The room I entered by way of the recording studio was large, airy and sunny. Windows were everywhere, and all were open to allow in the most delicious of summer breezes and clean air. Two or three students sat at the kitchen bar on some bar stools discussing upcoming musical events, one holding his instrument casually. A row of stringed instruments stood in the center of the wooden floor, one an electric cello. A feeling of peace, hallowedness and safety pervaded the room. Opposite the kitchenette, in front of the half wall of bay windows, was large square wooden table, covered with artist’s books. One was a black and white typographical piece, all in clean sans serif font all throughout, with the occasional German word with the German font. It was a story, a language study, and a typography book, with touches on historical moments, significant to the student artist who made it. A few students discussed art in the collection of white leather furniture on the opposite side of the room from the table, where there was a throw rug (was it a dark fur rug?) and a brown leather circular leather tea table. There were cookies in the kitchenette, which only made the conversation more homey and comfortable. I, the dreamer, lovingly turned the pages of the black and white artist’s book and longed to be a part of this safety, this peace, this love of human and God and art and music. Further left than the table, where there were more bookshelves and a piano, at the center of the wall, a door opened and an elderly lady came out of her private studio to watch the students create and interact. The artistic peace in the room seemed to engage her soul fully and be a part of her. The students looked up to say hi and she interacted with them as mentor and spiritual leader. Each student found their place at the art center that was attached to a home that held a lifetime of love and mystery.