Yellow Dwelling

There's more to Teaching than Teaching

Louis Menand, of The New Yorker, recently reviewed “The Program Era” by Mark McGurl: a book which traces the ways creative writing has been taught in American universities. The overarching question raised by the Menand is whether creative writing can actually be taught at all. Of course, it is taught, in a literal sense, but to what extent is that teaching fruitful? As fuel for his claims Menand quotes The University of Iowa Writers Workshop website which states:

If one can “learn” to play the violin or to paint, one can “learn” to write, though no processes of externally induced training can ensure that one will do it well. Accordingly, the fact that the Workshop can claim as alumni nationally and internationally prominent poets, novelists, and short story writers is, we believe, more the result of what they brought here than of what they gained from us. We continue to look for the most promising talent in the country, in our conviction that writing cannot be taught but that writers can be encouraged.

I was given a copy of this review by a colleague at one of the art schools where I regularly teach. At the top of the page was scribbled “It strikes me that the links to FA [Fine Art] are clear here – don’t you think?”

What concerns me is that the above mentioned article exemplifies an increasingly prevalent attitude even amongst the very teachers who you might imagine would have a more justified - not to mention justifiable - evaluation of their own professional role. For my own part, I think we need to adopt and champion a much more robust, expansive and inclusive understanding of what it means to teach - not just creative subjects but all subjects. It’s vital that we recognise that good teaching cannot simply be reduced to instruction nor should it be seen as merely a case of moderation or hosted learning. Good teaching is a fundamental part of the fabric of society and contributes a great deal more than drones in the hive of fiscal growth.

It’s not that I have some kind of idealistic romantic conception of how wonderful and inspiring teachers are, far from it, but as A.C. Grayling has observed, there’s a lot more to education - “liberal education” in particular - than simply turning people into “instruments in the economic process”. Sadly, the real rewards of education are very difficult to quantify, not least in a context where economic imperatives and results quotas are coming to dominate the field. Creative disciplines fare very badly in this lopsided comparison, especially when measured against other more obviously pragmatic areas of education. Any subject which involves concrete information and rules, or better still, laws of process and procedure is easily defended (assuming it’s application is not obsolete) because its results are easily demonstrated and quantified. Art on the other hand, has few such rules and even many of its processes and procedures are contested and reconfigured on a regular basis. In this uncertain context it’s hardly surprising that some people feel that art teachers function as little more than moderators or hosts. In some cases I’m sure they do act as hosts, but as ever, its vitally important that we don’t allow the actions (or inaction for that matter) of a minority to jaundice our view or lead us to measures which might restrict the potential of genuinely committed and talented contributors to society.

Fortunately, there are still many people who, like Grayling, believe deeply in the value of teachers and by this I mean teachers in the broadest sense: people who have helped us learn, not just professional teachers but everyone who has had a truly positive influence on our development. These positive role models and important developmental experiences predispose us to the value of learning from others. So, despite all the cynicism and scepticism, despite all the really poor teaching and impoverished curricula, despite the lazy lacklustre teachers, despite the bullies, the authoritarians and the shocking tabloid tales, many of us still remember those rare but invaluable teachers who have helped us become who we are. To forget these people or deny their influence would be to deny our very selves.

So what makes a good teacher? That’s a very difficult question to answer, but one thing you can be absolutely sure of, is that it has nothing whatsoever to do with the straightforward presentation of information or knowledge. In the early 1990’s Rosenthal and Jacobsen conducted a series of video experiments where students were asked to predict the effectiveness of a range of teachers from seeing just a short clip of silent footage of each. In as little as 10 seconds the students were able to successfully predict the ratings of those teachers. Even more surprising was that they were also able to do so with sound alone, even if the voice spoke a foreign language. In other words, a teacher’s effectiveness has a lot less to do with content than we might expect and a lot more to do with the quality of delivery. This tells us something about a student’s need to be able to form some kind of bond of respect and trust in their teachers. They need to believe that their teachers have something to offer before they are likely to be fully predisposed to learning. What is especially interesting is that they do not distinguish between different forms of content (maths, biology art etc.) – a good teacher is a good teacher regardless of their subject.

Let’s be clear though - some so called teachers would certainly be better termed moderators or monitors because they simply know too little about the subject they are teaching to actually teach it. Worse by far are the self-professed teachers who regard certain subjects as so straightforward or superficial that anyone can teach them – hence all those dire dreary arts and crafts workshops that succeed only in wasting paint and paper and creating an unholy mess in the process. Lastly, but equally deluded, are the teachers who are so arrogant as to think that it’s ok to be just a couple of steps step ahead of their students. They’d do well to realise that their students have an intuitive measure of them in somewhere short of 10 seconds. The important point here is that if a teacher is to maintain the respect and trust a student invests in them, then they also need to have something to actually teach – nobody is going to spend much time listening to a voice without a message, no matter how compelling its rhythm and intonation. This leads us back to the equally slippery issue of whether it’s possible to teach creativity.

The argument about creativity seems to hinge on whether you are of the opinion that creativity is innate or not. A similar problem can be traced back to Plato’s Meno in which Socrates demonstrates to Meno that knowledge is innate and that when we learn we are, in fact, recollecting knowledge from a previous life. In modern times we “know” this to be a false argument, but the issues of innate knowledge - of nature verses nurture - continue to simmer, especially through the work of such people as Noam Chomsky and Jerry Fodor.

Another contemporary thinker who has had a profound influence on the understanding (and commercialisation) of creativity is Edward De Bono. De Bono has argued on many occasions that it is indeed possible to teach creativity and he has developed various conceptual tools which have provided widespread demonstrable results. De Bono is by no means alone - many other cognitive and developmental scientists have deepened and expanded the study of creativity in the last 50 years such that it’s very difficult not to see creativity, or at least certain kinds of creativity, as eminently teachable.

“In my view, and at this point in time, I think the view that creativity cannot be learned is no longer tenable.

It may not be possible to train genius – but there is an awful lot of useful creativity that takes place without genius.”

Edward de Bono, 1992.

So here we have the two diametrically opposed poles of the argument: on the one side we have the University of Iowa Writers Workshop and their “conviction that writing cannot be taught” (ie: creativity is innate) and on the other side we have people like De Bono who claim the reverse.

There’s one further thing that can be said about the claims of the University of Iowa Writers Workshop: they are working with “the most promising talent”. If you’re working with the most promising talent, then presumably you also need to have the very best teachers, otherwise you’re likely to find yourself back in the “one step ahead of the students” situation as I’ve already described. No doubt, wherever students reach the top of the tree of education, the gap between teacher and student becomes ever smaller, sometimes to the point where “peer learning” would be a more accurate description. In effect this is what the UIWW are promoting: a course where the best talent teach one another and the “teachers” take notes and keep the coffee hot. This is an untypical situation though, and like many untypical situations it’s particularly unhelpful in the consideration of the finer points of teaching and creativity.

Creativity is a fundamental part of what makes us human. Many of the issues raised about creativity inevitably recourse to the stellar galaxy of exceptional humans: Mozart, Joyce, Duchamp etc. Sometimes, in fact quite often, you'll also find Einstein added to the list. Presumably somewhere in people's consciousness is the realization that Einstein must have been inordinately creative to come up with the ideas and solutions he envisioned. Using such luminaries is often instructive and sometimes allows one to establish firm foundations from which to develop new theories. However, just as often, these exemplars can skew our understanding or draw it into such heady heights that we find it impossible to maintain a grip on the more quotidian aspects of the argument. Such exemplars are exceptions to the very rule we're trying to interrogate and by the sheer mass of their presence they distort the space-time continuum under scrutiny. So let's leave them aside for once and try instead to look down the more familiar end of the telescope.

Creativity comes in many forms and has many manifestations. It’s association with the visual arts is frequently cited in argument and debate, but perhaps, once again, we're dealing with something too dense, too abstract and too indefinite to really help us. As I've already said, creativity is part of what makes us human. Without the ability to imagine, to visualize, to improvise and to invent something from nothing we would literally be unable to communicate. We are all creative in such a myriad of ways that it’s absurd to even consider compiling a list. Certainly many of these acts of creativity are extremely straightforward and minor to the point of insignificance. But perhaps it is this apparent insignificance, this commonplace, overlooked or disregarded matter-of-factness which is at the very heart of the problem. For the most part, we don't notice creativity and we don't value it unless it distinguishes itself in exceptional circumstances as something out of the ordinary and even then it is often seen as being quirky, idiosyncratic, weird, obsessive, eccentric, etc. in fact it’s interesting just how many such words give a negative complexion to creativity, and how few a positive one. This tells us something very revealing about our society’s attitude towards creativity: it’s obviously seen as being something verging on madness or certainly something to be ignored, kept in abeyance or best avoided. I’ll come back to this in a moment, but first I’d like to elaborate a little on my remarks about teachers, or rather good teachers.

Good teachers know their subject intimately and are passionate about it. This isn’t always immediately obvious to the uninitiated but it’s impossible to conceive of a good teacher who is indifferent to their subject. Good teachers are fascinated by the detail, by the nuances, by the variety, by problems and by solutions. They are very often obsessive and invariably eager to welcome anyone genuinely interested in their field to share in its rewards. Imagine then the idiosyncratic student who has identified an interest and a nascent talent but who recognises, perhaps only intuitively, the subtle disapproving attitude of the society around them. What better place for such an individual than under the tutelage of someone who understands their motivations and needs because they’ve literally been in the same situation themselves? Good teachers care, and in caring they provide the space for students to indulge their obsessive, eccentric predilections without fear of recrimination or ridicule. But this isn’t some passive magnanimous guardianship, but an active, critically supportive, challenging education which encourages students to flourish, perhaps never to the extent of Joyce, Mozart or Einstein but nevertheless to rise above the mediocre and in turn to create space for others to aspire for a better and more creative world.

Jim Hamlyn

Addendum:

I wrote the above text a few weeks ago in response to several articles by Dyske Suematsu, in particular this one: (http://dyske.com/?view_id=917). Since then I’ve been reading some recent educational theory and it would appear that a number of my remarks are somewhat outmoded in terms of their conception of the role of the good teacher. Such notions which put the teacher centre-stage are typical of what has been termed “Behaviourism” ie: the notion that learning is a process of modification of behaviour through experience best conducted by “instructing” students in such a way that they passively soak up knowledge. Current theories however - “cognitive constructivism” in particular - are more inclined to emphasize the role of the teacher as a facilitator of learning in a context where learning is understood as an active participatory process:

"...in the cognitive constructivist perspective, the role of the teacher is to create experiences in which the students will participate that will lead to appropriate processing and knowledge acquisition. Consequently, cognitive constructivism supports the teacher as a guide or facilitator to the extent that the teacher is guiding or facilitating relevant processing. Contrarily, since social and radical constructivism eschew any direct knowledge of reality, there is no factual knowledge to transmit and the only role for the teacher is to guide students to an awareness of their experiences and socially agreed-upon meanings. This teacher as guide metaphor indicates that the teacher is to motivate, provide examples, discuss, facilitate, support, and challenge, but not to attempt to act as a knowledge conduit.

Doolittle & Camp, 1999

http://scholar.lib.vt.edu/ejournals/JVTE/v16n1/doolittle.html

This would appear to put my claims in real jeopardy but I’d like to argue once again that this conceptualisation of the role of the teacher is overly reductive (although, in this case I find it both reassuring and useful that no distinction is made between different disciplines). I’d especially like to pick up on the idea that “there is no factual knowledge to transmit”.

The idea that we can’t know reality directly is an argument which was also made by Immanuel Kant in his Critique of Pure Reason as long ago as 1781, so there’s certainly nothing new in this. However, the related conclusion, which radical constructivism draws, that the teacher is therefore simply a guide or facilitator is surely mistaken. If this were the case, a good teacher could facilitate the acquisition of ANY knowledge, even knowledge outside their own sphere and I doubt we could find many people who would seriously endorse or subscribe to such a view (or, at most, only in a very limited sense). As I said above, good teachers create space for students. Perhaps this needs elaboration though – institutions, teachers and indeed other students themselves (think of UIWW) create space for learning together without fear of recrimination or ridicule. This longstanding realisation that individuals acquire knowledge more efficiently and effectively when they learn alongside peers of similar ability has been at the very heart of formal education for as long as we can remember. Good teachers play a major role in this, since they have the experience to understand the problems and ambiguities, the knowledge to contextualise the student's learning and the expertise to create appropriate challenges and pitch them at the appropriate time.

Mica

Ice Sea

http://studiolog.heriot-toun.co.uk/7sails_3_jimhamlyn.php

Lunacy

I forgot to post a link to this:

Actually I didn't so much forget as I was disappointed that the site had misrepresented my work.

Less than a year ago I was invited to be involved in a project of proposals for artworks to be sited on the moon. There were no plans to actually carry out the proposals but it was always intended that there would be a website to present them. I really liked the futility of the idea of working towards something which would never be completed, so I agreed. After indulging a number of ridiculously megalomaniacal thoughts (well why not, it’s the moon after all?!) a better idea began to germinate.

A year previously I had been invited to be a speaker at a conference in Latvia and as an exercise to break the ice, the delegates were asked to find something on their person - an object of some kind - which expressed something about them. We were then asked to place these objects on the table, and one by one we were asked to talk about ourselves with reference to the object we had chosen. I hate these kinds of group activities and I tried quickly to think of some alternative and unconventional thing that I could contribute – the more objectionable or subversive the better. After rummaging in my bag for what felt like too long as other people placed pens, cameras, notebooks and pieces of jewelry on the table I happened to feel the grubby granularity of dirt at the bottom of my bag. Great, a piece of dirt, I thought, perfect! I carefully lifted up the grain of dirt between thumb and forefinger and placed it upon the table amongst the other assorted objects.

One by one each person spoke about themselves and their objects and one by one the items disappeared from the table. As this was going on, I was finding it very difficult to concentrate on what each person was saying, caught up as I was with the thought of my tiny speck of dirt and all the wonderful clever things I could say about it and its inextricable relevance to the context of the conference. Eventually there was an all-but-empty table in front of us and to my simultaneous surprise, disappointment and relief the convener gave some concluding remarks and proceeded to the next item on the agenda.

At that moment the realisation hit me: my grain of dirt was simply too small to be seen. For all intents and purposes the table was empty and there was no one else left to speak. I was saved! No need to show off or embarrass myself and no need to continue with the mental gymnastics necessary to make sense of this insignificant speck of dirt. But my relief was short lived. Inevitably someone had been paying attention to what was going on; someone with a need for fairness, balance and equality; someone who had registered a nagging absence in the numbers. I felt it before they spoke, a faint rising consciousness of having been found out and the realization that my quiet but glorious moment of reprieve was about to end. “Where’s your object?” they asked inquisitively, pointing a finger and interrupting the convener. Suddenly all eyes were on me and everyone was murmuring-

“Oh yes, what about you, where’s your object?”

No matter I thought, I’ve had plenty of time to work out what I’m going to say, it won't be that difficult. Confidently, I reached across the table to the tiny dot I could see waiting for me. With a moistened index finger I touched the speck and lifted it up to inspect it more closely.

“Here’s my object, it’s.. it’s a.. it’s a poppy seed!”

Proposal for 14ºN 32ºW Project:

To exhaustively document a single poppy seed using the most wide-ranging and exacting technologies currently available.

This documentation would take the form of measurements etc, of all dimensions, weight, surface-hardness (Mohs), moisture content, density, chemical composition, spectral properties, calorific value, surface-area, genus, year of production, country and region of origin, DNA etc. As many of these measurements as possible would be taken directly from the seed itself. The more invasive/destructive measurements would necessitate the use of seeds taken from the same batch (preferably the same plant).

The poppy seed would also be thoroughly mapped using 3D mapping, X-ray and conventional photography.

The resulting documentation would then be carefully archived and placed in safe storage on Earth. The poppy-seed itself would then be transported and deposited as near to the centre of location 14ºN 32ºW of the Moon as convenient.

J. Hamlyn, 2009

Can Creativity Be Taught?

In a far-flung corner of the internet I recently became caught up in a blog debate which started as a discussion about whether it’s possible to teach creativity. You can find the full (and rather lengthy) discussion at the following web address:

http://bitskis.com/?p=279

My interlocutor (Dyske Suematsu) has another site (dyske.com) with many essays on a range of subjects including philosophy, art and politics. This one in particular provoked me:

http://dyske.com/?view_id=917

Perhaps I’m simply being over sensitive – you’ll have to make up your own mind.

Digital Parentheses

Evolution

The first six editions of Charles Darwin's Origin of Species.
For the 200th anniversary year of Darwin's birth.

Game of Risk

Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.

Albert Einstein

What do teachers mean when they ask students to take risks and more importantly, what do students themselves understand by such advice?

Risk-taking is a familiar but vital aspect of everyday life. It contributes to our deeper understanding of the world and prepares us to face difficulties and challenges with greater confidence and awareness. It adds vitality, stimulation, and excitement to our experiences and is often a motivating factor that challenges people to pursue more interesting, purposeful, and meaningful lives. By contrast, lives without risk-taking are often boring, routine, predictable, or perhaps worst of all, in the case of artists anyway, unimaginative. In fact it’s almost impossible to conceive of how an artist could function without taking risks.

Frequently I’ve heard colleagues say to students “you need to take more risks” or the more cringe-worthy “you need to move out of your comfort zone” but I’ve rarely heard a student question this advice or ask for more detail. It seems to be almost a given that everyone tends to “play safe” in life, that we’re cautious creatures of habit, tending to stick to familiar paths and rarely to wander off into uncertain terrain. So when someone suggests that we should take more risks, we simply accept the fact on the understanding that they’ve probably recognised something that we’d rather wasn’t the case: a little like when someone points out that we have a grain of rice stuck to our chin. Under no circumstances does anyone want to be seen as being over cautions, especially in the context of the arts, so to suggest that they need to “take more risks” is rarely going to be met with resistance. If you wanted an easy piece of advice that is guaranteed to apply to almost all situations then this is it, because it’s almost always true.

Or, at least that’s the way it seems: the teacher feels they have identified a weakness and provided a simple nugget of advice on how to deal with it and the student nods affirmatively and goes away with something to cogitate over and act upon. They might even return some time later and thank the teacher for the good advice. And so it goes.

What makes this piece of advice so “clever” is what also makes horoscopes popular: you can apply it to almost any situation. This is not to say that such vague statements are bad, damaging or dishonest, in fact in some cases, like horoscopes, they can even serve a positive purpose since they have the potential to frame our consideration of the future and perhaps condition some of the more difficult decisions we face.

But despite the fact that horoscopes and aphoristic statements like “you need to take more risks” can be vaguely helpful (how else could they survive?) they never go into detail about particular situations or specific needs and they rarely, if ever, offer solutions to a specifically identified problem or weakness on the part of the recipient.

On occasion it’s ok to make such vague or general statements and to allow students to extrapolate, develop and discover their own interpretation and understanding of their relevance. If Socrates was right that “an unexamined life is not worth living” then it’s probably a good thing to encourage the habit of examining creative choices on a regular basis.

But who’s doing the examining? My point is that sometimes it’s too easy - too risky even - to expect the student to do all the work. If communication and understanding have any value in education then it’s, at the very least, presumptuous to assume that students will understand what such a vague statements are intended to suggest, if anything at all. This is why the “take some risks” statement, if it goes without qualification, is actually practically irresponsible, because if advice is really to have an effect it needs to be examined not just by the student but by the teacher and this examination itself needs to be offered up for scrutiny.

It‘s not quite true that the greatest risk in life is to take no risks at all. The real risk is to fail to realise that life is already full of them (even attempting to take no risks is fraught with its own dangers), but in order to make the most of risks they must be recognised, examined, exploited and most of all learned from.

Appropriated Artwork

Information sheet displayed next to Sherrie Levine's work at the 2009 Venice Biennale:

You couldn't do much worse if you'd translated direct from the Italian using Google-Translate. It begs the question though - was the Italian text equally impenetrable?