I took a painting class once, in college. It was when I was at Bennington. This was an “Introduction to Painting” class and the other students, like myself, were not art majors and had little previous experience drawing or painting. The teacher wanted us to learn about light. She started us working with charcoal on rough white drawing paper. We were to draw trees with special attention to shadows and light. She made us notice the way the bark was rough and mottled with shades of gray and brown on the side where the sun fell upon it, but was just a flat black surface on the shaded side. She set up still-life arrangements in the studio. A clear vase, a couple of green pears, a white bowl on a bunched-up red velvety cloth draped across a table. She shone a light on the tableau and had us just use charcoal and chalk to draw the scene. She wanted us to notice the shapes and patterns, but most of all she wanted us to be aware of light. It seemed to be the most important, the most fundamental thing in painting.