I was at Columbia from 1965-67, (is it possible?) forty years ago. I remember the studios in Low Library the first year, and then in the abandoned utilities building at 110th and Amsterdam. I remember peace demonstrations, sit-ins, teach-ins, marches. I remember lunches at V & T pizzeria, coffee and pastries at the Hungarian place. I remember going into the graduate students' tea hour with my colleagues, covered in paint, grabbing some cookies and dashing out. I remember Howard Davis' fabulous course on northern Italian Renaissance painting (the Venetian school), especially his final tender, four-hour marathon talk on Giovanni Bellini. I remember George Collins' course on modern architecture, especially his Gaudi lecture, which changed my life and was received with a standing ovation. I remember studying Italian in the Casa ltaliana, and for some reason, that my teacher (a graduate TA) wore the most fabulous shoes, which she'd bought while living in Italy. I remember having to petition the President of the University to study Italian (rather than the then required French or German). I remember my fellow students, some of whom are still friends (Betsy Damon, Judith Solodkin, Lynne Golob Gelfman) and some of whom tragically died too young (Porfirio Didonna, Andy Jansons). I remember Theodoros Stamos, who played favorites and was not appreciated by everyone, but liked me and became my mentor. I remember him on the floor in my studio teaching me how to "scumble"-after sending me to the ladies' room for a pile of paper towels! I remember a bus trip to Montreal with a group from International House for winter carnival, a city aglitter with ice and snow, even an ice castle in the center, and drunken carousers singing in the streets. I remember struggling in Stephen Greene's drawing class-never really knowing what he wanted; how to draw on demand, without a given "subject" or model. I remember some of the visiting critics: Ad Reinhardt, monkish and prescriptive, all in black; Frank Stella, who was missing some teeth and fingers (or am I mistaken?); Helen Frankenthaler, who only told the dimensions, dates and titles of her pictures during her slide lecture! I remember the apartment I shared with Judith Solodkin on 117th St and Riverside, the parties we gave and boyfriends we had. I remember meeting my (future) husband, who lived in the neighborhood and visited our studios one day. I remember sitting outside on campus in the sunshine on warm spring afternoons. I remember discovering the art movements that were breaking in New York during those years-the excitement of going to the galleries and museums. It was a wonderful time in my life.