Richard Olsen

Some of my high school students had begun to paint nudes. A teacher who wandered into our classroom, counted images of 24 “boobs” on the walls. I was not sure why he counted the number of breasts, but I was aware of the shifting aesthetic tide. On a piece of old cardboard that was next to my desk, I drew myself with breasts and hung it next to the students’ pictures. “Now there are 26,” I told him. I was proud, if a little confused, to be a part of the new genre.