I can’t really say why I picked up this little book. It’s not really my sort of thing. It’s an account of Herbert Kohl’s venture into the world of Chinese painting via a small school in San Francisco’s Chinatown, and his ruminations as he connects the lessons learned among the Chinese children to his own life and career, particularly the art of teaching and the art of aging.

I found the author’s journey into Chinese art fascinating as, like him, I have always been fascinated by Chinese landscape paintings. It’s a bit repetitive in some places but somehow I didn’t really mind. I guess it’s kinda like listening to your grandfather reminisce, and I don’t mean that in a bad way.