I happened to catch a glimpse of Luka strolling down the hall on his way to lunch and his teacher, Mrs. Burton, with her intrepid watchfulness, several paces behind. Luka had been lucky enough to have another veteran teacher, Mrs. Garrett, last year for Kindergarten. That room had his teacher’s hand painted trees and sky and clouds on all the walls and window shades. And I was another lucky one, meeting them all last year when I was artist in residence at their school.

Luka is one of those children I won’t forget. I would tell you what he looks like if I knew, but that’s not what stays with me. Maybe a miniature rock star best describes him and his thatch of rebel hair. More to the point, with Luka you find yourself in the rare presence of a thinker. “Now, that’s an interesting story,” he might say, as though he were 90 and had quite the collection to stack it up against. His questions and observations had a familiar ring to them and I thought I recognized that as the sound of someone well listened to.

This theory was fortified one day in the library as he returned some books and produced a small notebook and pen he said were from his dad, likely one of his prime listeners. “I like to put my ideas here,” Luka confided. And I never asked to look inside for I, too, am an artist. I respect the sanctity of ideas.

So when I saw that Ms. Burton had become his shepherdess for the new school year, that her calm passion for the arts, her inquisitive and positive approach to teaching would be his listening board, I said a quiet thank you to providence for that. And another, more rambunctious one, that I would see them both before too long, in our First Grade residency, soon to begin.

Painting Евгений Ардаев