I found this envelope in the box I had on the top shelf of my studio closet, out of which I'm pulling photos, post card, scraps, and ephemera. This has the mark of the hand of Jan Baker, who for decades was an inspiration for hundreds of design students at RISD. I understand she died this past spring. In this envelope I see an image of our drawing trip and picnic out at Swan Point Cemetery, where she has been buried. I hear her voice reflecting as I was complaining about "not getting the perspective" right on a drawing during one of our sketching trips somewhere on the streets of Providence, with the road arching sharply up hill. Something like "we always criticize our work for not being what we think it should be instead of appreciating it for what it is." Dear Jan, RIP. Your heart and soul live on through generations of students. Do you think she knows that?