Small balls of ice are falling from the sky. They cover the high school football field in a white layer. I sit in the car in the school parking lot, huddled against the cold, unable to see through the windows more than a few yards. Suddenly young men and women run yelling, calling, past me. No jackets, racing through the sleet. They scream joyfully, slipping and sliding across the field on the ice. Throwing ice balls. The heavy wetness pours on them. Escaped from the warm class rooms into the frigid wetness. What happiness. If only first semester final exams and SAT exams didn't interrupt January pleasure.
Government grant proposals. 8 copies of each page on hole punched paper, thank you, trees and forests. Double spaced. 3,498 characters, no more! Incomplete proposals will not be considered. Proposals submitted after 3, 4, 5 will not be considered. Provide SASE if you want your work samples returned. Online submissions only. Drop off submissions only. Postmark deadline only. No coffee stains, please.
Why isn't this student attending school? Oh, didn't you know? He transferred out to a program in cosmetology. She transferred out for emotional reasons; her brother was shot and killed. Oh, his father wants him to attend a continuation school so that he can graduate faster. Oh, she moved away from home and we don't know where she is. Oh. Oh. Oh. "But it's only a few weeks just to finish the semester. Can't she / he just finish up the semester and get it completed?" "I guess not...i couldn't reach him/her to get all the facts...."
Ms. Susannah, remember me from last year? When are you coming to our class? umm.. not sure (the funding?).... Ms Susannah, can you come and help me with my day care job at.. Ms Susannah, we need a youth development program here, but our funding is almost non existent... Susannah, let me know how much that performance pays. I have to figure out if I can take off my job that day to perform... . Susannah, I hear you know this student really well, she's failing Spanish and not showing up, can you talk to her? Grades are due, please read the following information guide on how to add up students' points. Susannah, can you do another free performance for us in February? March? April? May? June? Susannah, can you have coffee next week to talk about providing a workshop for us-- sorry our funding got cut. Susannah, can you produce my play, it's great!? Susannah, sorry I can't work with Opera Piccola, I have to take a full time job..
January. Non profit arts.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Equity
Thinking today of Martin Luther King Jr’s Dream of justice, non violence, equity. Where are we, in the light of the Haiti disaster, the state of education in the U.S., global poverty, ongoing wars? I firmly subscribe to his statement, "let us not wallow in the valley of despair." I too, dream and have seen dreams come true. But the reality is that equity is not apparent to even the casual observer in the Oakland public schools. I teach in both Berkeley and Oakland, and the difference can be painful.
It's no secret that many, or perhaps most, Oakland schools in low income neighborhoods do not have the resources of those in wealthier areas. The reasons for this are very complex, including parents who are active versus parents who are too exhausted to help out or to insist that the school function well. I'm concerned about the growing trend to "reward success" with more money while penalizing students, teachers and schools with poorer scores. It's the opposite of what is needed. Way more attention needs to be paid to each individual student who is dealing with death of a close family member, overwhelmed parent, lack of nutrition, lack of money etc. This kind of intervention takes time, staff and money.
Of course there are resilient students who rise way above impossible circumstances, and many students do well. But it takes time (and money) to sit down with students who appear to not care a fig about school.
It's no secret that many, or perhaps most, Oakland schools in low income neighborhoods do not have the resources of those in wealthier areas. The reasons for this are very complex, including parents who are active versus parents who are too exhausted to help out or to insist that the school function well. I'm concerned about the growing trend to "reward success" with more money while penalizing students, teachers and schools with poorer scores. It's the opposite of what is needed. Way more attention needs to be paid to each individual student who is dealing with death of a close family member, overwhelmed parent, lack of nutrition, lack of money etc. This kind of intervention takes time, staff and money.
Of course there are resilient students who rise way above impossible circumstances, and many students do well. But it takes time (and money) to sit down with students who appear to not care a fig about school.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
from sex education to beauty & truth
I asked my high school students to write, "If I ran a school.." Many wrote that sex education should be offered every year, that students should be able to take the classes they want to take, and that the school should be stricter, yet allow students to smoke weed and stand in hallways during class. I next asked why sex education seemed so important to most in the group. Students wrote that it was vital in helping to prevent STD's, to inform about an important subject, and to prevent unwanted pregnancies.
Students in this admittedly very small sampling of high school students wrote as if it was a given that everyone is sexually active. And yes, over the years I've had 8th grade girls who are pregnant in my classes in middle school. Yes, every year at least one of my high school students has been pregnant. But, how true is it that students are all having sex? It's not only about sex, in spite of raging hormones. Everyone wants love.
At our Second Sundays play reading and open mic event this evening, I was reminded of this. A young man dropped in to the open mic portion of the evening, pulled out his guitar and harmonica and stunned us with the sweetest love song imaginable, written by himself. There was nothing in the song resembling the 'between the sheets" attitude of current pop songs, just a longing for a girl "who would stay," and stay until "old and gray." A woman stood up and sang about how life goes on, every muscle expressing the pain of conflict between those who take and those who give. Another woman shared the beginning of a poem about how we treat the Earth: 43,000 tons of non-recyclable trash per day in the U.S. She told us how the facts listed on the web "are a poem," devastating, condemning.
Our Second Sundays experimental event-- a free evening in which any and all arrivals of all ages explore different plays and share poems or songs-- surprises me every month. It's so different from work-a-day ways we communicate, like "hello how are you" and task-oriented email messages. Each person who attends becomes part of a larger play-surrounding-a-play. In this intimate gathering, we each reveal ourselves, become vulnerable. Our poems or songs or our comments in the group's conversation, become beautiful because they ring true. A person may sing who does not have a beautiful, trained voice, but the beauty is this: they sing because they need to sing-- they need to express something in this way, not just to show off a pretty voice. Tonight, each of us in that small circle became breathless and silent in witness to moments of truth. It's timeless-- truth and beauty, beauty and truth.
Students in this admittedly very small sampling of high school students wrote as if it was a given that everyone is sexually active. And yes, over the years I've had 8th grade girls who are pregnant in my classes in middle school. Yes, every year at least one of my high school students has been pregnant. But, how true is it that students are all having sex? It's not only about sex, in spite of raging hormones. Everyone wants love.
At our Second Sundays play reading and open mic event this evening, I was reminded of this. A young man dropped in to the open mic portion of the evening, pulled out his guitar and harmonica and stunned us with the sweetest love song imaginable, written by himself. There was nothing in the song resembling the 'between the sheets" attitude of current pop songs, just a longing for a girl "who would stay," and stay until "old and gray." A woman stood up and sang about how life goes on, every muscle expressing the pain of conflict between those who take and those who give. Another woman shared the beginning of a poem about how we treat the Earth: 43,000 tons of non-recyclable trash per day in the U.S. She told us how the facts listed on the web "are a poem," devastating, condemning.
Our Second Sundays experimental event-- a free evening in which any and all arrivals of all ages explore different plays and share poems or songs-- surprises me every month. It's so different from work-a-day ways we communicate, like "hello how are you" and task-oriented email messages. Each person who attends becomes part of a larger play-surrounding-a-play. In this intimate gathering, we each reveal ourselves, become vulnerable. Our poems or songs or our comments in the group's conversation, become beautiful because they ring true. A person may sing who does not have a beautiful, trained voice, but the beauty is this: they sing because they need to sing-- they need to express something in this way, not just to show off a pretty voice. Tonight, each of us in that small circle became breathless and silent in witness to moments of truth. It's timeless-- truth and beauty, beauty and truth.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
happy new decade
Remember the typewriter, the cassette tape (reel to reel, aghh!), the ditto sheet, the dial phone, the newspaper? We now take for granted competing with students need to text or listen to ipods. Is it better or worse now? Does our ability to remember anything decrease geometrically with the amount of information confronting us? What is really important to teach and what is really important to learn? Why should we continue to support the arts and why is there such huge need to advocate for the arts in the first place? Shouldn't the arts automatically be required in an excellent education?
On January 1oth our Second Sundays play reading and open mic theme will be "Art for the Next Decade." All are invited to contribute.. I face the new decade with more questions than answers. Perhaps I will find companions in asking, and perhaps better questions will emerge.
Archimedes of Syracuse discovered his Buoyancy Principle while stepping into the bath tub, not while drudging away at school or at his papyrus. Is this a clue for all of us about creativity for the new decade?
On January 1oth our Second Sundays play reading and open mic theme will be "Art for the Next Decade." All are invited to contribute.. I face the new decade with more questions than answers. Perhaps I will find companions in asking, and perhaps better questions will emerge.
Archimedes of Syracuse discovered his Buoyancy Principle while stepping into the bath tub, not while drudging away at school or at his papyrus. Is this a clue for all of us about creativity for the new decade?
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Holiday Music
We have a program called Holiday Music featuring the Piccola Carolers. I've actually been booking performances for carolers off and on since 1975--- more recently through Opera Piccola. What does this program have to do with our educational arts company, which provides access to the arts for under served audiences? A capella music in four part harmony sung by beautiful voices isn't heard that often outside church or temple; you could say we're making this kind of music accessible to people who are literally on the street. But beyond that, I find other common denominators with our mission, like building community, expressing voices of diverse cultures, etc. The longer I teach and work in the arts field, the more interested I become in ways the arts can help in people's lives, and how the arts intersect with so many other fields (philosophy, neurology, health/healing, literacy, youth development, career readiness).
I had the privilege of singing soprano in some of our quartets this season, as well as conducting my high school chorus/voice class in some holiday music performances. Music, like other performing arts, often thrusts me into a present tense euphoria that is better than any artificial high invented. Weighed down by problems and debt, I nevertheless experienced an inexpressible feeling of joy, and entered into a time "zone" that had nothing to do with the clock.
I'm reminded of the popular video that was going around the Internet about the brain scientist who experienced a stroke. Her description of the absence of left brain linear thinking, and the boundary-less state of perceiving the world through her right brain sounded similar to some of my experiences with music. We sang for a group of elderly Alzheimer's patients who appeared almost autistic in their lack of ability to speak or respond "normally." My high school chorus could not be more diverse. Yet the music seemed to float us into a mysterious mist of what? Vibrations? Sound waves? A softening happened, a unity of hearts that can't really be put into a pie chart for our upcoming grant proposals in January. In the season of gift giving, this is a gift I wish I could give to everyone.
I had the privilege of singing soprano in some of our quartets this season, as well as conducting my high school chorus/voice class in some holiday music performances. Music, like other performing arts, often thrusts me into a present tense euphoria that is better than any artificial high invented. Weighed down by problems and debt, I nevertheless experienced an inexpressible feeling of joy, and entered into a time "zone" that had nothing to do with the clock.
I'm reminded of the popular video that was going around the Internet about the brain scientist who experienced a stroke. Her description of the absence of left brain linear thinking, and the boundary-less state of perceiving the world through her right brain sounded similar to some of my experiences with music. We sang for a group of elderly Alzheimer's patients who appeared almost autistic in their lack of ability to speak or respond "normally." My high school chorus could not be more diverse. Yet the music seemed to float us into a mysterious mist of what? Vibrations? Sound waves? A softening happened, a unity of hearts that can't really be put into a pie chart for our upcoming grant proposals in January. In the season of gift giving, this is a gift I wish I could give to everyone.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Getting Along
Organizations, agencies or businesses that want their projects to go well apparently now appoint one person on the project team to be a "blocker." This is someone whose job it is to raise questions, object to the majority plan and generally inject alternatives into the group discussions. The theory behind it says that having a designated blocker prevents mistakes and produces a better end result. As Marty Nemko says, it's comforting when people agree with you, but you grow when they disagree. Yet so often we feel that people don't respect us, like us or love us when they disagree with us.
The blocker idea is actually quite comforting to me. It's similar to the role of the artist in society: to look at things differently from the established view and to prompt people to think. To encourage us to see things from a new perspective. Often when you're working with a group, there's a pressure to be nice, to go along with the flow, be a good team player. And I like that, too. But we need the blockers, even though they annoy with their seeming negativity and endless questions. I hope I can remember this thought and listen when a student tells me my method of staging a scene should be changed or a colleague tells me things have changed from last year. I try to remember this thought when irritated over the lack of "accord" at the recent Climate Change conference. Perhaps sometimes the wrestling over differing ideas, the struggle to answer difficult questions, is where deep learning and creativity takes place.
At this time of year, when I long to return to an illusory golden, perfect Christmas time that didn't exist, the amount of quarreling and tension at work and at home is highly unsatisfactory. The police of course know about increased domestic altercations during holidays. Why can't we all float along in a serene jello of agreement? Say 'cheese' and smile for the family or office photo just after a big argument over the budget or who empties the trash.
I'm stepping out of the frame. Give me the blockers with their doubts and questions. I embrace the struggle (for a moment, anyway, before I return to holiday bliss).
The blocker idea is actually quite comforting to me. It's similar to the role of the artist in society: to look at things differently from the established view and to prompt people to think. To encourage us to see things from a new perspective. Often when you're working with a group, there's a pressure to be nice, to go along with the flow, be a good team player. And I like that, too. But we need the blockers, even though they annoy with their seeming negativity and endless questions. I hope I can remember this thought and listen when a student tells me my method of staging a scene should be changed or a colleague tells me things have changed from last year. I try to remember this thought when irritated over the lack of "accord" at the recent Climate Change conference. Perhaps sometimes the wrestling over differing ideas, the struggle to answer difficult questions, is where deep learning and creativity takes place.
At this time of year, when I long to return to an illusory golden, perfect Christmas time that didn't exist, the amount of quarreling and tension at work and at home is highly unsatisfactory. The police of course know about increased domestic altercations during holidays. Why can't we all float along in a serene jello of agreement? Say 'cheese' and smile for the family or office photo just after a big argument over the budget or who empties the trash.
I'm stepping out of the frame. Give me the blockers with their doubts and questions. I embrace the struggle (for a moment, anyway, before I return to holiday bliss).
Monday, December 14, 2009
I'm late I'm late and it's all important
Late, late, late: name of the game this time of year. No matter how much is cut, there's always too much to do. The eyes of teachers everywhere glaze over. We can't help it. We have to do more and better for the kids so we work longer hours than contracted.
This week my students performed, and Opera Piccola presented a staged reading of my adaptation of "The Grinch" at our Second Sundays play reading/open mic. My vehicle became a packed junkyard of scenery frames, bags of props and costumes, sacks of food and pizza boxes-- not to mention piles of papers, and handkerchiefs for my cold. Oakland blurred by my car windows as I dove (yes a car and its driver can dive) from home to office to rehearsals to performances to food stores to copy stores to schools to... to.. my 94 year old mom's "retirement community" building. I alternately froze or dripped sweat as I stumbled with my stuff from facility to car to facility to car. Load in, load out, drop off, pick up. Hurry, hurry, we start singing at 4:00 and it's 3:45 and we're in traffic! Call them! No, cell phone out of battery! We forgot the necklace prop! Use anything, here's a string!
Relationships are intense this time of year, vacillating from love to anger in a blink. After an acrimonious argument about whether or not to perform their puppet skit about substance abuse, my students figured out how to solve their problem. The result convulsed the audience, which grasped the stern moral of the scene while laughing hysterically. Although they refused to take my advice on the scene, my students ended up doing exactly what I would have wanted. At an elementary school, a teacher who had previously seemed irritated from overwhelm when I showed up, greeted me this time with a cheery, "We're ready for you." A parent rages on the phone about wanting to kick her rebellious teenager out of the house.
What does the background mantra of "enjoy the season" mean in this whirl, where there is no time to stop and recognize? Moments of joy or tears emerge without warning. Hearing Maurice Sendak speak on the radio about a young French girl dying of cancer who can laugh at Sendak's drawings and comfort her mother in the same moment. Standing outside the Masonic Home in my caroling costume on a break, feeling hot spiced cider glow down my throat. A young boy who came late to the performance crying out "Oh, please!" when we asked him if we should do "The Grinch" play again so he could see it. Embracing fellow artists and students after a performance, feeling a happiness of closeness that flies in the face of overwhelm, loss or grief.
This week my students performed, and Opera Piccola presented a staged reading of my adaptation of "The Grinch" at our Second Sundays play reading/open mic. My vehicle became a packed junkyard of scenery frames, bags of props and costumes, sacks of food and pizza boxes-- not to mention piles of papers, and handkerchiefs for my cold. Oakland blurred by my car windows as I dove (yes a car and its driver can dive) from home to office to rehearsals to performances to food stores to copy stores to schools to... to.. my 94 year old mom's "retirement community" building. I alternately froze or dripped sweat as I stumbled with my stuff from facility to car to facility to car. Load in, load out, drop off, pick up. Hurry, hurry, we start singing at 4:00 and it's 3:45 and we're in traffic! Call them! No, cell phone out of battery! We forgot the necklace prop! Use anything, here's a string!
Relationships are intense this time of year, vacillating from love to anger in a blink. After an acrimonious argument about whether or not to perform their puppet skit about substance abuse, my students figured out how to solve their problem. The result convulsed the audience, which grasped the stern moral of the scene while laughing hysterically. Although they refused to take my advice on the scene, my students ended up doing exactly what I would have wanted. At an elementary school, a teacher who had previously seemed irritated from overwhelm when I showed up, greeted me this time with a cheery, "We're ready for you." A parent rages on the phone about wanting to kick her rebellious teenager out of the house.
What does the background mantra of "enjoy the season" mean in this whirl, where there is no time to stop and recognize? Moments of joy or tears emerge without warning. Hearing Maurice Sendak speak on the radio about a young French girl dying of cancer who can laugh at Sendak's drawings and comfort her mother in the same moment. Standing outside the Masonic Home in my caroling costume on a break, feeling hot spiced cider glow down my throat. A young boy who came late to the performance crying out "Oh, please!" when we asked him if we should do "The Grinch" play again so he could see it. Embracing fellow artists and students after a performance, feeling a happiness of closeness that flies in the face of overwhelm, loss or grief.
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