About me

Earlier this year, I looked around the room and saw children using the most basic of materials in the typically prescribed ways. I thought that they would all benefit from experimenting with using crayons, markers, and pencils in ways they may not have thought of before. Over the next three weeks, I used my 5-10 minutes of whole class instructional time to demonstrate some different techniques as the students tried it out themselves. I showed them how they could lay their crayon on its side to make rubbings of objects or paper shapes they cut themselves, we dipped the old dried out markers in water to mix the colors together, and attempted to use a pencil to get different values amongst other things. In the weeks following these lessons, I saw very few students using the various techniques in their artworks. I have even attempted forcing them to use them by requiring them to turn in an artwork using the materials in different ways. Then, I thought, they will see the value of what I have taught them. But what was turned in was not a thoughtful use of materials to create a meaningful artwork but a replica of the scribbled experimentations they made during the initial lesson. I believe that these lessons were unsuccessful because the students had not seen a need for different techniques nor desired to learn any. They were successful in expressing themselves using these materials in the traditional way.

As I reflected on the failure of many of my lessons, I did recall some successes. My students were constantly asking me if they could make a paper airplane. Presumably this is something that they would not be permitted to do in their regular classrooms, and regardless of the choice-based atmosphere, they are sometimes still cautious that I may not be accepting of their explorations. When a student would ask me if they could make something that would generally be perceived of as something to play with, I would tell them that they can make it if it is an artwork and not a toy. I said this countless times. Each time, they would look at me with a bit of confusion but accept my answer as a yes and run off to get started. I thought it best to let them work for a bit and see if the process might help them to figure it out. Weeks later, I had portfolios full of simple paper airplanes and classrooms full of students still not understanding why I continued to be underwhelmed by what they had made. I decided to use my whole class instruction time to discuss the difference between an art plane and a toy plane. We looked at various pictures of paper airplane artworks primarily installed in airports and toy planes being flown. They were interested and engaged as they attempted to define what made each an artwork or a toy. I concluded the lesson with a video of thousands of paper airplanes being dumped off of skyscrapers at an art event and watched as they debated over whether it was art or thousands of toy planes. The next week I presented them with a video of a street art collective painting a swimming pool by attaching spray paint cans to the bottom of their skateboards, and they debated again whether it was art or not. Now, when a student creates something and I ask them to tell me what makes it an artwork and not a toy, they can explain their work. These lessons were successful because they came from my students. I am now looking to understand how to create the curriculum with them so they will find it useful in their art explorations and creations. Their voices are heard with regard to their own artmaking. Could they have a voice in the curriculum creation process as well?

Every year, I have my students watch Embrace the Shake, a Ted Talk by artist Phil Hansen. He describes how his obsession with pointillism led to nerve damage in his hand causing an uncontrollable shake. Through this experience, he came to understand the positive impact of limitations on creativity and how, ultimately, these constraints freed him from paralyzing choices (Hansen, 2013). The Covid-19 pandemic created more constraints than I can count, and all of them tested my perseverance, but as I reflect on it now, I realize a lot of the protocols and practices that were out of my control led to great strides in understanding my students’ needs, how to craft a student-directed artistic process that engages them in meaningful artmaking, and how by submitting to those constraints, I was able to free myself from many of the burdens of my previous practices.

My high schoolers in the past were expected to create SMART goals, meaning they’re specific, measurable, achievable, realistic, and timely (Doran, 1981). It took some students 2-3 goal cycles to master writing a goal and the process that followed, while it took many others 5-6 cycles. Considering we only had time in the year for 7-8 cycles, that was too long. I wanted all my students to master the process by the end of the 2nd cycle, so they could focus more on their artmaking and less on the steps.

I had a large number of students who, due to insecurity, apathy, or absence, would be perpetually behind. I was spending half my time teaching the class, and the other half re-teaching and begging students to move forward in what felt like a futile attempt to get them caught up. This often led to a shallow understanding of the process or, unfortunately, no understanding at all. Many students fought the process. They would constantly question each new step, refusing to hear or accept my explanation. For some reason, my justification of the process and why each step was important got lost.

Usually, I would have spent some time over the summer attempting to address these issues in preparation for the coming year, but it was impossible to plan for such an unpredictable scenario. When I finally knew what my classes would look like, I was terrified. I was going to have to provide identical lessons for students in class as well as asynchronous virtual learners. All my lessons had to be on our school's learning management system, Canvas, and students would be constantly shifting between virtual and on-campus learning due to preference or quarantine. Students were not allowed to share materials or tools without sanitizing them between uses. Being in a district where over 70% of students are provided free or reduced lunch, many had very limited supplies at home, so I had to ensure my lessons could be completed with essentials like pencils and notebook paper. Paper worksheets needed to shift to digital assignments. I was overwhelmed and disheartened. With each new hurdle, my thinking would shift between survival and indignant tenacity. Sometimes it felt like, regardless of what I did, it would be a wasted year.

Hansen (2013) encapsulates my experience perfectly when he says, “What I thought would be the ultimate limitation actually turned out to be the ultimate liberation” (6:35). When I was forced to eliminate all the informal aspects of my classroom and put everything I wanted my students to learn in writing, to explicitly and intentionally make choices about what was most important and expect every student to engage with that material, my world changed. I became grateful for all the hardships, because while this was definitely the most challenging year I’ve had since my first, the positive outcomes will last for years to come. The next time I am faced with a situation that shakes me to the core, I'll remember to "embrace the shake" (Hansen, 2013).

References

Hansen, P. (2013, May 21). Embrace the shake. [Video]. TED. https://www.ted.com/talks/phil_hansen_embrace_the_shake.