Good evening, fellow graduates, parents, faculty, and guests. Let me begin by saying that I am incredibly honored by your invitation to speak to you today. My own graduation meant so much to me, was such a significant threshold moment in my own life, that I am truly moved that I can be here today, and be part of a similar moment in the lives of many of you.

I attended the Museum School from 1996 to 2003. Along the way, I acquired a Diploma, a Bachelor of Fine Arts, and finally a Master of Fine Arts. But when I arrived in the US in (1996), I thought of painting only as a hobby. I had come to the US so that my children could go to school here, and I enrolled in the Museum School because I wanted to return to Morocco able to pursue my hobby with greater knowledge and skill. I never dreamt I would spend seven years here, immersing myself in the study of painting, photography, installation, art history, and so much else, learning more than I had ever imagined was possible. I eagerly soaked up a great array of what the school had to offer, acquiring skills and learning techniques as well as new and, to me, surprising ways of thinking about art, all of which have been crucial to my work to this day. But I also learned other things – like discipline, and self-direction -- and discovered within myself the ambition to do something important with my life.

But what else could one expect from a school of artists, whose approach was designed by artists, a school where students are free to choose what they want to learn, a school with only electives, and no compulsory classes? Once I realized the riches that were available to me at the School, I wanted to absorb everything. At first I was overwhelmed. I was one of those students who roamed the corridors of the school late at night, peering into the empty rooms with the silent trappings of whatever medium was taught there. Eventually, I learned that with all this freedom to chose, came responsibility. I learned to set priorities, and, with the help of a lot of gifted and dedicated people, I began to hear my own voice and sense my own path. And this was partly because, oddly enough for such a public environment, the Museum School afforded me a private space I'd never had at home. From my early years as an artist, I had been incorporating Arabic texts in my work – stitching, painting, writing – and of course, at home, everyone could read Arabic. But at the Museum School, I was free to express my thoughts in private, without the inhibiting knowledge that they were available for all to see. This enabled me to explore and bring to the fore aspects of my own interior life I hadn't even know were there.

But just to give you an idea of where I was in my life when I started here, I thought I'd share with you a memory that welled up when I was thinking back to my early days at the School in preparing this talk. After moving to the US, I hired a driver to take my children to school, and me to the Museum School. One evening – it was already dark and I had been working for many hours in the darkroom – I walked outside to go home, and the driver wasn't there! I panicked and, in tears, I called my daughter at home, telling her I didn't know what to do, or how I would ever get home. Now of course, I travel alone from New York or Marrakech to wherever my work will take me – to Europe, all over the US, and to many parts of the Arab world. I have come very far from that tearful, frightened person I once was. And for this I thank the School -- for the nurturing support it gave me and, at the same time, the independence it taught me.

So in case you're wondering, I did eventually start driving myself to and from school. And I continued staying at school until late, and working hours and hours in the darkroom. As many of you know, the legal limit in the darkroom is eight hours, any longer is deemed dangerous to our health. Often, I stayed the full eight hours. I remember once I left the darkroom at 2 a.m. and headed over to the Museum parking lot. There I discovered that my car was the only one left in the whole lot. How I contrived nonetheless for to collide with the only light post within yards and yards, I'll never know. But somehow I managed it: the lamppost ended up smack in the car's midsection, leaving a dent in the door. But this time, instead of crying, I burst out laughing. I called my daughter once again, this time, laughing my head off, I can't explain why, except that I was both exhausted and exhilarated. From this experience, I learned that art can indeed be dangerous, even if you obey all its safety laws. But it was a danger I welcomed. The danger of falling in love with your work.

My gratitude to the School for all these lessons and so much more, has led me to stay connected over the years since my graduation. I taught here for two years, and have remained involved, giving talks on occasion and participating in Christmas sales and in shows. In a sense, the School has become my family in the United States.

For I have also learned that to thrive in ones chosen path in life, one cannot go it alone.

My continuing connection with the School has been a truly great source of support. In addition, I have created a team of fabulous people who facilitate my work in various nuts-and-bolts ways. This team includes people who print my images and who organize my transactions, be they artistic or business. I have discovered, as perhaps all artists do after leaving the nurturing environment of school, that one can not just be an artist and wait to be discovered. Nor, once you've been discovered, can you handle the many-pronged aspects of an art career all by yourself. Unromantic though it may sound, any serious life of making art that is intended to reach the public means dealing with a never-ending stream of practical demands. At some level, art-making is a career, like any other. Of course, it is also something more – a passion, a vocation. But to make it happen requires that you be organized and practical, and develop a support system that you can truly rely on.

And here, at the Museum School is where, for me, this serious, practical, and impassioned life started. So I am deeply grateful for the chance to address you, the new graduates, and assure you that your experiences here will go on teaching you, and guiding you, as you brave the wilds of an artistic life, in whatever form it takes for each of you. But there is much more to remember from these years, beyond skills and lessons immediately pertinent to the challenges of such a life. The years spent in art school shape ones artistic practice and ones artistic soul in unfathomable ways. Art is so much about memory. We artists are the great practitioners of memory. In concluding I want to wish you all the very best in all your future work, of course. But I also wish you a life of inspired remembering.