This is the last step of my final project: the two paintings that I have been working on. Overall, while I may not be exceptionally happy with the product itself just now, I have hope for what I know it will become over the next few weeks. More importantly, I am thrilled with what the project has meant for me personally, professionally and creatively.
The project was meant to stem from our personal plan for creativity, but nowhere in my plan does it suggest I would do an art project. It does, however, set the goal of spending roughly an hour in the weekday evenings on a creative pursuit. This did not happen consistently, until the few weeks before the project came due. Then I began to spend these small chunks of time on my painting... sort of. I studied, I researched, I planned, I practiced technique on test sheets, but I could not bring myself to mar the white canvas until I had a solid chunk of time to really 'get into' the work.
I learned that the plans I had made to become someone who could dedicate consistent small chunks of time to a project in order to complete it may actually be quite counterintuitive. I was more compelled to immerse myself, to lose track of time and spend much larger chunks. One Sunday and the subsequent snow day Monday were my most productive hours because of this chance to spend the entire day, so long as I felt the inspiration I needed. Interestingly, at the end of the Sunday, I was soaring. I could see the painting coming together. I liked the textures and the natural flow of the pieces. On Monday, I overworked them. I ended up trying to make them more full, make them say too much, make them more realistic, rather than the abstract or impressionistic aesthetic I had originally planned for them.
This helped me to realize something about me and my perhaps misguided goals. I am not good at dedicating consistent small chunks of time to something such that it is mostly completed before deadline, allowing for final tweaking. This is just the ideal that I think I've bought into that our society has taught me. Somehow, we've come to see the person who works in fits and starts, in creative bursts and at strange hours, rushing to deadline, as a inferior worker or a person of limited self-control. However, there are, I'm coming to believe, those of us who undermine ourselves by trying to force an unnatural work process. Consider my paper: had I simply spent the usual mad rush in completing it, I believe I would be more satisfied with the product. Instead, I asked for an extension and then I played with it in small chunks of time. I became unfocused and ineffective, spending a lot more time overall than I would have normally and being, as I said, unsatisfied with the work anyway. That Monday with the painting was the same. Because I had already spent the better part of Sunday on it, I had the creative flow of immersion on my side. I knew that another couple of hours spent on the ceramic branches the following evening, and then the painting of those the evening after would give me what I wanted. But when we had the snow day, I saw it as an opportunity to tweak, and I ended up overworking it to the point of disliking the overall product so much that I didn't even get to the branches. The Tuesday was spent trying to recapture the simplicity and beauty that I had lost by not sticking to the schedule that allowed for what I know see as a healthy and productive stress, a state of tension that helps me make smart decisions and work effectively.
So I am left with the feeling that while I didn't follow my plan completely, I did so enough to learn something valuable about myself and about what I may want to change about my plan. Maybe my giving into what would be seen as poor time-management by most anyone, my surrendering to the late nights and stressful bursts, will be my personal "Faustian bargain" if I am to create actual products (in writing, painting...anything, really, that it project oriented) that I am happy with.
I felt like the project did stem from the personal plan in an unexpected way. As I read through the plan, I see an underlying theme of family and keeping it central in my creative priorities. This project certainly did that. In fact, it became quite symbolic of that. It was a way of finishing the house that had been Barry and my co-creative project for so long. It recognized the tree motif that I had naturally been drawn to as I decorated the house, and it now helped me understand why I had wanted that symbol to permeate my surroundings: it was symbolic of the very family I wanted to be the center of this home. It represented growth, struggle, branching out, and the fruition of love. I am at a point where I feel we are 'harvesting' after years of toil, and the bounty is so beautiful, so worth the effort. I wanted to capture all of that, and the project became a means for this and, really, quite a therapeutic and cathartic process.
Definite barriers in my process included the struggle with effective use of time, which I've already addressed, but also with my own inhibitions. I found myself very afraid of the project. I admitted openly that I lacked the confidence to make those first brush strokes. At one point in my life, as an undergrad art minor, I would have had no problem with confidence in my skills, but I have experienced painful and embarrassingly public lessons (a botched solo singing performance in my twenties comes to mind) about how you really do 'lose it' when you 'don't use it.' I had to retrain myself to some extent, so a lot of the effort I put in happened before I even touched brush to canvas. I enjoyed that relearning, actually. It was like visiting an old friend - awkward at first, but thoroughly rewarding and worthwhile to remember why I loved it in the first place.
I suppose this was one of the great personal lessons for me in the project: that I could regain the creative passion I may have once had, but has now become lapsed. It gave me a sense of hope for what I could do in the future, what goals I could more comfortably set. I have a renewed faith in my creative ability. I may be lacking in skill, but I'm not lacking in motivation or in the ability to relearn and regain. It is more difficult, of course, than just keeping that creative muscle in shape, but it is possible and rewardingly worth it.
Interestingly, I also found that even though I sacrificed some time I might have normally spent on my profession, having this completely separate and personal creative project helped spark my interest in my job. I felt more able to use work time effectively. I was more interested in what was happening in my classroom. I felt more like me, I think, and less like a machine. It felt more like I had realigned some priorities in a way that was personally and professionally satisfying and balancing.
So, in all, I've learned an appreciation for the natural, or intuitive, creative process, which may well vary from person to person. It should always be respected, even if only by the creator. I learned that I have become rusty, but that reviving an old passion is rejuvenating for the soul. I can see that creativity is a cognitive effort, but perhaps more importantly, it is an emotional endeavor that can be quite healing for the psyche and that can provide greater meaning to our lives.
The carry-over into my classroom is that I hope to help my students feel comfortable in their own creative skins, in their own processes. I hope to not force them into believing that a single way of doing things is the 'correct' way, but I hope to acknowledge and engender in them an understanding of their own best creative processes. I hope to plan in a way that flows better, and allows for building on skill, without undue periods of falling out of practice, but also without unnecessary rehashing and overworking of a single thing (concept, skill, project). I hope to help them understand the importance of the process over the project by using more reflective activities, such as the one I'm doing just now.
As I said earlier, I'm not thrilled with this particular product itself just yet, but it's okay because the process was well worth it, and what I've learned from it gives me the faith that I'll make it what I want... I have a restored confidence.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Class at Home: Contemplating my Creative Process
1. Identify a Project: I have chosen to consider our last house as the creative project for this assignment. It was the first that Barry and I planned and executed from beginning to end. Others had either been modular projects (from when Barry was running the dealership in Kalispell) or based on the plans of others with our own creative tweaks. This one was, however, one that we wanted to have more complete creative control over. We wanted the concept and execution to be something we could take ownership of, with the consideration that because of the softening market, we may be in the home for longer than any of the past projects.
2. Beginning of my Process: The actual impetus for a new house project is usually born of different motivations. In this case, we had sold the only spec home that we had lived in because we were offered the right price, and we could get another lot for a reasonable price. We were no longer home-owners and that needed to be remedied. But more importantly, we were ready for the project. I think we had come to a point where we needed the joint endeavor because it's usually a pretty healthy thing for our marriage. We work well together, and we become closer as we get the chance to spend the time and energy on something that's a common goal. We also wanted something nicer than our last home. We felt ready to make the step into a different market, one with bigger risk but (hopefully) greater pay-off.
Our house projects generally work with us taking different but complimentary roles. I design, conceptualize, and figure the best methods for execution. I also do the bulk of the research. Barry manages the project, the timelines, the sub-trades, etc., and he provides the element of uncommon commitment. He's the 'Energizer bunny' that does not run out of energy before completion. We execute a lot of the work itself together, which I will address later. But I wanted to lay out the symbiotic process that we already knew as we made the decision to do our last build. It was certainly the largest factor in our feeling confident that we could do it.
3. Playing with the Idea: I tend to play with the idea of a new house incessantly. By the time we sold our previous house, I probably had over twenty house plans bookmarked on my computer as inspiration points, and I had four or five different plans that I had redrawn on 81/2X11 sheets of graph paper with enough detail for a draftsman to easily complete full blueprints. House planning, dreaming, and drawing is one of my favorite pastimes. Barry and I tend to hit up open houses, snapping disallowed photos of things we like. We also enjoy driving through various neighborhoods for inspiration, especially when we visit different cities with different aesthetics than what you commonly see in Southern Alberta. We took an architecture class together as undergrads, and I completed a few others as part of my art minor, so we are familiar with different periods and influences. We get pleasure out of scoffing at those that mix craftsman elements with English country, for example. So going into this new house, we wanted to create something of consistent style, but something that would still have the mass appeal needed for resale. We wanted this house to really showcase what we were capable of doing.
In hindsight, I can see that I often begin a project in such a way. I have a general goal, but it is only a guideline - I don't like tying myself to any strict focus from the beginning. Then I like to spend time just playing, reading, viewing, sketching, figuring, even if it's for a project I know I won't do. I often imagine scenarios where I would do it. For example, with the house plans I had drawn up by the time we sold the house, I had at least on of each of the following: "if I had a home business" plan, a "if we were a retired couple" plan, a "if I was single" plan, and a "if money were no object" plan. These allowed me to dream a little, to pull various things from each thing that would appeal to me and my actual situation.
This portion of any creative project is usually the most enjoyable for me. I get to be truly imaginative. I feel a bit like a kid, except that I can also feel the effect of experience and maturity in my play. There's also little stress and no firm deadline, so the motivation is purely intrinsic, which is pretty darn cool. This is the stage I'm at right now for the next house. We know there will be a next, but it's not slated for anytime soon, so I just play with ideas and scenarios, and when the time comes, it's easier to hone in on what I am confident will work.
4. Taking Action: I see this a the moment we settled on a house style, and I began drafting final blueprints. We had already been out of our other house for a few months, summer was coming, and we had closed on the new lot. We decided that a French Normandy would be a distinctive choice that would be least offensive to the largely traditional market in Cardston. I found a house online that inspired the outside design, and I drew up the plans in rough format. I waited until school was out to draw actual blueprints. I had enough experience with draftsmen and architects to know that they wouldn't do it just as I wanted. They always feel the need to put their stamp on it somehow, and I really didn't want that. It was my first summer that I didn't take a summer job for some extra cash and I hadn't yet started the M.Ed., so I had the time and energy to devote myself fully to the house.
I drew the plans in 'old school' fashion, with large sheets of drafting paper, a geometry set, and a calculator. I even managed to figure roof schematics. I loved this part of the project because it was when I felt I learned the most. It also energized me for the next stages of the project, beginning with excavating and then all the other really rough phases during which it doesn't look like much. (Because of Barry's job at the time, he wasn't around much either, whereas I was onsite daily.) I was also more open to the trades when they asked if they could experiment with something new. My brother, for example, who did most of our framing, asked to build our large 8/12 pitch roof on the ground and then crane it into place on prefabricated walls he would make in Raymond. I said sure; the whole project, after all, had the feel of a loose experiment, but all along, I was confident in the skills of those involved.
In all, the house took almost exactly a year. I drafted in July, we dug in August, we moved in the following June, but we had loose ends we finished up that summer, including the yard. We were the general contractors for the whole project, but we also did certain things ourselves: the roofing, the insulating, the painting, the flooring, all of the electric and plumbing beyond rough-in, some of the finishing, much of the exterior finishes, and the yard (including landscape, deck, patio, gazebo, etc.). Essentially, it was as if both of us had a second full-time job that ate most every evening and all of our weekends. Some of the factors that kept us going included the feeling of constant progress (every stage made us feel that much closer to the end result), the chance that we had to work together (many memorable late nights with of us tiling and talking, our process down to a science by that time), and the sheer exhilaration of creating something that finally felt more like 'us'.
There were, of course, several extrinsic motivators, as well. Construction loans work such that you have to keep the process going in appropriate order to facilitate each draw of cash. We were also working to beat times of rush in various trades. And we hated living in the little studio apartment with most of our things in storage. In hindsight, I see that there is a pattern in the majority of creative projects that I do of making myself slightly uncomfortable as a means of ensuring completion/remaining motivated.
5. Barriers and Momentum: Momentum, I suppose, is somewhat addressed above, although I will add that it also helped to work in spurts. We knew, for example, that the best time for us to complete all the interior painting was over the February break in school, so we simply HAD to have all the subtrades to that point completed and all the materials purchased and colors chosen. Then we spent entire days and late into the nights completing that particular phase so that we could be done for the next thing we had scheduled, for the next burst of effort. Another factor in our momentum was unexpected. We had a lot of people in town take note of the house, and it became a popular spot for people to drive by and check out progress, so that gave us a little extra push in times we needed it.
Many of the barriers that we experienced came as a result of the problems inherent in general contracting. I understand why people hire that out. It's a hassle. Subtrades can be difficult to line up, to keep committed to your job, and sometimes, to even find (we ended up roofing, for example, because we couldn't find a roofer willing to do our job). They also invariably wanted a great deal more money once they had completed the job, which was frustrating as we felt it was part of their professional responsibility to make their original quotes accurate. Most often, these barriers were overcome by our bargaining with people or by our taking on the added work ourselves, which generally meant more research, more learning by experience and mistake, and more time.
The opposite sometimes held true, though. We had planned to do some things ourselves - the exterior rock work, the laying of sprinklers, as examples, but by the time we reached that point, we had to acknowledge our exhaustion and hire it out. We also became good at figuring into our costs what our time was worth.
I think that commonly, it is a set of outside barriers that stall a project for me, and if I'm able to solve them, it is generally through problem-solving or just learning to 'take care of it' myself. I do tend to bite of more than I can chew, too, so I see a pattern of burning out in many projects. I have quite a few unfinished things that became rather burdensome in the end, and I decided they just weren't worth my time anymore.
6. Completion: We swore we wouldn't move in to this house until every last inch was completed, at least on the inside, but we had to eat our words. We were waiting for countertops, and there was filling and repainting of trim left, closet organizers, and other odds and ends left to complete when we moved in. We did strategize, though, by putting most everything in the basement family room, setting up a bed in one of the basement spare bedrooms and an impromptu kitchen at the bar area, and only allowing ourselves to unpack into certain rooms when each was completely finished. There was the odd area, though, that we got too comfortable with being unfinished. The downstairs studio, the storage room and the storage room were only recently completed. Some final caulking and paint touch-ups have yet to be done, so in some ways, we stalled out at the end. Unfortunately, it just becomes easy to live with something a little incomplete when the final product has been so satisfying in other ways.
7. The Essence of My Process: In my creative process, I need the time to play, I like to learn something new or hone an ability/craft, I like working with people I know I can trust, I tend to take on a lot and burn out before completion, but I generally push to the end... at least until I have something that meets or exceeds my original expectations.
A few pictures from Christmas-time last year:
2. Beginning of my Process: The actual impetus for a new house project is usually born of different motivations. In this case, we had sold the only spec home that we had lived in because we were offered the right price, and we could get another lot for a reasonable price. We were no longer home-owners and that needed to be remedied. But more importantly, we were ready for the project. I think we had come to a point where we needed the joint endeavor because it's usually a pretty healthy thing for our marriage. We work well together, and we become closer as we get the chance to spend the time and energy on something that's a common goal. We also wanted something nicer than our last home. We felt ready to make the step into a different market, one with bigger risk but (hopefully) greater pay-off.
Our house projects generally work with us taking different but complimentary roles. I design, conceptualize, and figure the best methods for execution. I also do the bulk of the research. Barry manages the project, the timelines, the sub-trades, etc., and he provides the element of uncommon commitment. He's the 'Energizer bunny' that does not run out of energy before completion. We execute a lot of the work itself together, which I will address later. But I wanted to lay out the symbiotic process that we already knew as we made the decision to do our last build. It was certainly the largest factor in our feeling confident that we could do it.
3. Playing with the Idea: I tend to play with the idea of a new house incessantly. By the time we sold our previous house, I probably had over twenty house plans bookmarked on my computer as inspiration points, and I had four or five different plans that I had redrawn on 81/2X11 sheets of graph paper with enough detail for a draftsman to easily complete full blueprints. House planning, dreaming, and drawing is one of my favorite pastimes. Barry and I tend to hit up open houses, snapping disallowed photos of things we like. We also enjoy driving through various neighborhoods for inspiration, especially when we visit different cities with different aesthetics than what you commonly see in Southern Alberta. We took an architecture class together as undergrads, and I completed a few others as part of my art minor, so we are familiar with different periods and influences. We get pleasure out of scoffing at those that mix craftsman elements with English country, for example. So going into this new house, we wanted to create something of consistent style, but something that would still have the mass appeal needed for resale. We wanted this house to really showcase what we were capable of doing.
In hindsight, I can see that I often begin a project in such a way. I have a general goal, but it is only a guideline - I don't like tying myself to any strict focus from the beginning. Then I like to spend time just playing, reading, viewing, sketching, figuring, even if it's for a project I know I won't do. I often imagine scenarios where I would do it. For example, with the house plans I had drawn up by the time we sold the house, I had at least on of each of the following: "if I had a home business" plan, a "if we were a retired couple" plan, a "if I was single" plan, and a "if money were no object" plan. These allowed me to dream a little, to pull various things from each thing that would appeal to me and my actual situation.
This portion of any creative project is usually the most enjoyable for me. I get to be truly imaginative. I feel a bit like a kid, except that I can also feel the effect of experience and maturity in my play. There's also little stress and no firm deadline, so the motivation is purely intrinsic, which is pretty darn cool. This is the stage I'm at right now for the next house. We know there will be a next, but it's not slated for anytime soon, so I just play with ideas and scenarios, and when the time comes, it's easier to hone in on what I am confident will work.
4. Taking Action: I see this a the moment we settled on a house style, and I began drafting final blueprints. We had already been out of our other house for a few months, summer was coming, and we had closed on the new lot. We decided that a French Normandy would be a distinctive choice that would be least offensive to the largely traditional market in Cardston. I found a house online that inspired the outside design, and I drew up the plans in rough format. I waited until school was out to draw actual blueprints. I had enough experience with draftsmen and architects to know that they wouldn't do it just as I wanted. They always feel the need to put their stamp on it somehow, and I really didn't want that. It was my first summer that I didn't take a summer job for some extra cash and I hadn't yet started the M.Ed., so I had the time and energy to devote myself fully to the house.
I drew the plans in 'old school' fashion, with large sheets of drafting paper, a geometry set, and a calculator. I even managed to figure roof schematics. I loved this part of the project because it was when I felt I learned the most. It also energized me for the next stages of the project, beginning with excavating and then all the other really rough phases during which it doesn't look like much. (Because of Barry's job at the time, he wasn't around much either, whereas I was onsite daily.) I was also more open to the trades when they asked if they could experiment with something new. My brother, for example, who did most of our framing, asked to build our large 8/12 pitch roof on the ground and then crane it into place on prefabricated walls he would make in Raymond. I said sure; the whole project, after all, had the feel of a loose experiment, but all along, I was confident in the skills of those involved.
In all, the house took almost exactly a year. I drafted in July, we dug in August, we moved in the following June, but we had loose ends we finished up that summer, including the yard. We were the general contractors for the whole project, but we also did certain things ourselves: the roofing, the insulating, the painting, the flooring, all of the electric and plumbing beyond rough-in, some of the finishing, much of the exterior finishes, and the yard (including landscape, deck, patio, gazebo, etc.). Essentially, it was as if both of us had a second full-time job that ate most every evening and all of our weekends. Some of the factors that kept us going included the feeling of constant progress (every stage made us feel that much closer to the end result), the chance that we had to work together (many memorable late nights with of us tiling and talking, our process down to a science by that time), and the sheer exhilaration of creating something that finally felt more like 'us'.
There were, of course, several extrinsic motivators, as well. Construction loans work such that you have to keep the process going in appropriate order to facilitate each draw of cash. We were also working to beat times of rush in various trades. And we hated living in the little studio apartment with most of our things in storage. In hindsight, I see that there is a pattern in the majority of creative projects that I do of making myself slightly uncomfortable as a means of ensuring completion/remaining motivated.
5. Barriers and Momentum: Momentum, I suppose, is somewhat addressed above, although I will add that it also helped to work in spurts. We knew, for example, that the best time for us to complete all the interior painting was over the February break in school, so we simply HAD to have all the subtrades to that point completed and all the materials purchased and colors chosen. Then we spent entire days and late into the nights completing that particular phase so that we could be done for the next thing we had scheduled, for the next burst of effort. Another factor in our momentum was unexpected. We had a lot of people in town take note of the house, and it became a popular spot for people to drive by and check out progress, so that gave us a little extra push in times we needed it.
Many of the barriers that we experienced came as a result of the problems inherent in general contracting. I understand why people hire that out. It's a hassle. Subtrades can be difficult to line up, to keep committed to your job, and sometimes, to even find (we ended up roofing, for example, because we couldn't find a roofer willing to do our job). They also invariably wanted a great deal more money once they had completed the job, which was frustrating as we felt it was part of their professional responsibility to make their original quotes accurate. Most often, these barriers were overcome by our bargaining with people or by our taking on the added work ourselves, which generally meant more research, more learning by experience and mistake, and more time.
The opposite sometimes held true, though. We had planned to do some things ourselves - the exterior rock work, the laying of sprinklers, as examples, but by the time we reached that point, we had to acknowledge our exhaustion and hire it out. We also became good at figuring into our costs what our time was worth.
I think that commonly, it is a set of outside barriers that stall a project for me, and if I'm able to solve them, it is generally through problem-solving or just learning to 'take care of it' myself. I do tend to bite of more than I can chew, too, so I see a pattern of burning out in many projects. I have quite a few unfinished things that became rather burdensome in the end, and I decided they just weren't worth my time anymore.
6. Completion: We swore we wouldn't move in to this house until every last inch was completed, at least on the inside, but we had to eat our words. We were waiting for countertops, and there was filling and repainting of trim left, closet organizers, and other odds and ends left to complete when we moved in. We did strategize, though, by putting most everything in the basement family room, setting up a bed in one of the basement spare bedrooms and an impromptu kitchen at the bar area, and only allowing ourselves to unpack into certain rooms when each was completely finished. There was the odd area, though, that we got too comfortable with being unfinished. The downstairs studio, the storage room and the storage room were only recently completed. Some final caulking and paint touch-ups have yet to be done, so in some ways, we stalled out at the end. Unfortunately, it just becomes easy to live with something a little incomplete when the final product has been so satisfying in other ways.
7. The Essence of My Process: In my creative process, I need the time to play, I like to learn something new or hone an ability/craft, I like working with people I know I can trust, I tend to take on a lot and burn out before completion, but I generally push to the end... at least until I have something that meets or exceeds my original expectations.
A few pictures from Christmas-time last year:
Monday, November 30, 2009
Finding Warm Light
I loved Jim's analogy in class of how painters will sometimes move or vacation in spots that provide them with the right, warm light. There, they will start a bunch of paintings that they can then finish at home when the light there has changed appropriately with the seasons.
This made me think of the way I'm approaching my final project. I have decided on it, but I sometimes fear that I'm not spending enough time at it, just because I have no tangible product in the works yet. I have spent hours searching for inspirational work and experimenting with sketches that play with balance and with painted sheets of trial textures, color combinations, and washes. I have been, I suppose, finding a warm light, a place of security and starting ground. I like that this is something I should see as progress, rather than feeling anxious about the product.
I've actually been considering something similar in relationship to my personal plan for creativity and how it is working (or, as is more accurately the case, not working). I find it interesting that I always give myself a personal checklist of sorts and that I prioritize it such that I get the 'not fun' stuff done before I allow myself to do the 'fun' stuff. For example, in my marking, I always force myself to finish a set of essays before I mark a class set of projects. This is because I think I'll be more effective that way - I'll work through the more laborious stuff in order to get to the more enjoyable. But, if I'm truly honest with myself, this rarely works. It generally just means that I put off both things. What if, instead, I allowed myself the 'warm light' start of doing the thing I am more personally motivated to do first. Might I not then find myself in a better frame of mind for the other work? I would perhaps feel more productive, more capable, more 'on a roll'. I think I need to try this out.
This made me think of the way I'm approaching my final project. I have decided on it, but I sometimes fear that I'm not spending enough time at it, just because I have no tangible product in the works yet. I have spent hours searching for inspirational work and experimenting with sketches that play with balance and with painted sheets of trial textures, color combinations, and washes. I have been, I suppose, finding a warm light, a place of security and starting ground. I like that this is something I should see as progress, rather than feeling anxious about the product.
I've actually been considering something similar in relationship to my personal plan for creativity and how it is working (or, as is more accurately the case, not working). I find it interesting that I always give myself a personal checklist of sorts and that I prioritize it such that I get the 'not fun' stuff done before I allow myself to do the 'fun' stuff. For example, in my marking, I always force myself to finish a set of essays before I mark a class set of projects. This is because I think I'll be more effective that way - I'll work through the more laborious stuff in order to get to the more enjoyable. But, if I'm truly honest with myself, this rarely works. It generally just means that I put off both things. What if, instead, I allowed myself the 'warm light' start of doing the thing I am more personally motivated to do first. Might I not then find myself in a better frame of mind for the other work? I would perhaps feel more productive, more capable, more 'on a roll'. I think I need to try this out.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Using Benjamin Zander's Ideas
I wanted to address a project I've been doing in my 30-1 class, one that I consider a huge exercise in creativity. I have, over the last few years, struggle with how to better teach my students how to write a critical/analytical response to literature. I find that the more I stress the process or reteach the elements, the more confused and frustrated the students get.
Watching the PopArt video in class with Benjamin Zander was inspiring, in that it offered an alternative to that stressful classroom structure that usually exists because of competition and 'the grade', which only allow for students to concentrate on their performance and not directly on actual skill-building. I wanted to use his ideas as best I could with my 30-1 students, especially with that most stressful of things: the critical/analytical essay. So here's what I did:
Watching the PopArt video in class with Benjamin Zander was inspiring, in that it offered an alternative to that stressful classroom structure that usually exists because of competition and 'the grade', which only allow for students to concentrate on their performance and not directly on actual skill-building. I wanted to use his ideas as best I could with my 30-1 students, especially with that most stressful of things: the critical/analytical essay. So here's what I did:
- I downloaded the video and showed it to the class. I told them it was to benefit the essay we were about to write, and that while that might not make immediate sense, it soon would.
- I stopped the video at a few key points. The first was to ask them what grade they all could expect on their next essay. It was fun to watch most of them immediately open to a page in their binders and begin a letter: Dear Mrs. Olsen... I hadn't even brought up how that would be part of the process.
- Another pause in the video was after he talked about how he could now be completely open and truthful with his students. I explained that this was what I was going to do. They would write an essay, and I would dissect it word by word, thought by thought, but that they (hopefully) wouldn't find that threatening because they already had the A.
- After he demonstrated with the young cellist, I gave them a run-down of all the resources they had and would have from me, including exemplars, a topic that fit our recent text studies but wasn't overly complicated, and past handouts on structure and dos/don'ts.
- They wrote their letters, and we discussed the topic and some texts together.
- They were given appropriate class time to write an essay, as if they were in the diploma setting.
- They handed them in, and we moved on to our study of King Lear, during which I divided them into groups of five for group study activities.
- Every other day, I would have one groups essays ready for revision. I made audio recordings of myself reading their essay aloud because I always suggest that as a strategy for finding awkward spots. Then I went from beginning to end, critiquing and offering suggestions in all five of the categories for scoring. I was brutal (without being personal, of course), but I constantly reminded them as they downloaded their recordings that they shouldn't let that get them down because they already had an A and because they were now trained to exclaim, "How fascinating!" instead.
- While most of the class worked on Lear, each group would get its own two days of listening to recordings and working on the essay with me giving them 1:5 attention at every step.
- Once all the revised essays were handed back in (with drafts and letters attached), I graded them all, still giving feedback as I normally would. In a class of 28 students, all but three scored - legitimately - proficient (an A) or higher. Those three I spoke to individually, and they all elected to write one more draft to make it a real A. They all now know what their work looks like when it's at that standard.
- This coming week, they will be writing their next critical/analytical essay (without the promise of an A), and I'm excited to see if all that work has paid off for them.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Another Intelligence
Cathy said something in her presentation on Wednesday that has stuck with me. She talked about how she believed in an emotional or interpersonal, almost spiritual, creativity. At the time, it popped in my head that I vaguely remembered that Gardner had recently added an emotional intelligence to his multiple intelligences theory. Since then, I've spent a few extra minutes trying to look that up on his website, but didn't find much. I plan and hope to devote a bit more time to it later. The idea fascinates me. Being that I've been studying and writing my paper on his Creating Minds book, and each of the modern-era figures that he studies in that book are indicative of creative genius in a specific realm of intelligence, I wonder who he could have added to cover that emotional intelligence. A poet? A spiritual leader?
I think that on the top of my list for studying creativity in an emotional genius would be my mom. Cheesy? Yep. Absolutely legitimate? You bet. Who better knows how to calm a troubled heart in a unique and customized way than a mother. Anyway, I know I don't have actual research on the emotional intelligence, and I may have dreamed about the addition, but still... makes me think...
I think that on the top of my list for studying creativity in an emotional genius would be my mom. Cheesy? Yep. Absolutely legitimate? You bet. Who better knows how to calm a troubled heart in a unique and customized way than a mother. Anyway, I know I don't have actual research on the emotional intelligence, and I may have dreamed about the addition, but still... makes me think...
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Youth and Experience
I've been thinking a fair amount about last class - the illustration from the board and the discussion around it. I really liked that idea of the two elements, youth and experience, being necessary to achieve best creative potential. There is so much to be gained from each...the innocence, courage, exuberance, inquisitiveness, etc. of our childhoods and the wisdom, work ethic, skill, exposure to other influences, the amalgam of trials and triumphs that make us better problem solvers, etc. of our experience. All these things can be and should be a part of anything we create. We're not really complete or optimum creative beings without both elements - a yin/yang-type principle.
I made the comment in class that this makes sense when you consider some people that you may know. I was thinking about people I've met and some I know quite well who are out of balance in that they haven't really 'grown up.' They have strong creative genius, but they don't have the skills to harness it, and you can see that they'll likely never live up to their creative potential until they develop those skills. It's interesting because for a while, there was a pop psychology movement about the concept of finding the inner/repressed child that was sometimes taken too far. I guess I just always find it reassuring when I'm reminded of the wisdom of balance and moderation.
I know, too, that there are many people (and perhaps society as a whole) who are out of balance in the opposite way...they are much too 'adult' and don't know how to have fun, to let go, to trust, to giggle. In my musings since class, I've been wondering if that's not my common way of becoming unbalanced. I remember my own father telling me (when I was in jr. high) to "lighten up, for Pete's sake!" I'm glad he told me that then because in some ways, I have lightened up since then, but I know that tendency in myself. I've even been considering my personal creativity plan that we handed in earlier in the course. If I think back on it, I can't remember any balance in that. It was fairly rigid/structured and focussed on the work of creativity, not really the playful fun of it, at least not until I had all the 'adult' stuff done.
We learn specific things from specific stages in our lives; moving on shouldn't mean abandoning those lessons we gained in our youth and innocence.
I made the comment in class that this makes sense when you consider some people that you may know. I was thinking about people I've met and some I know quite well who are out of balance in that they haven't really 'grown up.' They have strong creative genius, but they don't have the skills to harness it, and you can see that they'll likely never live up to their creative potential until they develop those skills. It's interesting because for a while, there was a pop psychology movement about the concept of finding the inner/repressed child that was sometimes taken too far. I guess I just always find it reassuring when I'm reminded of the wisdom of balance and moderation.
I know, too, that there are many people (and perhaps society as a whole) who are out of balance in the opposite way...they are much too 'adult' and don't know how to have fun, to let go, to trust, to giggle. In my musings since class, I've been wondering if that's not my common way of becoming unbalanced. I remember my own father telling me (when I was in jr. high) to "lighten up, for Pete's sake!" I'm glad he told me that then because in some ways, I have lightened up since then, but I know that tendency in myself. I've even been considering my personal creativity plan that we handed in earlier in the course. If I think back on it, I can't remember any balance in that. It was fairly rigid/structured and focussed on the work of creativity, not really the playful fun of it, at least not until I had all the 'adult' stuff done.
We learn specific things from specific stages in our lives; moving on shouldn't mean abandoning those lessons we gained in our youth and innocence.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
A Lull
I keep having this small, but persistently annoying recurring thought about how I need to write a journal entry. Every time it comes up, though, I fret a little about what I could write about, and then I shove it back into the far crevices of mind, the spot where goes all my a-la-Scarlett-O'Hara "I'll think about that tomorrow" intentions.
I know I've been intellectually charged from the lectures and discussions in class, but for some reason, I just feel tapped out when it comes to mustering up something insightful to reflect on. I'm wondering if our minds aren't a lot like our bodies and once we've taxed them, sometimes they just need a rest. In the physiology of body-building, after a work-out on a particular muscle group, the muscles won't actually build unless they're given a rest. They'll just remain, literally, in a frayed state and actually begin to break down.
So maybe I'm in a mental lull right now because I have to let the mental workout finish its job while I rest. I can't really imagine getting more frayed in the head than I feel right now.
I know I've been intellectually charged from the lectures and discussions in class, but for some reason, I just feel tapped out when it comes to mustering up something insightful to reflect on. I'm wondering if our minds aren't a lot like our bodies and once we've taxed them, sometimes they just need a rest. In the physiology of body-building, after a work-out on a particular muscle group, the muscles won't actually build unless they're given a rest. They'll just remain, literally, in a frayed state and actually begin to break down.
So maybe I'm in a mental lull right now because I have to let the mental workout finish its job while I rest. I can't really imagine getting more frayed in the head than I feel right now.
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