Today was our first attempt at any sort of structured and deliberate art lesson. I even had an objective (Tyler would be proud). I wanted Audrey to recognize lines in both nature and in “culture.” Perhaps Frierean-inspired constructs are a bit much for a five-year-old, but if I didn’t make any deliberate attempts to problematize the lines created by culture as oppressive architectural symbols that mimic the constraints imposed by those in power, then it might be an educative experience . . . but I digress.
From the beginning I knew there would be issues to reconcile. The fact that our little mushroom experience seemed to go well could be, at least upon reflection, due to the fact that it wasn’t a deliberately planned lesson. It was serendipity and a whole lot of luck that Audrey just happened to find something interesting at the same time she was able to maintain her attention span for the experience. It’s what educators often refer to as a “teachable moment.”
This, on the other hand, was quite different. The nice thing about serendipity (or teachable moments) is the fact that the stakes are quite low. You didn’t plan it; it wasn’t listed in a lesson plan anywhere. It is typically not on a test, so if they learn – great! If they don’t, it’s no big deal. However, once you declare an objective you put yourself into the position of being judged. To what degree did you achieve your objective? And it’s not like I could blame failure on anyone else – it’s just my daughter and me. If the lesson does not go well, it is completely my fault. In the words of all the NCLB-rallying politicians out there, “No excuses!”
I picked Audrey up at 1:00. After getting her debriefing of the day: how they used the bears in math, what they did in circle time, and who go on “yellow,” we spent some time at the playground. I figured it would be best if I didn’t immediately jump into my “lesson.” After some playtime we headed over to Starbucks (Her choice – and an image that deserves its own entry both as a commodified space and as the exact same place ten years ago where I sought refuge late at night while finishing my dissertation). While there we had a snack and THE LESSON. Initially she had no interest in art. She was far more interested in the little pattern bears we have. She’d been using them in class and had asked me that morning if we could use them that afternoon, so I had them ready. While sipping her organic chocolate milk and nibbling her old fashion doughnut, Audrey proceeded to show me how to do math word problems using the bears. She encouraged me to make my own and didn’t seem too impressed with the ones I improvised (If there is a teaching gene, I’m afraid Audrey has it – the consummate teacher who at age two was asking me to pronounce things by dividing them into syllables: “Mommy, say “Lan-tan-a.”).
And then finally - THE LESSON. I eased her into putting away the bears (after they’d traveled across the table on a boat race with the protein snack container, of course), and I whipped out worksheets. Yes, the very thing I have attacked time and time again in my own university teaching. This one was innocent enough, and I know Audrey well enough to know that she never met a worksheet she didn’t love – anything she can do to get a sticker or a smiley face.
The sheet had three boxes: one with the header “diagonal,” one with “vertical,” and one with “horizontal.” We talked about the different kinds of lines (notice that I didn’t list my actual objective as “The student will distinguish between diagonal, vertical, and horizontal lines.” That wasn’t the point, but it did give us a frame of reference as we “searched” for lines). With the sheet in hand, we talked about different kinds of lines. She’d heard “diagonal” before and was quite excited to learn the two other names of lines. I then asked her to make designs for each using those kinds of lines. Since she’d been learning about patterns in school, I also encouraged her to think about patterns she could make with the designs.
I had a worksheet too. While Audrey colored, so did I. Of course, there’s always the pedagogical debate about modeling or letting children explore independently. Should I let Audrey “construct” (my students know how much I hate how that term has been overused) her own notions of diagonal, etc. or let her mimic things I did. I tried to balance both modeling and giving space for her imagination. She started her own diagonal design fairly oblivious to what I was doing. About mid-way through that part of the experience, she started to notice what I was doing, so I talked about my work. And, as one would predict, she then tried to mimic what I was doing.
When we started on the vertical lines I waited a bit while she started her work. When I did start, I made a pattern of vertical lines: one from nature (e.g. a vine) and then one from culture (e.g. a picket of a fence). As we continued to work, I talked about my pattern and, as with the first part of the worksheet, she tried to replicate some of my images – the column, a sign, etc. For the horizontal lines, we both did our own thing – each a bit more abstract that the previous pictures with some curved, some dotted, and some straight and thin.
After we completed the worksheet I got out the camera and told her we were going to look for lines. She asked if she could take the pictures, so I put her “in charge” of the camera. Before we even cleaned up and got out of the coffee shop, she was on top of it. She noticed how the pencils we’d been using were lines, so she held one up and asked me to take a picture. Then she saw the straws standing up in a container and noted that they were vertical lines. I also pointed to the cups behind them and how the lines on the rims of the cups were horizontal lines. From there we stepped out into the Decatur Square, and she went wild snapping photos.
Interestingly, in spite of how quickly as she was snapping pictures, she was getting great images of lines. Her first was a bike rack with its broad curved lines. Then she saw a bike by a tree and noticed the spokes. As we walked to the square, I tried to point out the differences between the “natural” lines and the “cultural” lines. We talked about how God made the ones in nature and people made the ones in “culture.” I also mentioned words like “architecture” and “landscape,” but most of those seemed to be inconsequential for her experience. She ran over to the fountain in the square to snap a shot at the vent. I encouraged her to step back and see the steam and how it made a line as it rose from the marble base. She then ran to one of the columns in the square. She took a shot with the column and a tree next to it. I tried to show her how people made the column using lines to mimic the lines in nature (the vines/limbs on the column matching the limbs on the tree). We then found wonderful landscaping with spiky grasses and grand ferns. When we started to cross the street to see Decatur Presbyterian Church, she noticed the lines on the street to show where people cross.
At the church we had wonderful lines to explore. We looked at the lines in the stained glass window and how, by virtue of their intersections, they created diamond patterns. We saw a beautiful door to the sanctuary where the wood itself had lines from nature but the beautiful ironwork was lines from culture. We leaned against great big trees and looked up to see the patterns of lines in the branches and leaves. In their memorial garden we saw how they’d lined up the ornamental grass to make lines with the landscaping.
This was the point where it started to rain - a drizzle at first, but soon it became a substantial downpour. Audrey and I chose to laugh as we got soaked, and she tried to take a picture of the rain to show how it, too, made lines. Fortunately we were near our final destination: the library. There we found more lines: the vents, the security monitor at the front door, and all the books neatly stacked on the shelves. She took a picture of the curved stairs leading up to the second floor, the rows of lights in the children’s section, and the decorative ribbons that adorned the ceiling. Before we left we pulled a few books off the shelves to read. Audrey noticed the lines in the artwork, and she decided to add pictures of pictures to our collection.
After picking up Niamh from “Horsey School,” and heading home, I tried to engage Audrey a bit more. Of course, I’d sequestered the camera to avoid fights between them. As I pointed out the lines on the bridge at Commerce and College, Audrey smirked and said, “Well, I would notice them IF you hadn’t taken the camera from me. . . “ At that I figured the lesson had reached it’s natural (albeit sarcastic) end.
I have no idea where we’ll go from here. Lines so make a nice metaphor, though – no real beginning or ending point and so many experiences intersecting to make learning more complex and more interesting.
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