I just remembered this poem and wanted to share it. It is by Eugen Jebeleanu
TOWN ON FIRE
Just before I would set it on fire,
I would yell, Get out of the houses!
But don't take anything with you!
And I would stay motionless --
shadow
and sign of light,
watching
how everyone would come out running,
dressed only in skins,
in their own skin.
Winged, they would leave
furniture the landscape of so many quarrels,
kitchens the site of so many shortages,
those same walls with their boredom
confronting
all those little shelves of books unread
for lack of time,
and time the color
of cold bread.
Now fly! I would shout,
blowing in order to lift them,
and they would fly, all of them,
without ever looking
over their shoulders.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
troubling questions
This week, for personal, learner reasons, I am full of questions and, frankly frustrations. I began this semester questioning whether kids (and whether I) could learn this way. Now I realize that I don't even know what “this way” really is. Two weeks ago, Eleanor asked the class if anyone had learned with this method. Two or three people raised their hands; I found myself thinking, snarkily, “Oh really?”
On reflection, though, I wondered what these colleagues' educations had looked like. It seems like this part of the semester is about opening up the method to application in our practice—bringing elements and values of critical exploration into our classrooms. There is a recognition among numerous students, even if Eleanor is often vague and cryptic about her own opinions, that she means critical exploration to be a tool in our kits. If test culture means that we cannot lead our class in critical exploration of subject matter all of the time we spend with them, we can at least infuse it as often as possible so that students get a hint of the richness of a subject matter and the joy of discovering things on their own.
But how is this different from the education I received? The curriculum of many of the classes was project-based and self-directed. True there were rubrics and expectations; we could do what we wanted but we had to do something, and it would be evaluated. There were high expectations implicit in the culture of my school, but there was considerable freedom to explore what interested us and encounter subject matter (as opposed to writings about subject matter). Does this mean that I experienced this pedagogy as it looks in public school practice?
The most salient difference would seem to be the presence of expectations. I fully believe that when Eleanor “teaches,” she is happy with whatever learning happens, so long as the learners truly explore and stay engaged. But how many teachers—even ignoring external assessment pressures—are happy no matter what their students come to? Even Lisa Scheiner, when asked about the “Black” theme in “Progress Report” revealed that she would not have been happy if the students had not explored this. Scheiner, who is dedicated to and values critical exploration as a pedagogy, is hardly typical.
This issue raises the question of transparency—how clear should we make our goals for students? Meg, Kathryn, and Todd have been vocally struggling with as school teachers who place a lot of value on emphasizing class understanding goals, course throughlines, etc.. When we have discussed transparency in section, however, I think we have been doing so falsely. It isn't that the teacher-researcher using a pure form of critical exploration conceals goals, it is that the only goal is to keep the learner exploring and coming up with new questions. Therefore, it is not only meaningless, but I argue dangerous, to remove visual and spoken enforcement of goals while maintaining expectations for students. Unspoken expectations are unfair to learners. At best they result in frustration, at the worst, they could result in extreme self doubt and academic disidentification.
But then, this raises Delpit's point about gatekeepers. Even if a particular teacher doesn't have specific learner goals, the other teachers likely will—to say nothing of society as a whole. If we pretend gatekeepers don't exist, Depit says, we are ensuring that some students will not make it through the gates.
Fundamentally, then, I think these are issues of the philosophy of education, what defines a “good life,” and what are the competing (ethical) responsibilities of teachers. If we accept, for example, that a teacher has a responsibility to prepare students to succeed in a capitalist structure and also to help those students define their own passions, be happy, and be citizens—local and global—who have a commitment to justice and understanding, then the teacher who takes on these responsibilities will find that they sometimes (often?) conflict. Is it in the hand of the teacher to establish a hierarchy of responsibilities? How can this be anything other than a recreation of the inherently biased value structure of the teacher? Standards, however they have been misused in education, exist in theory to protect students for bad teachers (in whatever form 'bad' takes). Coming back overtly to critical exploration—is there a way to standardize such an individual process? Would we want to?
On reflection, though, I wondered what these colleagues' educations had looked like. It seems like this part of the semester is about opening up the method to application in our practice—bringing elements and values of critical exploration into our classrooms. There is a recognition among numerous students, even if Eleanor is often vague and cryptic about her own opinions, that she means critical exploration to be a tool in our kits. If test culture means that we cannot lead our class in critical exploration of subject matter all of the time we spend with them, we can at least infuse it as often as possible so that students get a hint of the richness of a subject matter and the joy of discovering things on their own.
But how is this different from the education I received? The curriculum of many of the classes was project-based and self-directed. True there were rubrics and expectations; we could do what we wanted but we had to do something, and it would be evaluated. There were high expectations implicit in the culture of my school, but there was considerable freedom to explore what interested us and encounter subject matter (as opposed to writings about subject matter). Does this mean that I experienced this pedagogy as it looks in public school practice?
The most salient difference would seem to be the presence of expectations. I fully believe that when Eleanor “teaches,” she is happy with whatever learning happens, so long as the learners truly explore and stay engaged. But how many teachers—even ignoring external assessment pressures—are happy no matter what their students come to? Even Lisa Scheiner, when asked about the “Black” theme in “Progress Report” revealed that she would not have been happy if the students had not explored this. Scheiner, who is dedicated to and values critical exploration as a pedagogy, is hardly typical.
This issue raises the question of transparency—how clear should we make our goals for students? Meg, Kathryn, and Todd have been vocally struggling with as school teachers who place a lot of value on emphasizing class understanding goals, course throughlines, etc.. When we have discussed transparency in section, however, I think we have been doing so falsely. It isn't that the teacher-researcher using a pure form of critical exploration conceals goals, it is that the only goal is to keep the learner exploring and coming up with new questions. Therefore, it is not only meaningless, but I argue dangerous, to remove visual and spoken enforcement of goals while maintaining expectations for students. Unspoken expectations are unfair to learners. At best they result in frustration, at the worst, they could result in extreme self doubt and academic disidentification.
But then, this raises Delpit's point about gatekeepers. Even if a particular teacher doesn't have specific learner goals, the other teachers likely will—to say nothing of society as a whole. If we pretend gatekeepers don't exist, Depit says, we are ensuring that some students will not make it through the gates.
Fundamentally, then, I think these are issues of the philosophy of education, what defines a “good life,” and what are the competing (ethical) responsibilities of teachers. If we accept, for example, that a teacher has a responsibility to prepare students to succeed in a capitalist structure and also to help those students define their own passions, be happy, and be citizens—local and global—who have a commitment to justice and understanding, then the teacher who takes on these responsibilities will find that they sometimes (often?) conflict. Is it in the hand of the teacher to establish a hierarchy of responsibilities? How can this be anything other than a recreation of the inherently biased value structure of the teacher? Standards, however they have been misused in education, exist in theory to protect students for bad teachers (in whatever form 'bad' takes). Coming back overtly to critical exploration—is there a way to standardize such an individual process? Would we want to?
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
final fieldwork part 1
I am having serious questions about how my lesson would have gone with an “ordinary student.” Why would any student be ready and willing to examine a camera for this long? What should I have done to make the encounter with the “it” of the subject matter more engaging? We didn’t get to do the sunprints because it was raining, but what could I have done instead that would have been fun? Should I have brought film? Let her shoot? She figured out key things about the shutter and aperture, which is huge, but she was more willing to explore and notice than many students because she, as she said “knows what we’re doing.”
Also, at a certain point I said something because I knew it would help her explore her question. Specifically, after she had explored what are the aperture and shutter dial for several minutes, she felt that they were distinct but related. She wasn’t sure how. She kept doing the same thing over and over, and I knew what she was doing and knew that I could help her over the hump if I told her that if she set the dial to B then “it” (she had not used the word shutter, so I didn’t either) would stay open for as long as she kept the button down. This really helped her explore her question, but was it too leading? Furthermore, there were earlier, more fundamental decisions I made to help her explore. I opened the camera for her (maybe I shouldn’t have) because I know that many operations of a camera you call examine unless you look inside (because the inside of a camera is necessarily light-tight. Later, after she had been looking through the front of the lens for several minutes, pressing the shutter release and hearing and seeing what happened, she became confused. She thought that there were 2 related things happening, but could only see one of them. I asked her if she thought she would see something different if she looked through the back. This was a leading question, because I knew that seeing the back would help her identify what was happening, and I had begun to think that she might not think to do it on her own. Should I have?
There is a more fundamental question—would/could she have learned more if I had taught this in a more traditional way? This is a different version of a kind of “first lesson” I do in which I tell kids how the shutter and aperture work and then have them explore it on their own, by playing around with the cameras. It is too early to tell how well Kathryn will retain what she discovered about the shutter and aperture, but I feel like she “got it” in a way that students often don’t. But at the same time, I wonder what would have happened if I had started the lesson the way I did, but was more forthcoming with information. Where is the line? How can you tell what the “right” amount of assistance is?
Also, at a certain point I said something because I knew it would help her explore her question. Specifically, after she had explored what are the aperture and shutter dial for several minutes, she felt that they were distinct but related. She wasn’t sure how. She kept doing the same thing over and over, and I knew what she was doing and knew that I could help her over the hump if I told her that if she set the dial to B then “it” (she had not used the word shutter, so I didn’t either) would stay open for as long as she kept the button down. This really helped her explore her question, but was it too leading? Furthermore, there were earlier, more fundamental decisions I made to help her explore. I opened the camera for her (maybe I shouldn’t have) because I know that many operations of a camera you call examine unless you look inside (because the inside of a camera is necessarily light-tight. Later, after she had been looking through the front of the lens for several minutes, pressing the shutter release and hearing and seeing what happened, she became confused. She thought that there were 2 related things happening, but could only see one of them. I asked her if she thought she would see something different if she looked through the back. This was a leading question, because I knew that seeing the back would help her identify what was happening, and I had begun to think that she might not think to do it on her own. Should I have?
There is a more fundamental question—would/could she have learned more if I had taught this in a more traditional way? This is a different version of a kind of “first lesson” I do in which I tell kids how the shutter and aperture work and then have them explore it on their own, by playing around with the cameras. It is too early to tell how well Kathryn will retain what she discovered about the shutter and aperture, but I feel like she “got it” in a way that students often don’t. But at the same time, I wonder what would have happened if I had started the lesson the way I did, but was more forthcoming with information. Where is the line? How can you tell what the “right” amount of assistance is?
Saturday, October 24, 2009
periscope?
Part 2 (which happened before)
How do you get a learner to make a periscope within the critical inquiry method? How do you not give too much away with the materials? Conceal them like the string?
How do you get a learner to make a periscope within the critical inquiry method? How do you not give too much away with the materials? Conceal them like the string?
10/24
I just spent all day at a workshop on teaching with museum objects and it reminded me of other, somewhat contradictory approaches to get students to get at the content. The rest of the participants were classroom teachers, some late in career, most teachers of social studies. We were asked to share observations much in the same way we looked at the poem. I noticed a definitely trajectory when sharing noticings. This group of school teachers seemed very conscious that while it is all well and good to explore, there is content to be learned. Moreover, because the workshop was "Using Art Objects to Study Religion and Sacred Space," the teachers were heavily influenced by their interest in balancing tensions over their own faith practices and the faiths of others in the group as well as ideas about the classroom. Many had come to find out how to productively combat stereotyping and exclusion in the classroom, and therefore, much was at stake in terms of what did and did not constitute appropriate answers. This is not to say that the group was not welcoming of controversial or unpopular opinions; examining assumptions was a key theme and that cannot be done if assumptions remain buried. However, it was central, for good reason, that not all answers could go unquestioned. Because the group comprised self-selecting adults interested in this particular subject, the conversation stayed appropriate. However, a few times, a participant would use a word like "mythology" with regard to Hinduism--a living religion--and we would discuss why a word like "mythology" would exclude practitioners of non-Abrahamic religions. One cannot imagine "getting away" with referring to an image of Jesus as a painting representing "Christian mythology" to a public school classroom in America.
I began to wonder where the lines should be drawn in critical inquiry around issues in which much is at stake. How can we promote open exploration and acceptance of all answers, but also ensure that students reach beyond their experiences and biases? Are we just to put all our faith in long term answers, like providing enough information to contradict assumptions without actively pushing back against them? How would this look when addressing very distant issues and fine distinctions?
I began to wonder where the lines should be drawn in critical inquiry around issues in which much is at stake. How can we promote open exploration and acceptance of all answers, but also ensure that students reach beyond their experiences and biases? Are we just to put all our faith in long term answers, like providing enough information to contradict assumptions without actively pushing back against them? How would this look when addressing very distant issues and fine distinctions?
Sunday, October 18, 2009
frustrations and discoveries
After a week of not noticing many mirrors, I started noticing many reflective surfaces and the predictable and the strange things that they do. For instance, as I was laying in bed talking on the phone late Wednesday night, I looked at the framed poster on the wall. I saw the same reflection that I always see when I look at it from that angle, which is of a fabric vine. I remember in an excited flash that the first time I noticed this reflection a month or so ago I couldn't understand why the I saw something that wasn't in front of the frame. It didn't occur to me then to think about the fact that I also was not in front of the glass. In fact, I wasn't particularly curious about it. I had to interrupt the person I was on the phone with to share this epiphany.
I had a glass reflection confusion waiting for the bus Friday night. Looking at the window of a restaurant about 10 feet from me, I could see a neon sign in the window across the street behind me and perhaps 20 feet to the side. This was not crazy, and in fact, because it was very difficult to tell how angled each building was, I could not learn much from a close looking at this. (This is to say that it was not compatible with what we have been looking at in class, which does not mean that I cannot learn from it, but that is what I wrote first so I thought I would leave it since it says something about what I believe.) What was strange about the reflection of the neon sign was that it was double. Moreover, when I moved my head to one side, the two images diverged. When I moved my head back the other direction, they came closer together , and then moved apart again as I passed the center. Less interesting, but relevant to my mirror noticing, last night I went to see the new A.R.T. Shakespeare Explored production, which was interactive, so-called adventure theater, meaning that the audience wandered around the massive theater space--an old school--and encountered theater. In at least three rooms, I was only or primarily able to see the acting through mirror reflections.
But there were a couple of frustrations this week. In class Wednesday, when we began to explain what we had discovered about the mirrors, I got the impression that A) many people had not pushed themselves in the activity, and B) though this course stresses listening to learners explain, I got the feeling that most of my classmates, and I as well, were not listening to the other learners to understand how the methods they share were related to what that discovered. Even I made assumptions during the activity. I became frustrated when the class did not progress, or move in the direction I wanted to go. I have this problem a lot as a learner, and I believe it is a horrible tendency among teachers. There was a personal frustration which the class closed on because of time. The member of our mirror group who had been so intent on drawing graphs, tried to explain our method for using our body and arms to visually calculate the angles without string. However, she hadn't actually done it, she had only sort of seen Miyoung and I do it, and either she didn't understand it then or she forgot it over the week, because she explained in completely wrong. Not "she was very clear" wrong, but the methods wasn't at all what we had done in class and because she didn't figure it out or understand it, she didn't know how to fix it. ED would not let me chime in because, understandably, she did not want me to interrupt an explanation. But truthfully, because she wasn't explaining an understanding. I feel confident that she could have "re-invented" the technique in different circumstances, but she was surrounded by an impatient, confused crowd and she kept looking at me to help her out. It was not pretty. I threw her a couple of hints, which I was not happy to do, and she got there, but the whole thing was rather unpleasant.
The bigger frustration, though, is that my moon curiosity could not be higher and I cannot find it! I want to know about the bunny ears and its possible spinning, and whether we always see the same side of it, and whether it waxes on and wanes off from the same side, but I cannot find it. It is driving me mad! I almost want to rent a car and drive out to the middle of nowhere and stay up all night taking pictures and notes. I know I am not dedicating myself as fully as I ought to this, but it is so disheartening to go out at night and not be able to find it. No I am hearing from people that it is best seen in the morning right now, but I go out in the morning and I still don't see it.
I had a glass reflection confusion waiting for the bus Friday night. Looking at the window of a restaurant about 10 feet from me, I could see a neon sign in the window across the street behind me and perhaps 20 feet to the side. This was not crazy, and in fact, because it was very difficult to tell how angled each building was, I could not learn much from a close looking at this. (This is to say that it was not compatible with what we have been looking at in class, which does not mean that I cannot learn from it, but that is what I wrote first so I thought I would leave it since it says something about what I believe.) What was strange about the reflection of the neon sign was that it was double. Moreover, when I moved my head to one side, the two images diverged. When I moved my head back the other direction, they came closer together , and then moved apart again as I passed the center. Less interesting, but relevant to my mirror noticing, last night I went to see the new A.R.T. Shakespeare Explored production, which was interactive, so-called adventure theater, meaning that the audience wandered around the massive theater space--an old school--and encountered theater. In at least three rooms, I was only or primarily able to see the acting through mirror reflections.
But there were a couple of frustrations this week. In class Wednesday, when we began to explain what we had discovered about the mirrors, I got the impression that A) many people had not pushed themselves in the activity, and B) though this course stresses listening to learners explain, I got the feeling that most of my classmates, and I as well, were not listening to the other learners to understand how the methods they share were related to what that discovered. Even I made assumptions during the activity. I became frustrated when the class did not progress, or move in the direction I wanted to go. I have this problem a lot as a learner, and I believe it is a horrible tendency among teachers. There was a personal frustration which the class closed on because of time. The member of our mirror group who had been so intent on drawing graphs, tried to explain our method for using our body and arms to visually calculate the angles without string. However, she hadn't actually done it, she had only sort of seen Miyoung and I do it, and either she didn't understand it then or she forgot it over the week, because she explained in completely wrong. Not "she was very clear" wrong, but the methods wasn't at all what we had done in class and because she didn't figure it out or understand it, she didn't know how to fix it. ED would not let me chime in because, understandably, she did not want me to interrupt an explanation. But truthfully, because she wasn't explaining an understanding. I feel confident that she could have "re-invented" the technique in different circumstances, but she was surrounded by an impatient, confused crowd and she kept looking at me to help her out. It was not pretty. I threw her a couple of hints, which I was not happy to do, and she got there, but the whole thing was rather unpleasant.
The bigger frustration, though, is that my moon curiosity could not be higher and I cannot find it! I want to know about the bunny ears and its possible spinning, and whether we always see the same side of it, and whether it waxes on and wanes off from the same side, but I cannot find it. It is driving me mad! I almost want to rent a car and drive out to the middle of nowhere and stay up all night taking pictures and notes. I know I am not dedicating myself as fully as I ought to this, but it is so disheartening to go out at night and not be able to find it. No I am hearing from people that it is best seen in the morning right now, but I go out in the morning and I still don't see it.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
bike gears part 2 and the moon
It has been rainy, which has made it more difficult the test the gears, but I think I am starting to get some good info. It seems like sometimes pedaling is easier but in those cases I feel like I am pedaling more because I do not have the familiar feeling of my muscles "working hard" on the pedals.
The moon has been so awesome lately. In class I realized that I really want to be more methodical in observing it. I have noticed a lot of interesting things about it, like how much and quickly it moves, and especially this week how quickly it goes from full to almost half. I feel inspired by Josh's close attention and careful method, but I am not sure if this is my approach. I like being surprised by the changes I notice spontaneously, even if it means that I will learn about it more slowly.
The moon has been so awesome lately. In class I realized that I really want to be more methodical in observing it. I have noticed a lot of interesting things about it, like how much and quickly it moves, and especially this week how quickly it goes from full to almost half. I feel inspired by Josh's close attention and careful method, but I am not sure if this is my approach. I like being surprised by the changes I notice spontaneously, even if it means that I will learn about it more slowly.
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