We all come wanting something.

For most, the “something” is to become a better painter.

We crave the magic of that last 10 percent, the secrets that mark the distance between “My mom loves it,” and, “Your art changed my world.”

Day One can pack quite a wallop when the realization hits that it isn’t the last 10 percent that’s missing; it’s the first 90% of “how to think about painting” that has been standing in the way.

Absorb it. Cram it in. Capture what you can.

Hope runs high that hand-written notes will adequately subsidize the visual record of the magic.

There’s a deep satisfaction in exchanging newly hatched insights with kindred spirits.

The vibe runs along the lines of “Summer Camp” meets “The-Painter’s-Fundamentals-They’ve-Been-Hiding-From-You.”

For some, the value lies in the chance to refocus and to swap the intensity of one environment and set of demands for another.

Everybody gets the chance to rethink things.

It’s just that kind of place.

Some come very early on in their development as an artist. The trajectory-setting possibilities boggle the mind.

Can you imagine what it would have been like to have had paint covering all your clothing while you still had maybe, oh… seven or eight decades in which to hone your craft?

Some come to refine their understanding of what they see and the enjoyment of how they spend their days.

Others come ’cause… damn.

This is a space where a person can put things into perspective.

You get to line things up, and see where you are. And better yet, to see where you might go next.

Just hanging out is important, too.

Sometimes you come for one thing, yet a thing of a completely different color will show up and shift the experience in interesting and memorable ways.

You might meet a really good friend.

At minimum, it’s a place where you have ample opportunity to get a serious grip on “green.”