Time

Lawrence seems to think about time in terms of linear events and intersections.  She looks at the way objects in her life denote points in time, accumulating into a continuum.  Junk mail becomes a unit of measurement

I have always been fascinated by the idea that time is not linear, but perhaps that all points in time and all possible sequences of events are just mashed together 3 dimensionally, or perhaps in some form of dimensionality that we can't fully understand.  I like to think about significant events in time being very "saturated".  If reality is arranged like pages in a book, events that happen can "bleed through", leaving a ghostly impression on the past and the future. 

Facilitating Engagement with the Art Making Process

A big thanks goes out this week to Michelle Ridlen, for always posting such insightful material and connections on the MU Grad House Facebook page.  As a result, I came across a fantastic article entitled "When Checking out is Checking In" which speaks directly to this week's topic of facilitating engagement with materials and process.  It's written by David Rufo, a fourth grade classroom teacher who noticed that when some of his more easily distracted students got off task and were not attending to assigned work, "disengaged" was not exactly the adjective he would use to describe them.  In fact, he found that these students were often VERY engaged in a variety of creative processes that yielded significant discoveries and inspiring results.
(if the above link isn't working, try this http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/david-rufo)
One of my many ponderings on this week's topic had to do with how we make time for and facilitate play and experimentation without creating chaos in the classroom.  I'm a little disappointed that in all of my field experiences so far, (all of them in the elementary setting) I haven't seen much emphasis placed on creating opportunities for play.  I think it must feel like a big risk for many teachers, particularly from a classroom management standpoint, to allow students the freedom to explore, but I do believe this exploration can take place in an orderly, productive, and even elegant manner if planned correctly.  For example, a few weeks ago a group of 5th graders in my field classroom were experiencing a lesson on making paper.  When the students came in, the paper pulp that they would use was already mixed and added to tubs of water, ready for the students to take their turn pulling a sheet.  They had a choice of three different colors and they came to the station in groups of two or three, dipping their screen into their chosen tub and lifting out a sheet.  This was the extent of their involvement with the material.  In the beginning of the lesson, the teacher did pass around a wide variety of handmade papers containing everything from wire to string to fish scales...different weights, colors, textures, etc.  But why couldn't the students make some decisions about what their paper would be like for themselves?  I would have liked to see tubs of different types of materials that the students could choose to incorporate; leaves, fibers, bits of rubbish, different scraps recyclable paper such as newsprint, construction paper, whatever you can think of.  Perhaps students could work together in table groups to choose from these materials and design their own paper, thinking about what different materials might represent metaphorically, how they will interact together, and what kind of overall tactile and visual aesthetic they want their paper to have.  The teacher could still then take it upon his/herself to prepare the student selected  materials ahead of time so that the paper would be ready to pull next class.  Students could then pull multiple sheets of a paper THEY had designed.  Each table would have a unique product, and students could trade around in order to have a variety of papers to work with in creating the next step of the project (perhaps a print or collage).  The students I saw were fascinated with the tactile sensation of the pulp.  They clamored to dig their hands in, but most were refused.  Several were eager to go home and try it for themselves and even espoused creative ideas about how to alter the process as they lined up to leave.  Why not have that discussion right there in the classroom?  Limited time, of course, is the most frequently cited obstacle, but I ping Mary Franco by saying, meaningful work takes time.  Perhaps students don't need to make a finished product EVERY class period.  Taking the time to engage in orchestrated play presents even more opportunities to cover those curriculum goals and academic standards in an organic and meaningful way, rather than just jamming them into prescribed activities.  

In summary, perhaps my naivety and inexperience is showing, but I believe we can embrace creative exploration and play in our curriculum and if we attune ourselves properly to our students, we can capitalize on teachable moments, even when students seem to be "checked out".

Developing a Repertoire of Skills for Visual Perception and Artistic Response

As I was making my way through the Carroll text this week, I couldn't help but notice that our very own Amy Ruopp was cited a number of times.  Intrigued, I looked up her article "Narrative drawing: a study in personal histories" and have chosen it for my reflection.  In this brief aritcle, she provides practical advice for drawing out meaningful narratives from our student's personal experiences and giving them the tools to express them visually.  Through an exploration of Faith Ringgold's rich, illustrative quilt work and a series of scaffolded activities, students are guided through the process of translating large, possibly complicated ideas into one powerful and deeply personal image.

What really interested me about Amy's lesson plan are the carefully scaffolded activities which require students to translate their ideas through different symbols systems several times before they arrive at their final destination. Our text reiterates the value of this practice on p.72, suggesting that such movement across symbol systems helps deepen the richness of ideas as well as reaching both visual and verbal learners.

With this process in mind, I looked to Art21 featured artist Kiki Smith to potentially inspire a lesson steeped in the idea of narrative and myth.  I am personally drawn to Smith and her work, as her repertoire of themes and images share similarities and relationships with my own present inspirations.  In the section on Tapping into the Narrative Impulse, our text suggests "Inventing a story to explain a phenomenon...produc[ing] ideas for a legend or myth". (p. 71)  In the past, deities and supernatural entities have been held responsible for all manner of natural phenomena, and although science has enlightened us greatly on these matters, we still refer to rings of mushrooms as "fairy circles" and associate Zeus with bolts of lightening.  We take pleasure in thinking of the world in such magical and imaginative ways.  I envision students creating a myth complete with supernatural characters to explain a meteorological phenomenon such as a tornado or tsunami.  This might be especially effective if there has been a recent incident of extreme weather.  I would guide students through a process similar to that which Amy presents in which students would first generate ideas, then write descriptively about them.  They would translate these descriptions back into several planning sketches, working collaboratively with their classmates to ensure the effectiveness of their symbolism and proposed composition, before focusing on their final piece, which will be a sculptural statue; a memorial or icon of their "weather deity".  

Students would need to consider how the characteristics and qualities of a certain type of weather might translate into features of characters.  Perhaps the "See, Hear, Feel" exercise might be of use.  One of the more challenging aspects of this project is that students will need to communicate a narrative through a sculptural piece, so they will need to be very thoughtful about their incorporation of action, emotion, and symbols in the form and surface treatment of the sculpture.  To reinforce the connection between text and image and give the students an opportunity to actually include their writing, student's could creatively incorporate the words of their story, perhaps on a scroll held by the figure or on a banner or plaque at it's feet as we have seen with other commemorative sculptures of the past.

Ancient mythology and art history from cultures all across the world, of course, offer no shortage of stories and artistic examples to refer to as we explore this topic.  (The story of the Norse god Thor comes prominently to mind, though the possibilities are practically limitless.)  Mythological stories are often particularly fascinating to children and adolescents, and thoughtfully chosen examples can speak to their personal struggles and concerns in meaningful ways.

Duncum's 7 Principles

While reading this article, I was unavoidably reminded of Gude's Postmodern Principles, not only because she is sighted frequently by the author, but because the relationships between her concepts and Duncum's are very clear.  In my view, however, Duncum's 7 Principles primarily give us a guide for viewing, interpreting, and understanding art and visual culture.  In contrast, Gude's Postmodern Principles provide a little more in the way of guiding art making, in part, because I can see how several of her suggestions might be interpreted as something more like elements rather than principles. (Hybridization, Juxtaposition, Appropriation, and Layering, for example)  There are clearly strong relationships between many of the concepts presented by both authors, such as multimodality and hybridity, or recontextualization, interaction of text and image and intertextuality.  This dazzling interrelatedness is succinctly articulated by Gude when she says...

"In true postmodern fashion, these principles are often rhizomatic. They are not a set of discrete entities. The principles overlap and crisscross. The illustrations of professional art and student work that I have given often exemplify more than one principle. That is as it should be. Art examples and projects in school art curricula should not be reductive representations of theoretical principles, but art in all its messy complexity."

Duncum affirms this as he describes the relationships between his own principles, such as ideology and representation.  The two concepts are inseparable, really, because representation "refers to how ideology is presented in visual form".  It is at that very tangent that Duncum identifies a challenging sociological conundrum in the form of stereotypes.  While referring to the myriad of stereotypes presented in Disney cartoons which most of us have grown up with and taken for granted, he states, "Each of these stereotypes draws upon ideological constructions.  While serving a need to gain immediate recognition, each marginalizes because each denies complexity".  I wonder, how can the representations we produce, both with our students and in the visual culture of society at large, better include this necessary complexity?  It is especially challenging when we are attempting to create a singular 2-D work that is intentionally charged with meaning which we hope will be accessible to the viewer.  There is an awfully fine line between relying on shared understandings and false assumptions. 

Shortly after reading this article, I came across the images that I want to share with the class on Wednesday while I was perusing the Barnes and Noble bargain bin.  Although I would not consider these postmodern images, they can certainly be interpreted through the lens of each of the 7 Principles.  Yet, what I find even more interesting is to think about how those interpretations change over time, or depending upon who the viewer is.  They certainly caught my eye and I hope they will stimulate some rich discussion.

An Article in Support of Visual Culture Studies

The article I chose to refute Michelle Marder Khami's position is this one http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/13/nyregion/for-poorer-students-an-attempt-to-let-new-experiences-guide-learning.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0 published in the New York Times in February of 2012.  The connection may not be immediately apparent, but I feel like the approach taken by the teacher and administration featured in this article toward language arts and literacy stems from a very similar philosophical ideology to that which produced and advocates visual culture studies.  Also, I just really wanted to share these cool ideas with y'all!

Responding to Kamhi and Gude on Visual Culture Studies and Postmodern "New School" Art Education

Michelle Marder Kamhi's article "Rescuing Art from 'Visual Culture Studies'" certainly warrants a response so thorough and impassioned that a mere 500 words or less could not possibly suffice, so I suspect that Wednesday's discussion will be vividly rich and engaging.  For now, let me begin by saying that I find Kamhi's point of view on this subject to be based on so many false assumptions and groundless opinions that I hardly know where to begin.

Kamhi asserts that the study of postmodernism and visual culture have no place in arts education, even going so far as to label their consideration as "dubious" and "insidious", citing the movement's "blatant disregard of the essential differences between works of visual art and other types of cultural artifacts" as her primary objection.  To begin with, it is my view that the study of visual culture does not place disproportionate value on or displace one type of artifact for another.  Rather, we consider the relationship between artifacts that are widely considered "fine arts" and other manifestations of visual culture, highlighting how artists "throughout time and across cultures" have chosen to investigate reoccurring themes, questions, and problems.

She begins by deriding the dangers of a "decoding" focus methodology, asserting with no basis that I can discern, that experiencing "'natural', or depictive and expressive subject matter" does not rely on the decoding process, when, in fact, deciphering and processing any form of  visual imagery does rely on a decoding process, though it may be more subtle and subconscious, as my experiences with VTS will attest.  When we are consciously prompted to ponder why we read a certain expression or seemingly "obvious" depiction in a certain way, we realize that complex processes of decoding are going on at all levels of viewing.  These flawed assumptions about the cognitive process are significant because Kamhi argues that visual culture studies preoccupation with decoding places too much emphasis on "politicized issues that divide society, [such as race, class, gender, and ethnicity], rather than on shared human values and concerns".  She places a higher degree of value on work which she, most subjectively I might add, deems inherently readable and intuitively interpretable. What's even more troubling is that she seems to labor under the delusion that there was some enchanted time in the past in which politicized issues such as those mentioned above were not of great and universal concern and were not explored or discussed through the visual arts.

In an attempt to emphasize her point, she describes Ernesta by Cecilia Beaux, a 19th century painting of a "small child grasping the sturdy hand of a nursemaid".  She laments the accompanying museum text which calls into focus the marginalization of nannies in the cultural conditions of that time and neglects to focus the discussion on nurturing, security, and  the innocent dependence of children, which she deems more implicit, universal themes.  My initial response to this example is that we want students to look deeper and consider subtexts of a work that may be present just beneath the surface.  Certainly, any uneducated viewer could glance at the painting and apprehend the emotive qualities described by the author, but when the educated viewer considers the cultural context provided by the museum resources, we see that there are multiple layers of interpretation and meaning to be extracted.  By creating a palpable sense of a nurturing, loving bond, and trust between the nanny and child subject, we are that much more emotionally compelled when we consider the plight of the nanny, a paid employee, having no natural rights to the future of this precious child that she has invested so much of herself in.  It seems that Kamhi would advise us not to push beyond our initial surface reading and concern ourselves only with what is immediately apparent on the canvas.  The application of this ideology, from an educational standpoint, is utterly lost on me, especially if we mean to use art as a tool for deeper thinking and ongoing investigation of subjects that go far beyond the formal borders of art itself.

Gude's ideas in “New School Art Styles”on the other hand, reflect a distinct valuation of art activities that support inquiry and investigation which can transfer across subject boundaries and outside of the school environment as skills and knowledge with broad application. She states, “quality art projects ought to enable students to reframe experiences, thus supporting students in individually and collaboratively finding out something new about a subject. Such new insights cannot be summarized in simple language, but instead become vivid constellations that remain in the consciousness of the artist and the viewers. Good art – and good art projects – transform the way in which we understand and process life experiences.
Artists, both historical and contemporary, explore universal themes of human experience through the lens of their own contemporary encounters and cultural assumptions, struggles, foibles, and transformations.  Post modern artists are working with the themes of race, gender, consumerism, environmentalism, social media, persuasion, etc., not instead of "themes of great and universal importance", but because those are the "themes that are of great and universal importance" to people in society now.  These issues are inextricably bound up with traditional, universal themes such as the horrors of war, identity, and honor which Kamhi deems worthy of study.  How can you separate the horrors of war from ideas about power and, quite often, distinctions of race and religion, as they are and have been so often used to incite fear, outrage, and dehumanization of the other?  How can we separate gender from themes of identity and class from pride, struggle, and honor?  How can we separate environmentalism and consumerism from the universal and timeless experiences of empathy, awe, and love of nature and mankind?  We examine the relationship between these universal themes and their manifestations in our own experiences and the culture in which we live.  This is as true in "traditional", historical art as it is today.  What endures, perhaps, are the universal themes, even after the specific context of a work may become lost on us or obsolete, but contemporary contexts are the medium through which we express ideas about the human condition.  Kamhi displays a grossly oversimplified understanding of historical art by asserting otherwise.

In light of Kamhi's attitude toward postmodernism, it seems appropriate to ask, does not rock and roll have as much to teach us about the power of music as Mozart?  Does it not express the collective experience of an entire generation alienated from its fore-bearers by rapid and sweeping sociological change?  Is this not a theme worthy of investigation? Apparently not.

Kamhi's own definitions of art and her description of the creative process only serve to undermine her point of view entirely.  She states "an artwork is long term and metaphysical in it's focus.  It reflects what the artist regards as important in human life or in his conception of the divine or supernatural realm.  In some measure, every artist is engaged, albeit most often subconsciously, with such questions as, What aspects of human experience do I regard as important?  What is worth remembering?  What do I value or abhor?  Finally, during the creative process, an artist is concerned first and foremost with getting the work right in his own judgement.  Though he may refer to such things as aiming to please God or the gods the work is nonetheless governed by his own conception of what will best achieve that end.  At every stage of the work the implicit question is, Does this 'say' what I think it should?"  All of this being true, she seems oblivious to the fact that pop culture is what's important to people today.  And if an artist wishes their work, concerned with and influenced by pop culture, to "say what [they] think it should", should they not use the materials and visual elements of that culture?  (i.e.  if a work or series of work is about consumerism or mass production, doesn't artwork that employs ready-made objects or is highly reproducible seem appropriate?)

She goes on to discuss the discrediting relationship between commercial artists and clients, completely ignoring the historical precedent of patronage and commission which dominated artist's choice of subject matter, medium, and acceptable modes of expression for the overwhelming majority of human history.  Michelangelo didn't paint the Sistine Chapel for fun, or even for an inspired sense of religious passion.  He was paid to paint the religious themes and iconography that his patrons, the church, demanded.  In fact, their ideas about artistic license were often at odds.  Modernism and postmodernism are, in fact, exercises in the new found liberty of artists to create authentic work of their own volition for the first time in most of recorded history.  Furthermore, rather hypocritically, she continues to cite personal engagement on the part of the artist as a qualifier for educationally valuable art, but does not seem to wholly acknowledge the very impersonal relationship many historical masters had to their works.  One obvious example which comes to mind is the art of portraiture, a very businesslike arrangement in which skilled artisan depicts patron according to his or her specific wishes.  She admits that many famous artists produced works like these, but holds that they lack the compelling qualities of works which were clearly the result of great personal investment.  While this may be true, I think we would still regard the less passionate or charming examples of any renown artist's work, as, in fact, still being qualifiable as art and potentially worthy of study.

The inconsistancies, inaccuracies, and false assumptions contained within this article are almost too overwhelming for me to tackle. Embracing Kamhi's philosophy would essentially mean ignoring the entirety of the 20^th century. Should we let our students proceed in ignorance of these artistic movements and their implications within our culture, even if we are not personally moved by the work?

Kamhi's essay leaves the reader with a sense of moving backward, rather than looking to the future. She seems uncomfortable with the uncertainty and ambiguity we discussed in last week's class that inevitably comes with giving students creative freedom and going into uncharted territory. As Gude states, “Asserting that students must recapitulate the history of art in their studies before understanding and making contemporary art is as discreditable as believing that students must learn outmoded conceptions of biology or physics before being introduced to the range of widely accepted contemporary theories”.

Creating postmodern curriculum which successfully embraces the past involves getting at the heart of the underlying concerns and artistic questions that drove artists to develop new techniques and forge new paths, and finding new and original ways to continue that investigation as it is relevant to present individual and collective experience. Doing so requires that we understand as deeply as possible the motivations and methodologies employed by artists and that we build our curriculum around those concepts, rather than the surface appearance of the final product.