#SOL16: Art Collaboration 2

Live Brilliantly (R. Cohen & M.A. Reilly, 2016)

This is work that is part of a series I am creating that combines art Rob made during the last few weeks of his life with new work of mine. I promised Rob I would do this.

Mixed media (watercolor, newspaper, gesso, acrylic paint, notebook pages, rice paper)

#SOL16: Dear Friends and Relatives

This is a poem Rob wrote after he received an email from a friend/sister, Marilyn Harrison, last spring. I found the poem on his laptop and wanted to share it. Rob grew up with Marilyn and her sister Joyce in Brooklyn. Marilyn died from cancer on July 12, 2015. When Rob wrote the poem he had no way of knowing that he would be diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer a month after Marilyn's death.

Dear Friends and Relatives

today, i'm stuck

an old friend 

has written an email—

well

not a friend exactly, something 

else, more on the order of

an almost sister

i never see anymore

my mother's best friend's 

oldest daughter, 

my age, my contemporary

estranged

& sick

progressed, she says

putting my affairs in order

in my own satisfying way

induces cascade failure,

a widening cataract of

incomplete stories

accelerated by gravity

a few days later, 

a phone call

& the rest of the story 

is out

yeah, we'll get together

i think, 

& about a month from now

maybe we will—

i'll fly out to san fran

and spend a few days

tracking  haunts

i've never visited

as if this accounts

for what's being lost

& then what?

i'll have to leave 

& we'll both know

i'm  likely not coming back 

save maybe one more time

but for those few days

we'll remember all kinds of 

childhood stories, tell ourselves

others that fill in blanks

with the kind of honesty

that comes with 

the clarity of finality—

and then we'll tell the rest

           

the ones meant to soften

the truths 

our lives no longer 

intermingle

save 

for occasional news

we'll no longer get

& though we'll mourn 

what never was

in those farewell moments 

i'll  turn away

from that all

to get on a plane

& fly home

to what i left to come here:

an ongoing life,

a wife, 

a son, 

& who knows what

while she'll have left here

all to go back home

& lie in the quiet 

down of a who knows when

forgotten morning 

too soon come

#SOL16: Anticipatory Grief

Petals and Glass Shard (M.A. Reilly, Dublin, 2009)

I.

A former student of Rob's texts me and writes, "I am heartbroken."

I read it and think, yes it is that simple and that complex.

Heart
           broken.


II.

Anticipatory grief. How could I know that these burning holes in my stomach and heart had a name. Anticipatory grief.

"The name given to the tumultuous set of feelings and reactions that occur in some people who are expecting death in a loved one. These emotions can be just as intense as the conventional sort of grief felt after a death" (from here). 

I simply cannot imagine what it will be like to not be able to touch Rob, hear him laugh, nudge him when I see Devon doing something that I know only he'd appreciate,  listen as he shifts from husband to teacher and explains Heisenberg, Cage, or a particular scene from Joyce's Ulysses, or sleep alongside him, entwined.

III.

We are body and mind and I am

Heart
       ,,,
            Broken

#SOL16: Freedom Sunrise

Freedom Sunrise (Rob Cohen, 2016)

This is a watercolor painting Rob made while in the hospital. An art therapist visits twice a week and on one day, he painted this.

For the last week I have been looking at it and find each day I come to like it more and more.

Neil Gaiman & Lorenzo Mattotti Meet Molly Bang in Fifth Grade: An Embodied Reading of Hansel & Gretel

A child reading with a flashlight. (Reilly, Newark, NJ)

I. Seeing

So I have been thinking more about potential engagements with the Neil Gaiman and Lorenzo Mattotti's text, Hansel and Gretel that I initially began thinking about here.  I wondered how students might see the text if I was to engage them with Molly Bang's ideas about aesthetics that she outlines in Picture This: How Pictures Work.  Below is a slideshare that Rob Cohen and I have used with students that incorporates ten principles from Bang that answers her question: “How does the structure of a picture affect our emotional response?"

Picture This from Mary Ann Reilly / Blueprints for Learning, Inc.

Bang explored this question by creating illustrations for Little Red Riding Hood in an attempt to learn how pictures work. Bang would later send the manuscript based on her exploration of this question (what later became Picture This) to Rudolph Arnheim and he responded by writing that Bang's book "uses the geometrical shapes not as geometry, which would not be all that new, not as pure percepts in the sense of psychology textbooks but entirely as dynamic expression" (p. 7 form Bang's Picture This).

Dynamic expression.
          Something enduring.

That's what I'm after--that's what it means to guide reading--to open spaces for children to wonder. Can fifth graders after exploring Bang's principles through play with paper, use some of those principles to compose visual responses at various points during their reading of the Gaiman/Mattotti text?  Will this process deepen and complicate their comprehension?

II. Making Enduring Work

When I taught grad school, this exploration of aesthetics was work I did via an initial course on theory, An Arts Approach to Literacy.  Rob translated this work into a series of engagements with eighth graders across a school year.  Beneath both of our work was the understanding that creating mental models (Kintsch, 1998) of what is read is necessary for comprehension and that the arts offer ways to get at elemental and embodied expressions of text and self and other.

What's Your Story? (M.A. Reilly, 2014)

Earlier in the year I was playing around with the idea of story and made the image above. I was not consciously thinking about Bang or her work on Red Riding Hood and yet, some of the principles she outlined found their way into my thinking as I composed, What's Your Story?  

Memory traces. 

III. Situating Close Reading

Kintsch, in a fascinating article, Musings about beauty (not yet published), posits that cognitive science can "illuminate the concept of beauty." Kintsch writes:

In reading a text, we distinguish the mental representation of the text itself – the textbase –and its knowledge and interest-based elaboration – the situation model (Kintsch, 1998). This elaboration can be automatic, as when experts fill in the gaps and links in a text within their domain of expertise, but it also is often conscious and indeed effortful, as when we labor to understand a difficult text in an unfamiliar domain. This labor is not confined to the initial reading but may continue as we ruminate about the implications of what we have read. Thus, memory traces are dynamic, with important consequences for the perception of beauty.

Kintsch clarifies the idea of memory traces being dynamic by asking his reader to image s/he is standing on a mountain top thinking about the beauty of the landscape below.

The mental representation of that event is not just visual, but emotional (the euphoria of having reached the summit), and embodied (the fatigue of the ascent). Cognition does not occur in a disembodied mind, but in an acting, feeling, perceiving person.

Reading a scene or any text cannot be limited to the tenets of close reading as they are espoused these days as the disconnected acts from the "acting, feeling, perceiving person."  As Kintsch argues, meaning is made via neural activity and is of course, embodied.

No body. No comprehension.

He writes:

The happiness we experience looking at some picture becomes an integral part of its mental representation. Emotions and bodily events are represented in our brains as patterns of neural activity, as are visual scenes or the semantic content of a story. 

Contrary to the reductionist attitude espoused by David Coleman and Sue Pimentel that reading can be limited to "what lies within the four corners of the text"--Kintsch would tell us differently,

as did Louise Rosenblatt, 

                          as did my mom when I was just a child.

IV. What Gets Found and Remade

In those early years my mom and I went twice a week to our local library that was housed those days in an old Victorian mansion. There were window seats there, something I did not have at home, and large windows that invited a reader to look out--to pause while reading and to get lost in other landscapes and think. I spent hours there, curled up on a cushion with a stack of books at my feet, as my mom perused the books she might want to read. My mom read a book a day and taught me by example that there's no limit to where the well loved and read text might lead us.

Yes I attended (even closely attended at times) to the words I read forming mental representations of the texts, thinking how the words, sentences and images worked together and extracting core ideas along the way. All of this though was conditioned and informed by what I knew and in turn this newly made knowledge informed my thinking.

My pausing. My look out the proverbial window was perhaps an attempt to assimilate or accommodate the new with the known--to resolve ambiguities, or at the very least to hold them in abeyance.

Where in our teaching do we afford learners such time?

Kintsch asks,

Why is it that we can read a great book many times and it becomes more interesting with each reading? Because it affords us the opportunity to fine-tune our model, to construct a novel interpretation every time. The book remains the same, but we – our model – change.

Decades later the aroma of old books remains and still informs my sense of beauty--my memories of my mother.

Memory traces.

V. Postscript

When I think of the work we do with students and their teachers, I am reminded how we hope to occasion learning that leaves traces too. When we partner with children, teenagers, and teachers we want to make enduring work--beautiful work--work that often requires us to get lost, to look out windows, to wander a bit.

I'll let you know how the Gaiman/Mattotti/Bang work is proceeding.

Bold Schools Part II: Teacher as Time Traveler

Time Traveler (M.A. Reilly, January 2012)

Will Richardson's search for bold schools nudged my thinking too.  In a former post, I wrote about the learner as knowmad, borrowing heavily from Pekka Ihanainen and John Moravec's concepts about knowmads.  In this post I explore teacher as time traveler. In the the third post I will explore community as rhizome. All three are conditions present in my conception of bold schools.


1. Clocks

And so I told myself to take that one. Because Father said clocks slay time. He said time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life. The hands were extended, slightly off the horizontal at a faint angle, like a gull tilting into the wind.  - William Faulkner, The Sound and The Fury.

About two years ago I stopped wearing a watch.  This wasn't done for any philosophical, literary, or even political reason, but rather wearing one seemed a bit archaic--unnecessary even.  As time is relative, what exactly is being represented by the movement of hands on a watch?  I sometimes think the early Egyptians had a finer sense of time via their sundials as they recognized that an 'hour' was not a constant. Variations in time clicked on until the medieval period, when the pendulum clock was invented and along with it, time and commerce co-mingled.  Purchasing time moved from concept to guiding reality--one that remains with us (just consider interest on loans) and (in)forms our understanding of school.

Lewis Mumford in Technics and Civilization (1934) rightly observed, "The clock, not the steam-engine, is the key-machine of the modern industrial age."  The clock regulates.

It regulates you.

Me.

Schools.

In bold schools, there is the recognition that in addition to 3-dimesnions of width, height, and length--there is a fourth dimension, time-space.  In traditional schools, acknowledgement of relative time is obscured by regulation and standardization of the day, the term, the school year.  

Let's take a closer look.


2. School Time

The schoolroom clock was worn raw by stares; and you couldn't look up at the big Puritanical face of it and not feel the countless years of young eyes reflected in it, urging it onwards. It was a dark, old spirit that didn't so much mark time as bequeath it. Tod Wodicka, All Shall Be Well; And All Shall Be Well; And All Manner of Things Shall Be Well: A Novel

There's always a clock, isn't there?  Prominently displayed, the schoolroom clock is a staple, representing the regimentation that manages the coming and going of all.  And yet, the classroom clock in many ways is a testament to the fact that time does not flow at a constant rate, regardless of the ways we choose to represent it.  Just recall a time of tedium that informed a classroom stay and surely the concept of relativity becomes more embodied, less esoteric.  The orderliness of the clock as a single representation of time misrepresents the complexity of how we experience time just as the standardization of schools misrepresents learning.

Within any school environment multiple representations of time are present, yet not privileged in the way learning is organized.  In this manner,  schools are work like factories with all adhering to set starting and ending times, lunch breaks, passing time, and allocated 'minutes' by subject. Like factory lines, children are given x number of minutes to complete task y or task z.  Failure to adhere to the established scheduled is considered failure of the task. Time is an odd  constant. The tasks are predetermined and issued.  In many states, high school diplomas are granted based on seat time: literally the number of minutes one's seat has sat in a schoolroom chair. Yet, learning, like time, is conditioned and responsive to context.  Both are relative.

At a bold school, the environment is not set and a learner's time is local. The teacher travels across learners' notions of time, as establishing and managing time is understood as critical learning.  The teacher is a time traveler insomuch as s/he works in a fluid and changeable environment populated with learners whose time experiences are varied.

3. Local Time at the Bold School

The quantum theory of gravity has opened up a new possibility, in which there would be no boundary to space-time and so there would be no need to specify the behaviour at the boundary. - Stephen Hawking, A Brief History of Time: From the Big Bang to Black Holes

Boundaries are interesting. Specifying behavior at the edge of a boundary is a most frequent task teachers enact with students in traditional schools for in a regimented world, boundaries are prolific and one might even argue, necessary, in order to maintain power.

This is the way you line up to leave the classroom.
This is the way you ask for a pass to use the bathroom.
This is the way you exit a burning building.
This is the way you sit during an assembly.
This is the way you write a heading and format our compositions.
This is the divider you place on your desks when taking a test.
These are the hallways in which you do not run.
These are the guards who come to the classroom door to bring you to be disciplined.
This is the way you signal when you want to speak.
This is the way you keep a notebook.
This is the specific notebook you must have in order to write notes.
These are the notes you must copy and do so exactly as indicated.
This is the time you may use a computer to complete a task.
This is the task you must complete in x minutes.
This is the reading quiz you take when you finish reading a book.
This is how you walk to a special.
This is how you enter the school.
If you are a minute late to school, this is the line you stand in for 15 to 20 minutes in order to indicate you were late.
This is how you line up to get lunch.
These are tools you need to learn with and this is how you ask permission to use them.
This is the way you huddle in the corner of the classroom in case an intruder with a gun shows up at our door.
This is how you sit to learn.
This is fear. This is the way to wear it daily.

Boundaries abound and stripped of institutional context, the absurdity seems more apparent, doesn't it?


In a bold school, time is overtly relative by design and learners are knowmads who "work with almost anybody, anytime, and anywhere" (Moravec, 2008).  As such, regulating behavior is less needed and teachers' roles shift from maintaining order and adhering to institutional and self-imposed sets of behaviors to understanding learners' intentions.   In such an environment,  teachers are situated as time travelers--those who negotiate their students' multiple and varying time frames, and in doing so are reflexive in order to support, teach, and guide these knowmads on their journeys.  In such a world, the term, teacher, is a placeholder for multiple types of people who guide, instruct, apprentice, and co-learn both within and beyond the physical classroom.  Some of these teacher-guides travel alongside a group of learners for years, while others fade when no longer needed.  Teachers visit, but do not live in the varied temporal realities of their students.  Susan Sontag notes:

To be a traveler...is to be constantly reminded of the simultaneity of what is going on in the world, your world and the very different world you have visited and from which you have returned home.

Teachers, in bold learning spaces, hold such simultaneity in hand and that knowledge allows them and their students to craft important learning. This role requires new language, similar to the verb tense conundrum that Robert Heinlein discusses in his novel,  The Door Into Summer:

Nothing could go wrong because nothing had...I meant "nothing would." No - Then I quit trying to phrase it, realizing that if time travel ever became widespread, English grammar was going to have to add a whole new set of tenses to describe reflexive situations - conjugations that would make the French literary tenses and the Latin historical tenses look simple.

Time-traveling teachers recognize that listening well in order to better understand their students' locations is a critical teaching skill one that compliments a shift in what counts as important knowledge. These teachers work in an environment where what constitutes important knowledge has shifted from learning prescribed and explicit content to composing knowledge collectively.  Dave Cormier (2008) in Rhizomatic Education: Community as Curriculum captures this idea well when he writes: “The community is not the path to understanding or accessing the curriculum; rather, the community is the curriculum." Learning in these times is less about absorption and more about participation.

4. Embodied Location

“Mr. Duffy lived a short distance from his body.” - James Joyce, Dubliners.

In lieu of the solitary schoolroom, a bold school recognizes a field of potential spaces to learn, beginning with an embodied self.  As such a learner's 'school' is the self in a community: his/her home, libraries, coffee shops, book shops, parks, state forests, museums, various storefronts, recreation centers, art and music spaces, dance studios, government buildings, beaches, the ocean, research centers, shelters, labs, a corner diner, bakery, architect's studio, dentist and doctor's offices, the hospital, the town hall, the police station, garden, farm, morgue, petrol station, amusement park, machine shop, theater, and so on.  One only has to look at the learning spaces Monika Hardy via the Innovation Lab is creating in Loveland, CO community to see how this might work.

Oddly, a bold school is inherently local, especially for the time traveling teacher.  Against the uncertainty of time, one revels in an anchor of sorts. I think here of Michael Doyle's blog post where he dreams of teaching his students clamming. Michael writes:

I dream of teaching my students how to clam. It's a local activity that will never be part of the national standards because it's a local activity. That may sound innocuous enough, but it gets to the heart of the sickness in education today, our love of the abstract.

Bold schools recognize that learners, including teachers, arrive in bodies, and do not ask them to check those bodies at the proverbial door. In bold places, teachers offer what they know and are learning, not the long list of things they have been told to mimic that most often comes from those who have rarely set foot in a school as an adult.  Much is learned through the close study of the local.  This may well mean walking about--perhaps along a beach with a teacher who knows the tides and clams and ways to read such landscapes.  It is in these situations that teachers remember who they have been and perhaps even why they sought this work.  (Shh. Look, you've known in your bones you have much to give. The failure of the traditional school has been in requiring you to stop being the impossibly human person you are and requiring you to become a talking head.) 

In addition to the local geography a learner might map, there is also a virtual community s/he belongs to that is far more resistant to mapping.  Participation in these virtual spaces may well lead to a redesign of the physical geography as learners come to know and name other places in the world. This naming though is informed by what learners come to know through local matters. Some of these places may become new centers that the learner visits and dwells in. The development of these physical and virtual learning spaces occurs horizontally: translocally. Helping students to determine, enter into, manage, complicate, compose, and grow such spaces of learning is complex and represents a critical teacher role.

Teachers and students co-learn with each other in self-, peer-, family- community-, and teacher-sponsored learning.  These networks are inherently nomadic as learners make, merge, mash, remix, and break connections in multiple ways.  Part of the work a teacher does is to guide learners in the development and articulation of learning plans that remain in many ways emergent. Learners participate in temponormative, pointillist, cyclical, continuous, and overlapping learning engagements. During temponormative learning, a teacher offers and/or arranges explicit instruction in which learning outcomes are less surprising, more predictable and explicit knowledge is made.  In contrast, during the remaining types of learning (pointillist, cyclical, continuous, and overlapping), a teacher engages learners in dialogic discourse that occasions them to pierce beneath the skin of the ordinary, the obvious--to uncover and compose with greater depth.  This type of 'teaching' is associative, not causal and requires a teacher to create conditions where learners have an opportunity to determine pathways to learning, to name explicit knowing, to codify tacit knowledge, and to fold/unfold/refold conceptual space. 

There are many truths. One truth in bold schools is that learners will exit with holes in what they know and they will know deeply that which they have named as critical. 


5. PLNs

Central to a teacher's role is the responsibility to cognitively apprentice learners so that they compose intellectual and social independence. Independence is learned through the development of and participation in personal learning networks (PLN) which are both local and virtual.  Will Richardson and Rob Mancabelli (2011) in Personal Learning Networks: Using the Power of Connections to Transform Education write about PLNs and explain:

With a PLN, we can learn anytime, anywhere, with potentially anyone around the world who shares our passion or interest. We can literally build global, online classrooms of our own making on the web that include networks and communities of learners with whom we interact on a regular basis. We can learn around a particular topic at a particular time, or simply tap into an ongoing stream of knowledge from which we can sip anytime we like. And we can build things together, things that can have a global impact in ways that were impossible only a few years ago (p.2).

They describe how learners within the next ten years will all have personal Internet-enabled devices. I agree with them that this time frame is conservative and imagine that such access will occur sooner. These devices allow learners to connect with others--to form PLNs,  guilds, or collectives across geographic spaces.  How they connect and what they do via these connections of course matters. Will and Rob say: "What really counts is the power to plug into networks for learning under the guidance of a teacher who knows how to do that" (p. 139). What I want to urge here though is that much of the important learning will have local roots.  The many walks taken along that beach with a teacher will likely prepare learners to compose and navigate the unmapped space of a PLN. The teacher here, knows both times as well as the need for learners to get lost in these emerging landscapes.

Doug Thomas and John Seely Brown (2011) in A New Culture of Learning: Cultivating the Imagination for a World of Constant Change  list three principles upon which this culture is based: 

(1) The old ways of learning are unable to keep up with our rapidly changing world. 
(2) New media forms are making peer-to-peer learning easier and more natural. 
(3) Peer-to-peer learning is amplified by emerging technologies that shape the collective nature of participation with those new media. (Kindle Locations 578-583).

Peer-to-peer learning matters at bold schools.  It is privileged and central, not a thing one gets to after the 'real' work has been done.

6. Affinity-Based Spaces as Sites for Learning

Within networks are passionate affinity-based spaces that are learner-determined.  Important literacies are learned through play in such spaces. For example in massively multiplayer online games like Minecraft or World of Warcraft, learners have the ongoing opportunity to participate in complex systems, which in itself is a critical skill.  I have previously written about my son, his play in Minecraft and the learning he is composing with his guild and have come to see how powerful and socially complex the learning among these players can be. (I discuss this here, here, here and here).  James Gee and Elizabeth Hayes (2011) in Language and Learning in the Digital Age tell us:

...affinity spaces are about sharing a common endeavor were people learn things, produce things or knowledge, and can, if they wish, become experts...Even these experts believe there is always something new to learn, more to discover, and higher standards to achieve (p. 71).

What drives this powerful learning is commitment and passion.  For example, in Rob Cohen's 8th grade class, students are composing literary worlds in Minecraft. It was interesting to note one day that a student who had been absent from school was nonetheless present for class via the class's Minecraft site.  He was motivated to participate from home.  In this class, students can be found using the chat feature in their Minecraft site to guide homework they have from other classes. The site is a home of sorts. Thomas and  Brown (2011) explain that "[s]tudents learn best when they are able to follow their passion and operate within the constraints of a bounded environment" (Location 1050).  In Rob's class, student interest in Minecraft signals a passion and the means by which they compose through the software represents a bounded environment--one not always easy to negotiate.

In bold schools, learners' passions and knowledge guide curricular decisions, not state standards.  I think here of Rob's latest tweet in which he asks:

Simply put: it is illogical to think a single list regardless of how clever one might be can encapsulate what is important to know.  Thomas and Brown (2011) aptly remind us: "Making knowledge stable in a changing world is an unwinnable game" (Kindle Locations 522-523).

7. Unknowing

What is knowable?  What is curriculum?

As knowledge is not stable, then how does one determine what represents important community knowledge? In the concluding post about bold schools I discuss learning content by situating content as knowledge a community of learners compose. As community is understood as rhizomatic,  the representation of knowing is varied and complex.  Hope you will take a look.

Guest Blog -- Rob Cohen: "social mapping... (based on the library of babel)"

Alas, poor Yorick...

Guest Blog: Rob Cohen

Rob had posted this response to a blog post I had written. I was so taken by the poem that I decided it needed its own post.  Rob is a poet, middle school English teacher, father to Dev and husband to me.

Contact: @rcohen54







social mapping... (based on the library of babel)

this too is infinite (a cluster of infinities...

a cluster of round tables each equidistant from the next,
or maybe a table to one side of the staircase
in each of Borges' chambers--

the people at each table,
standing
sitting
leaning in to listen closely,
leaning out to think and overhear
the conversation at the next table;
loitering in doorways
sitting on steps, browsing shelves
wandering
from room to room
taking language with them,
leaving it behind

& in each room
mounted at the very center
with a set of omnidirectional microphones
connected to a universal recording device
that gets it all down
and sends it all on
to a meta-processing nexus
that hovers invisibly just above
and beyond
the palpable world
to be mapped, charted, parsed & compared
in a hapless attempt to reveal pattern
& form--

how much of what is said alters
another's thoughts
or forms
or ends
a universe;
which parts of what is said is what is heard
and how much of what is heard is repeated

(hearsay, i say, and inadmissible at that:
groucho rising
in an impromptu marx brothers manifesto
of subversion, inversion & dissipation,
a cacophonous collaboration of chaos,
of pulse,
except maybe this time
it's not so funny--

is a belief
in a discreetly discernable separation
of contexts
& ideas.