She moves on to another slide. ”Applications have declined twelve percent over the past five years…. Student retention is down…. Our digital media program has doubled in enrollment…”

She clicks to another slide again. ”…yet receives less than half the funding allocated to programs with declining participation.”

Bette looks back at the faculty. ”This department isn’t broken, but it isn’t thriving either.”

She lets her words settle. Her eyes then find the gray-haired professor near the refreshments. ”The department is fine exactly the way it is. I believe someone said that a few moments ago….”

The professor shifts uncomfortably.

Several people suddenly become fascinated with their coffee cups.

Bette walks away from the podium. ”If our enrollment is declining…” She gestures toward the screen. ”If our students are leaving…. If promising faculty can’t secure funding, and if employers increasingly tell us our graduates aren’t prepared for today’s creative industries…” She stops. ”…then no…. The department isn’t fine.”

The silence is thick, but it isn’t hostile.

Bette continues. ”I wasn’t hired to maintain the status quo.” She walks slowly around the room. ”I was hired to build something.” She looks each faculty member in the eye. ”I want California University’s Art Department to become one of the most respected programs in the country.”

She begins counting on her fingers. ”I want students competing for admission…. I want galleries to recruit our graduates before they graduate…I want interdisciplinary collaboration with film, architecture, theater, engineering, and computer science.”

Bette then stops and gently smiles. ”I want faculty who are publishing.” She pauses. ”I want tradition respected…But I refuse to confuse tradition with complacency.”

A few professors nod while others remain skeptical.

”Most importantly…” Bette pauses. ”I want students walking into this building every morning believing they’re entering one of the greatest art programs in America.” Her voice softens. ”And someday…I don’t want that belief to be optimism. I want it to be fact.”

The room is silent for several beats before an older professor slowly raises her hand.

Bette smiles. ”Yes?”

The woman adjusts her glasses. ”How old are you?”

A few people shift awkwardly.

Bette laughs. She points casually around the room. ”I’m sure you all will discuss my age when you get together later to bash me and every idea I introduced this morning.”