The Early Journey Barbara Nessim	Written for the occasion of the "Outstanding Alumni Award" presented to her from the Highschool of Art and Design, addressed to the audience at their graduation ceremony.
	May 7th, 1989, Ghosted visions of my past still haunt me. Reflections of headlights racing across the bedroom ceiling, capture my imagination, deep in the night. The erratic illumination projects images only my mind can see, transporting thoughts to places I almost can go, I'm dreaming, I'm eight. The perpetual theater of clouds drifting at slow speed, whisper stories that are heard in China, I wonder, I'm ten. Fragrant colors shape my vision, honeysuckle and roses, wrap around my mind and body, warmed by the sun, cooled by the breeze. It's summer, I'm fourteen. My past is my future. I am an artist but I'm not sure. My mother designed blouses, she's not sure she is an artist either. My father, a postman and importer by trade, bought us a house by the lake and created seventeen beautiful gardens on a half acre, never aware of being an artist too. My younger brother and sister are twins, we weed gardens, we fight, we play, it's normal. My life is changing, I'm fifteen, I'm at the High School of Art and Design. Being thrilled to be in school was unfamiliar. Latin music twists and shouts from my bedroom. I'm dancing, I'm drawing, I'm happy, I'm an artist. I'm nineteen. At Pratt I take "Starving and Suffering 101," mass confusion sets in. Jack Kerouac and Beethoven meets Tito Puente and Little Richard, they don't understand eachother. I'm still an artist but I'm different than the others. What kind of artist am I? The rain outside is accompanied by lightning and thunder. I'm alone (in a room) among a forest of easels. I've been painting all day. It happened in a moments time, I'm deeply moved by a force larger than my understanding. I am forever changed. I'm sure of who and what I am. Tears fall. I graduate. It's commencement.
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