Archive for the ‘role of teacher’ Category

Are we shrinking from challenges?

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Posted 25 Feb 2013 — by Jennifer
Category role of teacher

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/class-struggle

Jay Matthews, in his Washington Post column “Missed Challenges More Worrisome Than Tests” makes a good point:

“As a society, we shrink from giving children challenging lessons.”

Matthews referenced Ken Bernstein’s recent popular article which “apologized to college professors for our high schools’ failure to prepare students” for, as Bernstein states,  ”the kind of intellectual work that you have every right to expect of them.”

I often feel that as educators, we don’t set the bar high enough where it really counts, and I don’t mean test scores. I think we shy away from situations where children are out of their comfort zone, or where they claim they boredom when really they are afraid of taking risks. I think we don’t challenge enough because we are, in some way, worried that we will damage them by interfering with their “creativity.”

In the Reggio Approach, following the interests of a child/children does not mean abandoning the role of the teacher as instigator and provocateur of complex, challenging and stimulating opportunities for growth and learning.

 

 

 

 

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Photoshop 101: Buck v. Dragon, lessons learned

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Posted 20 Jul 2012 — by Jennifer
Category hundred languages, role of teacher, technology

This week I took an intro to Photoshop class at the Corcoran, and I learned a lot–about the program, about myself as a learner, and about teaching. Here are some reflections:

1. Learning something new is exciting and challenging, uncomfortable and exhausting. For the first time in a long time, I was completely out of my element. I knew how I wanted my final project look, but I couldn’t get it there (buck v. dragon, above, is not the project, I am still working on the assignment)! My project is visually unattractive, sloppy (not intentionally, it’s harder to cut and paste objects skillfully than you might think), awkward and naive.  Many in the group had some visual design experience and I was, of course, comparing. I wanted to hide my screen! A sense of humor really helped me here. I could fortunately laugh at myself, but I had to first accept I was in a state of learning.

2. GROUPS: The dynamics of the group were really interesting–students taking pre-requisites, designers wanting to deepen their knowledge, two 65-70 year old women changing over from film to digital photography. One of these women, we’ll call her Beth, was much slower than the rest of the group, and often got lost and confused. She dropped out on day 3. Those of us sitting next to Beth tried to help her out, but I, for one, got lost myself if I tried to give her support. I could see her patience wane, as well as the patience of the  teacher, and the other students. I felt badly for her, and after Beth left, I became the one with the million questions. I was self-conscious, but I knew that if I didn’t ask, I would never be able to proceed independently. Thinking about a big classroom of 25 children, how often are questions unasked because children are afraid of being the one who doesn’t know? How does a teacher manage such a wide learning discrepancy? This was an intro class-but intro to Mr. Designer and intro to me and Beth is a different story altogether.

3. QUESTIONS: I noticed how precise I had to be in order for the teacher to understand my question. I had to call on my budding Photoshop vocabulary and communication skills to get my point across. I had to rephrase and ask again if the answer was off-base. Is there time for this in classrooms?

4. THE ZONE: On day 3 when the assignment was announced, I began working, and was the only student who could not put something on the page. I tried and tried  for a good 40 minutes to enlarge my image to the canvas size, but it was always blurry. I was unbelievably frustrated, almost to the point of tears. I left 5 minutes early, but before leaving I asked the teacher for assistance and he said to look for higher quality images. I went home, found new images, and came back the next morning–same problem. Luckily Jill,a very nice person sitting next to me, was picking up on my frustration (giveaway: the foul-language spewing from my mouth). Jill watched what I was doing, leaned over and said gently, “press return.”  Hours of agony for a simple return key? So obvious, but not at the time. She said the only reason she could offer advice was because the same thing had happened to her. I think this speaks to observing and documenting, and understanding the processes of learning–if Jill hadn’t watched me work, she would have never picked up on the fact that I wasn’t hitting enter afterwards. And this also speaks to that mysterious zone of proximal development–we have to know each and every child’s (or adult’s) edge, and get to them before they fall off, like Beth.

4. CONTEXT: Many times I had to ask the teacher, “so when would a technique like this be used–for what purpose?” We would have been through the entire lesson on the mechanics of, say, creating a path, without me knowing why there would be a need to create a path in the first place. So the knowledge becomes useless its application can’t be imagined.  A good example of context and instruction is found in The Ashley Book of Knots. Ashley tells you how to make a knot, but first explains what kinds of situations would require that knot, for example: “The axle hitch may be used for emergency towing.” He gives you the history and background of groups of knots, and these stories help to remember the function and purpose of the knot. How often do we give information without context? This has parallels with the Theory of the Hundred Languages in that learning mechanics and techniques and are necessary to build an alphabet–a vocabulary of a language. A language, though, is (among other things) an expression of those techniques; the story, not the letters. If materials and techniques are separate from experience, from context, the relevance of action is diminished.

5. PROBLEM-FINDING: Learning is about “problem-finding” (to borrow a word from my good friends Jennifer Kesserling and Kacey Davenport from Riverfield School in Tulsa, OK). With every design decision I made, I had new problems to find. These problems make the work interesting, but also very demanding. Without the proper support I would have been stuck. Sometimes after exhausting my own knowledge base, I needed a small key to unlock a new world. That key could come from the teacher, other students, or on-line tutorials and information. When a child hits a road block, how many ways does he know to go around? Sources of information are unique to the scenario-what works in one instance doesn’t work in all.

6. MANNERS: I was shocked at the behavior of many of the students. They checked Facebook or email at every spare moment-and then some. Even while the teacher was explaining something! They could not attend to the teacher for longer than a few minutes. This climate is pervasive in our culture, and it needs to be turned around. Call me old-fashioned, but manners, courtesy, and grace should be part of every school’s–every family’s–values.

7. CRITIQUE:  I shared my final project at the group critique. Even though my project was one of the least accomplished, I did not feel anxious about receiving their thoughts. The students had good comments and phrased feedback in beautiful ways, many asking questions: “Did you think about doing _______? ” “What about if you tried ________?” Some gave suggestions: “You might want to try the sponge tool there.” Knowing how to give feedback is crucial to having an honest dialogue, and I will take a page from the students’ book.

In my next post I will share the protocol for a group critique used in my fiber class at MICA.

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Playing the game

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Posted 09 Mar 2012 — by Jennifer
Category image of the child, role of teacher

Yesterday I was on the Walker Jones Farm with a group of children and teachers. It is quite distance from the school, and of course as soon as we got there, Johnequa (not her real name) needed to use the bathroom. We raced over the field, slowly and carefully crossed the street, then resumed our race to the front door. Laughing and panting, Johnequa showed me a bottle of blue nail polish she had in her pocket as we entered the school. I told her how much I liked the color and asked if I could try it while she was in the bathroom. Johnequa was delighted to see my blue nails, and wanted me to tell her classroom teacher that I got my nails done at “Johnequa’s nail salon.” She asked if we could race again back to the farm.

I felt like I was doing something wrong, having this much fun at school. Other classrooms stared at us whizzing by. Did we break the rules? No, but we broke the cultural norm by laughing together, bonding over nail polish, and running like the wind. When it came time to draw the spinach seedlings, Johnequa gave it her all, adding many tiny roots and details. I think she enjoyed sitting next to me as much as the drawing part, and I too was happy to have shared something special, something of myself, with her (I am a runner).

I don’t mean to imply that we should be “friends” with the children. But I do think that we put up a teacher facade that doesn’t allow us to truly form relationships with children. I don’t believe that we lose control from having these kinds of close connections–in fact, I think we gain more respect.  Children know it’s a game, and they can choose to play or not.

From Not Just Anyplace, a video from Reggio…

“So I believe that our work is to stand beside the children, not in front or behind the children but at their side, and to accompany the children on their discoveries about life and their world, to highlight their differences and their subjectivities, trying to give value to their thoughts and their ideas and their theories.”    -Antonia Monticelli, teacher at Gianni Rodari Municipal Infant-Toddler Center since 1992

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Shortcuts

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Posted 06 Jan 2011 — by Jennifer
Category image of the child, observation, role of teacher

Two scenarios, played out at different schools:

Scenario 1: A group of children are having a conversation about the birthday child, then drawing what they have agreed to make him for his birthday. While drawing the draft of the gift, a car, I noticed one child (we’ll call her Johnequa)  getting very upset. She turned her paper over, crossed her arms and said “I don’t like this.” When I asked her why, she said “because it looks like a smiley face.” Johnequa had drawn her car  like this (my sketch of her drawing):

I asked her to show me how she was looking at the car–from the top, side or bottom. She said side. I asked her to count the wheels, she said “four,” without counting. I asked her to point to the wheels and count “One, two….two, there’s only two, the other wheels are on the back.” Johnequa then redrew the car like this:

(Only more detailed, with TAXI written on the side). In my conversation afterwards with the teacher, she remarked how normally she wouldn’t take the time to revisit the drafts, that she really just wanted to get to a decision about what the birthday gift would be, especially since the birthday was soon and there wasn’t a lot of time to work on the gift.

Scenario 2: Another school, also working on a birthday gift. Children were deciding on one image out of many (60 or so) they had taken. Looking at the contact sheet, they wanted to cut them out and sort them. The teacher got out the paper cutter. When I asked why the children couldn’t cut them out, he said because children had cut through the images (in the past) when they did it with scissors.

I remember Giovanni Piazza, atelierista at La Viletta School in Reggio, talking to me about intelligent solutions–not tape instead of glue, not sticky paper instead of glue–yes, it is messy. Yes, there is a learning curve in terms of amount of glue to use, pressure for squeezing, where to put the glue, and so on, but if we give shortcuts and easy solutions to children, we short change them, and deny them the opportunity to figure things out on their own, deny them time to explore and master tools and techniques. WE find the solutions and solve the problems, instead of children.

Both scenarios remind me how important it is to take time, and to not focus on the end product. To enjoy the ride, and take time to smell the flowers. Every moment along the way is as important as the final destination…

Grizzlies and brownies are not bears.

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Posted 29 Nov 2010 — by Jennifer
Category role of teacher

Look at this photograph—I just love it—my son is on the left, surrounded by men 30+ years older, learning how to tie flies at Urban Angler in Virginia. I sat on a couch nearby for 3 hours, for 3 Mondays.  And I learned a lot.

I overheard an entirely new vocabulary and way of speaking—I learned (or began to learn) another language—hackle, the big-bushy, dubbing, building up the head, tying in, keeping it on edge, wrapping through it, parachutes, grizzlies, brownies—but overall there was a respectful hush at the table.

I watched a skilled teacher deal with different ages and abilities, balancing attention and support with grace and incredible patience.  He never seemed frustrated, and had different strategies to offer if the person didn’t get it the way he demonstrated the first time. He encouraged and complimented and at the same time corrected and critiqued.

I saw students asking questions and learning from each other, as well as the teacher.

My favorite part was observing the different expressions of concentration on the students’ faces—a tongue hanging out, a crooked smile, a furrowed brow, a tongue in cheek—the mark of people truly in the zone.

I wish I observed more moments like this in classrooms—children truly engaged and invested in their work, with teachers who know well the dance of teaching and learning; an unhurried pace, with extended periods of time to work out problems and try different variations; more men teaching our boys and girls in early childhood classrooms; different generations coming together; and having and pursuing a hobby that connects the hand and the mind.

The Green Pumpkin

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Posted 17 Sep 2010 — by Jennifer
Category observation, projects, role of teacher


I had a great discussion yesterday at Walker Jones EC. The school and the community have an urban farm, in an empty lot across the street from the school. Preschool children have begun visiting the farm in small groups, and teachers are recording observations and conversations, and collecting graphic representations and video of the first forays into this new environment. A group of children is fascinated by the green pumpkin growing in the patch–most often the pumpkins we see, especially around Halloween, are orange. Teachers planned to have children mix colors of paint to match that of the pumpkin, and paint its portrait. In this format I cannot share the entire discussion, but some really important things emerged.

1. Slowing down. Teachers had been recording and documenting, but not REVIEWING the documents together with colleagues in order to make decisions and organize provocations. These provocations–the bounce back to children, are the most , or should be the most intelligent and sensitive decisions we can make as educators, all the while staying very close to children. The documents we collect also serve as a memory, and so giving time to the process of revisiting and analyzing is possible. If there is a richness and complexity to the situation, children’s enthusiasm will be there in a few days.

2. Reading between the lines. Interpreting children’s words and making meaning from our documentation is difficult, to say the least, and requires a leap of faith and good intention. This is where I think the values of a school and the influence of ‘fields of knowledge’ (to use a phrase from Reggio) play a big role. In the green pumpkin situation, I think we can go beyond the portrait, beyond measuring the pumpkin’s size, or charting its weight-go beyond activities about the pumpkin. For what the children might observe in the changes of the color of the pumpkin is mimicked in the leaves on the trees, and is also a sign of the coming of fall. Seasons, change, even death, might become important to this conversation. But we must not jump to conclusions without going back to #1-the action of revisiting.

3. Our bias. I asked the teachers to look and listen more closely on their trips to the farm. To observe with open minds, and not rule out possibilities just because they don’t fit into a pre-conceived schema of a farm curriculum. Maybe the butterflies are intriguing, maybe the fruits and vegetables, or the beautiful colors of the garden, or the farmer who tends the farm. Or maybe the action of crossing the street or weaving their bodies through the rows of string beans or the sounds of the insects and cars. As educators we need to be able to hear/see things that don’t necessarily fit in the box. This kind of sensitive and open listening is central to the work.

I hope to be able to post more about the continuation of this project…

Is clay hard or soft?

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Posted 01 Sep 2010 — by Jennifer
Category image of the child, role of teacher

Teacher: (passing around a piece of clay) Can you describe the clay? How does it feel?

Child: (squeezing it between both hands) It’s hard.

Teacher: Hard? Touch the table (child raps on the table). How does the table feel?

Child: Hard.

Teacher: So the clay is…?

Child: Soft.

What happened here? A well-intentioned teacher corrected a child’s perception of how clay felt. Was the child wrong? Was the teacher right? Is what the teacher said more true than what the child said? Or more accurate? Is clay soft or hard?

One perspective of the role of the teacher is teacher-as-expert, one who imparts information to children.  Another is that of teacher as co-constructor of knowledge, a researcher together with children. The latter case requires a complete paradigm shift for many educators (and parents), a shift that assumes children come into the world competent and resourceful, and are protagonists of their own learning. Among other things, it places emphasis on listening, and it also requires a lot of time.

If the teacher had probed deeper “it feels hard-can you tell me more about that?” and listened, also with her eyes, she might have understood differently the child’s response. Could he have been describing the physical effort of squeezing? Or maybe he was comparing something he knows as soft, like a cotton ball, with the clay–so relative to his experience of soft the clay was hard.

This vignette reminds me how important it is to have complexity in our speech, our actions, our environments. It reminds me that nuance is too often shunned in favor of black and white. And that subjectivity and divergence has a place in education.