After a week of refreshing the displays and signage of my own student artworks, what serendipity to find the Teacher Advisory Committee for the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago would be discussing wayfinding and requesting feedback on the audio tour for their fantastic new exhibit: The Living End: Painting and Other Technologies, 1970-2020. 

The day after hanging my students' new artwork, a colleague walked down the hall staring at the pieces. "Which one caught your eye?" I asked as we crossed paths. She headed back. "Actually, I was reading this," she said, pointing at the sign beneath the art. "I've started adding descriptions to explain the projects," I shared. "Are they helpful?" She gave an emphatic nod, "Yes!"

​The audience approves.

To conclude our artful weekend, we popped into the 2024 Faculty Biennial on campus. "I was just talking about you two!" a cheerful art education graduate student gushed as we entered the gallery. Having just attended our session, she excitedly showed us her notes and described her idea for a community mosaic to celebrate Arab Americans. 

Here we stood: a 40-year veteran, a mid-career educator, and a passionate pre-service teacher connecting over the joy and power of directly working with the next generation.

Despite worrisome data that says otherwise, perhaps with the profession is not doomed. With intentional relationship building, mentoring, and support, perhaps those of us with boots on the ground and eyes in the sky have the power to help save it.

After two weeks of practicing proportions and value, the endurance of my 8th grade students was starting to wane as they found themselves tiring only midway through creating a final portrait of a person of importance. Did they see growth? Sure, but a three-week project required perseverance and delayed gratification that most don't have the stamina for anymore.

On the eve of the Chicago Marathon weekend, I realized we were similarly "hitting the wall." When one has done so well for so long, sometimes the body no longer has reserves to finish strong. "We're at the edge of a cliff," I told them as we gathered around our center table, "and now is when we decide to fall or fly."

Surveying our halfway finished pieces strewn across the surface, a simple, "Help them fly" prompted each person to share something they liked about a particular work. We followed that pattern until every student heard something encouraging to motivate them to continue ahead.

Oftentimes we are under the false impression that we are individuals working alongside, but ultimately alone, in shared spaces. Small moments like this help us recognize that it is a shared responsibility in our respective communities to develop a culture of encouragement and kindness that propels everyone forward towards success.

As creators, receiving Fan Mail is a confidence booster to keep creating and sharing their works. My students may never be professional artists, but they will make contributions to future generations. What books will they write that forever inspire someone's world view? What medical advancements will they develop to improve our collective health? What technology will they create to connect our wider world? The fan mail they receive now is a glimpse into how far their reach may go, and to keep putting their ideas out into the world.

As consumers, writing Fan Mail is a reminder to support people who are doing good work in your community. In a time where anonymous or overly critical feedback is pervasive, we are learning to look for the good and encourage them to keep going.