As my day ended, I I was feeling less optimism than I like. I was looking, but not seeing the whole picture. I looked at my day and the week behind me, and saw moments of stress, and times where I lacked patience and reacted instead of responded. I noticed the times my students reacted instead of responded, and was pained by the reminders of the times they were unkind to one another, and the times they struggled with their learning and being.
Then, as I was heading out, I turned back to our learning space as to shut off the light. As I did I felt my inhale and my exhale. As I took that breath, I paused.
First my eyes fell on this bulletin board. My breath deepened as I saw the faces of each of my kindergartners — created by their own hands, using their big beautiful brains and awesome hearts. I was struck — as I so often am — by their awesomeness, their courage, their amazing willingness to try, and their remarkable ability to do.
As I turned once more towards the door, my gaze fell upon this white board. We read Herman and Rosie together earlier in the week, and — inspired — we created things we loved. We shared a bit about ourselves with this art.
Again, my breath deepened, and my heart filled with peace and joy as I saw — in my minds eye — each one of those beautiful humans working hard to find a way to place things they loved onto the paper, and share it with each other. We are fantabulous humans. We are doing remarkable things together. We are learning skills. We are developing and strengthening mindsets and thinking practices. We are breathing, and growing our awareness and understanding of self and others. We are existing together, taking risks, trying new things, sharing, learning, growing, and being us. Sometimes we make mistakes. Sometimes we are impatient and unkind. Sometimes we react instead of respond. But, we are also kind, and helpful, peaceful, thoughtful, and loved.
I was thinking about all of this the other day when I heard Nicole Avant say “It takes time.” I thought to myself, “It takes time. Yes! It takes time! Learning. Living. Being our best selves. Figuring things out. Being in community. It. Takes. Time.”
Wonderful things are happening in Kindergarten. Wonderful things are happening in my Kindergartners. Wonderful things are happening in me. It takes time, and each one of those moments in time is filled with opportunity, grace, and possibility.
I’m teaching art with my Kindergartners and that always has me reflecting on my own process, emotions, and thoughts as a creative.
I’ve been painting when I hike for a few years now, but this year, I began working in a watercolor journal. All the paintings — no matter my opinion of them — are there. I’m always kind of surprised by the courage involved to put pen or paint brush to paper — especially when it is in a bound book, or done without pencil sketching first. I wondered it if I were the only one to feel that. Surely not, I thought.
Looking for affirmation for my feelings I set about finding articles linking courage and creativity. As I looked I stumbled upon this quote by Henri Matisse “Creativity takes courage.” Ah, even the master felt it!
And then, as I read more, I nearly fell out of my chair. Matisse — the man whose pencil drawings of the Madonna enthralled me at the Museo d’Arte e Spiritualita in Brescia, and whose Cut Outs took my breath away at the MOMA — said this:
“It has bothered me all my life that I do not paint like everybody else.”
When I read that, I was amazed and encouraged. If Matisse could be bothered that he didn’t paint like everybody else, why would I be surprised that I feel that way? If Matisse said it, and yet went on to embrace his work — grow, change, re-invent himself when he saw fit — then I could, too.
It’s remarkable how freeing it is to know Matisse was bothered that he didn’t paint like everybody else. Somehow that gave me a great sense of freedom. Just paint, draw, do your thing. Notice, think, wonder, and make creative and artistic decisions. Your thing is yours, it’s beautiful, it’s creative, it’s artistic — but most of all, it’s yours.
What if Matisse had stopped doing his own thing and tried to be like everybody else. Yikes! That would have been awful. So I encourage myself — I am in amazing artistic and creative company, and if a master like Matisse could just say “Hey this brings me joy, and expresses what I see and feel” then so can I.
So I paint on. I draw on. Seeing my work, and the work of others for what it is — us.
I photographed daffodils on a recent walk. Wanting to make some art I grabbed a small piece of watercolor and got to work. Is it perfect? No. Is it good? Yes. Did it bring me joy? Yes. Does it bring me joy now as I look at it? Yes. Is it me? Yes. Is it my style? Yes. What more can I ask for?
For now it sits on my desk to remind myself of the joy and awesomeness that is creative and artistic me — the joy and awesomeness of creating from who we are, where we are, with all we are.
When I work with my Kindergartners I want them to have this freedom — the freedom to know they can make great artistic and creative decisions, the freedom to find joy in their process and product even if it looks different than others, the courage to create with confidence in their own fantabulousness.
From Matisse, to me, to them. Who knows where it will go from there?
I was scrolling through my feed last night and came upon this poem.
St. Brigid’s Eve This night, they would hang the cloths for birthing and healing over the thorn branches for her blessing, that as she walked the land the divine dew, twice sanctified by the dawn and the day both, might soak them sacred again and enrich them with this vigil’s virtue for the passing of all pain. This night, they would sweep the hearth and house and bless the barn and the beasts, settling the kine as Queens in the golden hay of gratitude for their animal alchemy. This night, they would leave out the old gifts of grace, the milk and the salt and the bread, and light the lamp in the window with love for her, their princess, passing in peace. This night, the stranger that knocked would be welcomed and warmed, invited to stretch their feet before the fire and offer a story to the circle. This night, as the Moon rose over the mountains the old songs were sung, and the women watched and waited plaiting the rushes and the reeds into ancient patterns of power. This night, as all surrender to sleep she walks the land lightly, breathing blessing, over barn and beast and babe, she who fears no dark, goddess named and God re-born, by water and fire and blood, in the Three who are One. This night, our ancient Abbess and lady of the Light, of Kildare’s Oaken cell, she whose cloak enfolds the land she loves comes by. For this night, is Brigid’s night.
When I read it then, and when I read it now, I am filled with a desire to know this princess who fears no dark, receive her blessing, feel the power of the plaited cross, and be enfolded in her cloak. I’ve been praying to Saint Brigid for some time now — introduced to her by lovely Irish priests we’ve been watching preach online during the pandemic.
Providentially last night was the St. Brigid’s eve. I wanted very much to make St. Brigid’s cross.
Typically the cross is made with reeds — which interestingly enough are pulled rather than cut. I have yet to discover why, but, I liked the idea of pulling some from one of our hiking jaunts. It was, however, cold and beginning to snow, so, my mind turned to what I had in my home that might work instead. Nothing organic immediately came to mind.
The acrylic paint lying by my chair caught my eye and imagination. I could paint a sheet of watercolor paper, cut it into strips, and plait my cross with these handmade paper reeds. I chose various shades of greens and some metallic gold, and set to work with an old gift card as my painting tool.
I placed the paint with joyful abandon — layering colors one on top of another. The blank page didn’t give me the least worry. But the finished product felt so lovely I didn’t immediately want to cut it.
Instead, I pulled another sheet from the pad and began to experiment. Should I cut long-ways or short-ways? Would the construction of the paper influence how each strip laid? How thin should I make each strip? How many do I need to create the cross? Would the longer strips be more appropriately proportioned for the task? After a bit of playing and noticing, I decided on long strips. I grabbed some tools — a bone folder, and a doubled pointed knitting needle – and set to plaiting.
I almost immediately discovered a downfall of paper versus actual reed. Reeds are three dimensional which makes them lie nicely next to one another. Not so the paper.
The strips paper constantly move out of place and make it difficult to maintain the cross shape. I tried gluing the center of each fold. It worked, but gave too rigid a look to the cross. I made the first strip twice as wide as the others and folded it to give it more 3D heft hoping it would act as an anchor for the rest of the work. It worked only minimally well.
As I manipulated the strips for a longer and longer time, I realized I could use the structure of weaving to aid my quest. Since each strip is folded in half, the back part could be woven and give structure, while the front piece stayed long and free mimicking the actual reed. Success!
The next dilemma I encountered was how to secure the ends of each arm of the cross. Wanting to maintain the integrity of the paper reeds, I experimented with thinner strips of my hand painted paper. I needed them to be thin enough to tie, but not so thin as to break.
Turns out watercolor paper is quite strong and malleable. After a few tries I found the size that allowed me to create a knot that was effective and artistically pleasing to me.
I finished the cross in the wee hours of the morning. I’m really pleased with the result, and the increased connection to Saint Brigid.
As he spoke, words and phrases jumped out at me: ~ creativity, genius, courage ~ Brigid is patroness of, among other things, healing, and the arts. ~ St. Brigid was a woman who dedicated herself to innovation in the realm of education ~ She had to summon an extraordinary courage ~ (She had to) transcend obstacles ~ (She had to) not just survive, but put a new version of things in place. ~ We invoke her ~ We seek strength together in such values as solidarity, care, compassion and kindness. ~ We prepare to move into the brighter, warmer days of Spring, with renewed hope ~ (As we move) through moments of darkness, it is important to celebrate the light. ~ (May we all find) rebirth, rejuvenation, renewal, resurrection and regrowth.
Creativity. Courage. Education. Hope. Faith. Surely I have found a kindred spirit in this strong woman. She is a patron of many things. I think she should be my patron as well. I’m adopting Saint Brigid as my elder Irish sister — or am I just accepting her invitation to be her younger non-Irish sister?
So happy to have found Brigid, and to have had the moments of joy-filled creativity in her honor. The cross hangs on our door, blessed with this prayer: May the blessing of God, Father, Son and Holy Ghost be on this Cross and on the place where it hangs and on everyone who looks on it.
I got a wonderful gift from my friend Jojo. A bracelet that says “Beautiful girl, you can do hard things.” It’s fantabulous! It isn’t inked so it’s not screaming the message, just whispering into my eyes and my ears.
Beautiful girl, you can do hard things! There’s so much power in that little phrase. It felt right to use it in my latest inspirational journal post. I loved placing the words in my own handwriting and art-writing. I illuminated and elucidated them to capture the remarkable fullness of the things — or at least some of them — a beautiful one (me and others) can do. Hard things, yes! But not just just hard, difficult, painful things. Yes, hard difficult, painful things, AND hard, profound, awesome, creative, life changing things. And, lest I forgot, easy things as well.
It was a great creative endeavor. I took inspiration from a few journal prompt ideas, and then mish-mashed them with some of my own loves. It was — all at once — fun, refreshing, peaceful, and challenging. Perhaps because I was quiet and in the moment, I noticed a lot of thoughts, feelings and actions as they occurred.
MANAGING MESS Mess and I are friends! I embrace it as a part of my creative process. I know there is great power, potential, and possibility in mess. And yet, I also know at times, I need to clear my space — and my mind — so I don’t become distracted by it.
I found notes, and photos to be helpful as I managed the mess, or to be more positive, the plethora of ideas and materials I had. They kept the spirit of fullness with me, allowed me to manage many things at once, and assured me that my ideas would not be lost or forgotten.
Funny how both full-exuberant-mess, and cleared-expansive-emptiness are both beautiful and generative.
CONVERGENT AND DIVERGENT THINKING It was fun to allow my thinking to work as a team — collaboratively and freely informing one another. If I were going to illustrate what I experienced, I’d depict them as two beautiful humans, working in peaceful, profound partnership, with lots of conversation, observation, aha moments, and laughter.
COLOR, COMPOSITION, SPACE, SHAPE CONSIDERATION When I began, I had a vague idea and structure I was playing with, but that was all. I didn’t have a clearly defined color palate or composition. As I chose papers for the collage element, I was open to every piece of paper that spoke to me in any way. I didn’t worry if I couldn’t figure out the connection, I just chose. Only after I had gathered all that I loved, did I then begin to consider the path I wanted to take — keeping some while returning others to the box. Once I surrendered to the process it was quite liberating and enjoyable.
The negative space was the most interesting and complicated. Where should I put it? How big should each space be? Will I fill each space? What will I put in the space? Should I connect the spaces? Keep them similar? As with the paper choosing, I endeavored to be both intuitive and reasoned.
COURAGE, EMOTIONAL REGULATION, RISK TAKING, SEEING AND EMPLOYING MY GIFTS It was almost funny to experience the amount of courage and emotional regulation I had to employ — or at least be aware of — as I worked on this piece. It happened as I made new connections, tried new things, or old things in new ways. made mistakes, and even thought of filling the blank space.
I managed it a bit with the use of pencil before permanent ink, and experimenting on other pages first. The saying on the bracelet came in handy now as well — I can do hard things! I’m talented, experienced, able to take risks, learn and grow!
PLANNING, REVISING, ENGINEERING, CHOOSING It was wild to notice the plethora of decisions I was making as I planned and produced the piece. There were tons of problems I noticed as I went along, as well as an abundance of opportunities and ideas I hadn’t thought of in my original plan. All these things required, or enabled, re-planning. Funny isn’t it, how revision can be seen as a problem — an ugly must do — or a wonderful opportunity.
As I worked to fit the pieces of paper, as well as the words, and then doodles, onto the page I was amazed by the amount of spatial manipulation going on in my brain and hands. I was comparing widths and lengths. I was imagining how a particular shape could be split into two or three other shapes. I was comparing percentages covered with those uncovered to find the sweet spot for my piece. I felt a bit like an engineer planning some sort of complicated structure.
The agency in all of this was at times overwhelming, and at others completely exhilarating. Thankfully the overwhelm was momentary and easily foiled with a pause, look, and breath.
DISCOVERING, UNDERSTANDING, LEARNING ABOUT MYSELF – WHO I AM, WHAT I DO, WHAT IS IMPORTANT AND ESSENTIAL AND LIFE GIVING … AND THINKING OF MY STUDENTS
I noticed how my choice of words, and font was incredibly important. I was making meaning with what I said and inked in my own handwriting and art. I tried various fonts, and used the thesaurus to see if there were synonyms that seemed more wonderful in meaning, sound, or feeling. I played with the word order to give me the rhythm I wanted. And, even when finished I kept looking at the piece wondering if I had missed anything. Turns out that little word yes, at the bottom made it complete.
I did my best to be open and honest about myself. I embraced and proclaimed what is true about myself. It’s not that I’ve arrived, not that I’m all I can be, but it is what I am. I am beautiful. I can do hard things, easy things, profound and awesome things, kind, creative, and life changing things. And, in all these ways I can continue to grow.
Now, my students. So many of the things I experienced as I worked are things I want my students to experience — planning, revising, social emotional regulation, finding their voice, speaking their truth, loving words, creating fonts, finding their beautiful and unique handwriting, courage, consideration of composition and all its parts, reflection, agency, creative and critical thinking, and above all, an understanding that each one of them is a beautiful one. Each one of them is beautiful — in all ways — capable of hard things, easy things, profound and awesome things, kind, creative, and life changing things.
I want to take these realizations into my teaching practice. Some of my students have a hard time telling one story at a time. Perhaps it is not that their thinking is a mess as some might suggest, instead, their thinking is remarkable and their brain is incredibly full with ideas and possibility. Perhaps they need a photograph, or a notebook to store and protect their ideas. And, perhaps they need to be applauded for their mind that has so many ideas. My students who are more fearful may need the opportunity to play with all their ideas of story line, character, and setting, before settling on one. Opening them to possibility in the safety of a scrap copy might be incredibly freeing and joy-filled.
The learning and growth that I did through a creative endeavor was remarkable. My students can do the same. They can do it because they are beautiful ones. And, they can do it if I am intentional and help to guide them, be present to them, provide tools they might need, and marvel at their beauty. It doesn’t all happen in purely academic endeavors.
I am a talented, beautiful, competent, capable, and relatively confident adult, and yet it was powerful to receive those words from Jojo. When as an educator, I speak them to my students, imagine the power they have. When they learn to speak it to themselves …. wow!
Beautiful. It’s a good word. A word to see and embrace in myself. A word to see and be in the world. A word to encourage and affirm in others. Might we all be, act, believe, affirm, think, do, beautiful. Surely the world will be better for it.
Curiosity, courage, and creativity have been my constant companions these past few months. These three emotions, mindsets, and actions — they seem to be all three — help me survive and thrive with cancer; increase my experience of joy, awe, and wonder; and facilitate and strengthen my making and learning.
I’ve been making a lot of art lately. Perhaps because I have more time and opportunities for mindful engagement, I’ve had a uniquely fantabulous experience as I create. I seem to be able to watch myself make art — almost as though I were watching someone else. The closest I can get to explaining it is to say it’s like metacognition for art and creativity. I’m present, curious, and aware of what I’m doing, how I’m doing it, what I’m feeling, what I’m noticing, and what I’m thinking. I gotta say, it’s fascinating.
I’ve been primarily studying and playing with watercolor and various kinds of sketching. The other day I watched a tutorial video with Liz Steele over at Art Toolkit. Wow, she has a beautiful process and product. I’m fascinated by her use of watercolor to lay down structure, and her balance between precise thinking and loose relaxed lines and painting. Before I even finished the tutorial, I grabbed my watercolors, marker, and a black and white photo of a church I love, and set to work.
My curiosity — Would her method work for me? How will it go? How will I feel? Might I do that? Can I adopt her loose line method? Can watercolor really give me that structure? — combined with my love of making, gave me the courage to try.
Is it perfect? No. Was it fantabulous to try? Yes. Did I learn anything? Yes. Do I want to keep experimenting? Yes. Do I have more questions now than when I began? Indeed! Did I buy another journal to use for my urban and life sketching? You bet!
I’ve since subscribed to Liz’s blog, found Urban Sketchers, am waiting with anticipation for Liz’s book to make it out of quarantine, and am resisting the urge to buy any other books. There’s so much to learn!
My curiosity propels me, and, I’m noticing, helps me to engage with my process and art in an almost detached way. I’m less worried about trying new things, and when I make mistakes, I recognize them as opportunities rather than disasters.
Here’s an example. I’ve been making folded books to send to friends during the pandemic. As I flipped through one of the books, I saw the same quote on two consecutive pages – UGH! I didn’t want to redo the whole book, and I wanted to maintain the structure of a single sheet folded and cut in such a way as to create a folded book. What was I to do? I took a breath and a moment to think and wonder “How might I … ?”
After a bit I realized I could cut the page, and paste in a piece of my collaging stash.
By approaching the mistake with curiosity, I was able to see it as an opportunity rich with potential and possibility. The problem opened my eyes to ideas I hadn’t previously considered, and encouraged me to make connections I hadn’t yet made. It turned out to be a happy mistake as I discovered a new way to create the books while adding color, interest, and a unique place for me to add art and inspiration!
Curiosity isn’t always all I need. There are times I am curious and still afraid. Just the other day I was working on my purposely wonky mandala-like designs. I had finished the design and inked in all the various elements. I loved it. My plan was to add color with the watercolor glazing technique — laying down light layers to create shades and depth of color. But, as I looked a the piece I hesitated. Dare I take the next step? Dare I follow through on my desire to try watercolor glazing? Dare I let curiosity lead me to take the risk of putting color to the paper — and possibly wrecking it. Eeee gads.
I did all those things, but not without first stirring up my courage. It’s remarkable, really, how much courage I sometimes need in order to do things, even, and perhaps especially, things I very much want to do.
I made a few copies of my work so I could begin to experiment with the watercolors before placing them on my design. As I played with the colors, I noticed how they interacted with one another, and how they presented when placed together. It was fun, it taught me a lot, and it increased my confidence.
While experimenting and painting my actual piece, I was constantly stopping, looking, thinking, wondering. I looked from different angles — sometimes by changing the angle of the paper, and at others the angle of my head. I read an article that suggested the angled head posture is a sign of curiosity — trying to understand, to see in different ways, and to orient our ears in a way to gather more information. How cool is that? I laughed to myself thinking, ah, that is what I do when I’m listening or deep in concentration — nice to know it suggests I’m always curious and helps me learn.
My painting process was a blend of intuitive work and critical thinking. I was happy to have the time, quiet, and opportunity to experiment, notice, wonder, and learn. I was fascinated by my eyes growing ability to distinguish between very subtle differences in color. It was interesting to become aware of the things I saw, and didn’t see, each time I looked. It seemed my brain was able to perceive new things with each new look — things my eyes had already seen but my brain hadn’t been ready to process.
I’m super happy with my process, and product.
So, back to my wonderful companions — curiosity, courage, and creativity.
Curiosity encourages me to engage and persevere. The curious person is constantly asking questions, and looking to discover new things. I love when it opens the door to new ways of seeing by pushing me to ask questions like why? and why not?
Creativity births new ideas and opportunities as I problem-find and problem-solve. Creative thinking encourages me to make new connections and see possibility. It encourages me to be open to new ideas, and enables me to create things and ideas that didn’t exist before. Creative thinking is crucial in our ever changing and increasingly complex world.
Courage fosters my curiosity, creativity, and learning. With courage I am more willing and able to take risks, think, and learn.
My best work, learning, and enjoyment come when I am curious, courageous, and creative. If my best work, learning and enjoyment are championed by curiosity, courage, and creativity, so too for my students.
So I’m back to asking questions, and thinking about why, why not, and how might we?
Do I encourage metacognition– even in Kindergarten? Do I teach them the word? What structures are in place in my learning environment that encourage my learners to value their own thinking — sometimes even over the solution? When do they have the time to notice, think about, and document their own thinking? Perhaps even more powerful — how do I discourage it? What are the subtle ways I value the end result over the process?
Do I value and model curiosity? Am I teaching my students to wonder, ask questions, and strive for understanding? Do I provide time, opportunity, and my presence to their questions, wondering, learning, and understanding? And again, how might I unknowingly or unintentionally discourage questioning and self directed learning?
Do I honor the fear my learners may feel — especially when they are deeply invested in learning or doing something? What strategies do I teach them to help them increase their own courage? Have I created an infrastructure in my learning space that can help them find the right level of challenge — neither too easy or too hard — so as to grow their courage? Do my learners and I celebrate mistakes, and actively search for learning and beauty within our mistakes? Am I courageous enough to allow my learners to fail? Am I creative and sensitive enough to help them learn from their mistakes and fail forward? How might I be foiling their attempts to strengthen their courage?
Do my students understand the power of creative thinking? Do I encourage dreaming, wondering, fantastical ideas? Is there time in the day for my learners to experiment, tinker, and make? Am I encouraging creative thinking as well as doing? Are my learners empowered to find problems that mean something to them, and search for solutions? Am I patient, courageous, curious, and creative enough to find ways to allow my learners to find their own answers and way of doing things? Do I share my creativity without usurping theirs?
So much to consider. For now, I will let these thoughts ferment in the deep recesses of my mind. I’m on leave, and need to focus my energy on my health.
I’ve been thinking a lot about kindness lately. Kindness makes a difference in the difficulties surrounding me — whether they be deeply personal, or impact the entire human race. Kind thoughts, words, and actions assuage feelings, soothe souls, and make things right, or at least, more right. On the other hand, unkind thoughts, words, and actions, make everything more difficult, and more dark.
I’m saddened by how remarkably easy it is for us as humans to adopt attitudes, behaviors, and words that are unkind. Lately, to make matters worse, unkind acts seem to be more readily accepted, magnified, justified, and even cheered on in news reports and on social media.
Enough is enough.
I’m reminded of the scripture “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, what ever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy — think about such things.” (Philippians 4) Kindness in thought, word, and deed, is noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy, so I am going to think and speak of them a bit.
Let me tell you about an act of kindness done directly for me. I got an email the other day with the subject “Have courage!” These three young friends learned I wasn’t well, and decided to do something about it. They wanted me to find courage — to fight, to win, to get well, and to be ok in the process. Their desire was kind. And I am incredibly grateful for it.
But, they weren’t done. They didn’t just wish me well, and encourage me to be strong. They chose to think and act with creativity and kindness, and actually send me courage! How fantabulous are they? The canvases are en route and I can’t wait to receive them and hang them.
These girls reminded me of Leon Logothetis. If you don’t know Leon, it’s worth your while to give him a look. His gig and mission is highlighting the good in humanity, and if you ask me, being a champion of kindness. His definition of kindness is: The act of truly seeing someone and making them feel less alone.
That is what these three girls did. They saw me. As my kindergartners would say “They REALLY saw you, Ms. James!” and they made me feel less alone.
I chose the title of this post — Courage through Kindness — to highlight the courage that I received through these lovely humans’ kind thoughts and deeds. But as I wrote the words, I thought “Kindness is a form of courage.” To choose to think and act in kind ways is courageous — and fantabulous. I am honored and blessed to know these three and their families. Their kindness and love is powerful. I trust their love and kindness — and they themselves — will only grow in might, beauty, and influence. Reminding myself of that fact, I release a bit of worry, and breathe a bit easier for the present, and the future.
I got these beauties in the mail a few days ago, but they had to sit in quarantine before I opened them, so for all intents and purposes, I got them today!
I staged the photo as I did because it pleased me aesthetically, but also because it hints at a message. The brush is supported by hope and courage. The combination of the three make the image complete, and somehow — in my heart today — increases the possibility of my being open to the many miracles that are gifted to me each moment.
That brush is fantabulous. I cannot wait to see how much water and paint it is able to soak up, and how it moves across the page.
Yes, there will be painting today.
Perhaps on my porch, or — gasp — dare I hope, at the edge of a stream on a walk? Mask and glasses on, but heart blissfully open to the blessings that will surely come my way. And, if tears come, it will be alright. They will mingle with the watercolors bringing unexpected beauty.
“Although my students are only five or six years old, I work hard to establish egalitarian, collaborative relationships with them. I am interested in their thoughts and always respond to their questions of “Can I tell you something?” with “Yes, please tell me something!” I value their stories as a way to get to know them, and I really listen to them as they share. I sit or kneel to speak with them so I am not so far above them, and I often sit on the floor with them when I teach them. This helps us develop a relationship of trust, and ultimately empowers courage, challenge, learning and excellence.” (Managing the Classroom for Creativity)
When I wrote that for the Creative Education Special Issue, I was thinking of the courage, challenge, learning, and excellence that my students develop and live in our classroom.
As I re-read the section now, I still believe my students benefit from our collegiality. But, I am fascinated by the realization of how much our relationship of collegiality and trust impacts me as well. It helps me to be courageous and more open to challenge, and it encourages and enables me to develop deeper learning, and greater excellence!
This became very clear to me the other day. I joined a kindergarten alum and her family (she just finished first grade) for an afternoon at Turtle Back Zoo. Part of our day included participating in the Treetop Adventure. The course is about 15-20 feet in the air. Not too high unless you are afraid of heights – which I am!
My alum and I hit the course together. We chatted with each other as we waited for our turn on the various elements. We watched others and commented on things they did well, and the things they might do better. We talked about being a little afraid. I told her I was afraid of heights. She assured me it wasn’t that high!
We decided I would take the lead for the first half of the course. I cheered her on as she worked each piece of the course, and offered suggestions the few times she seemed a bit stuck.
The second half of the course, my alum went first. This section was a little higher and a little more challenging. Nothing terrible, but I was beginning to feel fatigued from my fear of heights and my effort to overcome it. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth – just like I tell my kindergarteners to do when they need to relax and get their bodies to know all is well. As I paused at one challenge — to take one of those calming, strengthening breaths, and decide how I would step — I heard the most awesome thing …
“You can do it, Miss James!!!”
It was my alum yelling to me, “You can do it, Miss James!!”
How fantastic is that?!?!?
I’m not sure if she was completely confident in my ability to do it. I am sure she was completely confident in herself, and in our relationship.
Our relationship based on respect, trust, collegiality, and love, let her know it was appropriate for her to encourage me. And, our relationship assured her it would make a difference to me.
And it did! It helped me! Her egalitarian and collaborative relationship with me, empowered and enabled me to embrace “courage, challenge, learning and excellence!”
It wasn’t just that day. It happens in the classroom too. But there, on the ropes course, it was very clear.
Here we are, on the carousel together. I love the photo for the memory, and the symbolism.
May I always have a beautiful kindergartener, or kindergarten alum, by my side.
James, M. (2015) Managing the Classroom for Creativity. Creative Education, 6, 1032-1043. doi: 10.4236/ce.2015.610102.
“We are Superheroes!” rebounds off the walls, as my students laugh and run with capes fluttering behind them. The pause in a moment of stillness, so I can take their photograph.
I love this photo — changed, in a photo-editing program, to look more like a page from a graphic novel.
The page might read:
“They stand together, ready to soar into action. Eyes open wide as they survey the land — alert and ready. Their tiny pink sneakers belie their power, courage and ability. Some laugh at them, call them cute, and underestimate them. But, encouraged and empowered by their fearless leader, they stand secure in the knowledge that they are, in fact, superheroes, with the power to change the world. They turn to one another, and begin to make plans.”
Awesome, isn’t it? What’s even more awesome than the graphic novel version? The real thing, in my classroom — young students, dreaming big, writing down ideas, and making plans to change the world. All the while, secure in the truth that they are, and can always be, superheroes.
Wacky Wednesday, by Dr. Seuss, inspired our creative fun today. — Shoes on the wall, on the ceiling and under the bed. Worms chasing birds. Hoses, while split, still watering the lawn. — My students giggled, and eagerly shared each wacky thing they noticed.
They didn’t want to stop, but I told them “We must! I want you to have plenty of time to have your own wacky Wednesday fun!”
They were not immediately convinced. But, I assured them we would keep the book in our library, and they could read it as much as they wanted. Finally, they relented and moved to the chairs I had prepared.
I reminded them of our time together in yoga, when I invite them to take off their shoes and socks. “Now,” I said, “I’m not going to invite you to take off your shoes and socks. I’m going to tell you to take them off. We cannot do our wacky Wednesday creative fun unless you take them off.” Giggles and talking increased as they hurried to their cubbies and back again — with feet bared!
Paper was taped to the floor in front of each chair. Plastic egg cartons filled with paint, rested on paper towels. I encouraged them to guess what we might be doing.
“We’re going to paint with our feet!” … “Yes,” I said, “but how?”
“We’ll stick our feet in the paint!” … “Good guess, but no. We’re actually going to use a paint brush.”
“We’ll paint our feet and put them on the paper!” …”OH! Great idea, but no.”
“We’ll paint our toe nails!” … “That would be fun, but not today.”
They continued guessing, each building on the next. They were doing a lovely job thinking divergently. They showed some fluency, flexibility, and elaboration – each idea building upon the ones that came before, informed by my responses.
Finally, nearly jumping out of her chair, R. said “I know! We’re going to hold the paintbrush in our toes!!!!!” …. “YES!”
Laughter and conversation erupted in the room – making it nearly impossible for me to speak and be heard. I encouraged their enthusiasm, but asked them to do try to stay quiet until we began. They contained themselves, as best as they could, and after some brief instruction and encouragement, they began.
Some jumped in with both feet — pun-intended, lol — and used their toes to grip their pencil, and write their name.
When M. finished writing she said, “That was hard. And it doesn’t look very good. It’s messy.” … “No way!” I replied. “That’s fantastic! You did that with your toes! How awesome is that?”
Was it as good as she could do with her fingers? No. But did that matter? Was that the right criterion to use to evaluate it? No! Her process and product were remarkable. She gripped the pencil with her toes. Figured out how to create each letter in her name, and wrote them in a rather straight line! Perhaps most importantly, she showed great initiative, courage, and grit, and I wanted to acknowledge that for her.
Everyone joined in the fun — even me. My students were enthusiastic and joy-filled painters — quite willing to try, and try again.
I was surprised by my reaction to the experience. It was hard! Hard to hold the paintbrush. Hard to figure out how to dip it in the paint. Hard to guide it on the paper. Just hard!
I did it, but I didn’t enter into the experience like they did. I think their were multiple reasons why. Each is worthy of my thought, consideration and remembering as I continue to work with my students, and for my own growth as a creative and an educator.
Here are some of the things I noticed:
My support of my students — in word and presence — is powerful.
Time to practice and play with the tools and process before beginning is important.
Embracing positive thoughts about ourselves as artists and learners is essential.
Adopting the joy, freedom and openness of a beginner’s mind is helpful.
My students often return the favor and support me with their word and presence. Today I didn’t have the opportunity to allow them to support me. I also didn’t have the time to practice and experiment before beginning. But perhaps most interesting to me, unlike my students, I didn’t immediately embrace positive thoughts about myself or my process, and I didn’t adopt the the joy, freedom and openness of the beginner’s mind.
I can learn so much from my students. They are truly fantabulous!