It's Awards Season! Now is the time of year when students are being recognized for their work in the arts, and that's a good thing. Many of us slogged through our own student years with little to no attention being paid to our work, either by our peers, our non-arts teachers or even our own parents. For some, school-wide or community-wide recognition was almost non-existent, let alone state or national honors. So as Teaching Artists, we should be happy to embrace opportunities for our students' work in the arts to receive recognition.
To have a piece of student artwork selected for a juried show is exciting, both for the student and the teacher. For the cast and crew of a high school musical to receive accolades for their efforts is encouraging to the students, and validating to the director. To see arts students receive a small fraction of the attention that has traditionally heaped upon athletes may even fill us with a bit of smug satisfaction. At last, justice!
And yet, some of these awards programs raise troubling questions.
What, exactly, are students being honored for? By definition, awards programs are fundamentally product-oriented, and that's not inherently bad. After all, in performing arts the ultimate summative assessment is the performance; in visual arts, the artwork itself. No one is giving awards for the four ceramic pieces that cracked in the kiln, or the disastrous tech rehearsal that lasted seven hours. And yet, the only way we get to the final work that can be judged is by being faithful to the artistic process that brings the work from concept to reality. So being evaluated on the final product is not necessarily wrong.
But making the final product the most important thing, rather than the daily learning that comes out of the process, can potentially do our students a huge disservice. As the focus increases on the product, its easy for the adults involved to invest too much of their own ego in the success of the final outcome. Adults may begin to draw their own validation from the awards their students' work receives, rather than from the learning that has taken place during the process of creating that work. (For more on this, see my earlier post The Artist and His Ego.)
Too much emphasis on awards can cause students to value their own work based solely on the opinions of others, rather than on their own personal growth. We need to teach our students that sometimes their work is being evaluated on a largely subjective basis. Although we may use rubrics in our own teaching, often awards programs are driven by nothing more than the personal taste of the adjudicators. In this respect, students are subject to the same whims of trend and taste that professional artists are accustomed to; think of the annual roundup of common-knowledge explanations about why some particular movie was not nominated for an Academy Award (Comedies don't win Best Picture!) or the Tony-timing dilemma (Opened too early in the season! Opened too late in the season!)
Ultimately, students will continue studying the arts because somewhere along the way they have discovered the link between themselves and the art form. It is this opportunity for expression and exploration of their essential humanity that keeps them coming back. When we are able to guide students into an artistic experience that brings those kind of personal rewards, then awards naturally stay in proper perspective. The true rewards of an arts education will still shine bright long after the trophies have lost their luster, forgotten on a dusty shelf.
Showing posts with label process. Show all posts
Showing posts with label process. Show all posts
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The Blessings of a Missed Entrance
“Isn’t wonderful how the show just comes together at the end!” The curtain has fallen, and someone’s mom, or grandma, or doting auntie is all smiles. Congratulations are certainly due to the student actors and crew members, and although I always smile and nod, my inner monologue is expressing anything but agreement.
As every Teaching Artist knows, there is little left to chance in any arts education experience. It takes a great deal of strategic thinking, careful planning and plain hard work to achieve the desired outcome, especially an outcome that looks like it all just “comes together at the end.”
Like most arts educators, I work very hard to keep the focus on the students’ process throughout the rehearsal period and let the final product take care of itself. However, to do that requires a strict daily rehearsal plan, a willingness to accept imperfection along the way and the constant reminder that adult egos have no place in arts education. When Teaching Artists focus on the quality of students’ works as validation of their own worth as artists, the students are no longer being served.
Theatre is my particular discipline, and I certainly love a good show as much as the next person. I want my students to have a great experience during the rehearsal process, culminating in a production in which they can be genuinely proud of what they have accomplished. I am focused on student success every moment of every rehearsal. I use every teaching skill and performance trick I have accumulated over many years as an actor, director, writer and teacher. I explain, encourage, cajole, insist, cheerlead, demonstrate and inspire. I do whatever it takes to get the best performance from every member of the cast. But ultimately, they must be allowed to fail.
This is the secret weapon of the first dress rehearsal. By allowing students to fail while still in the protected environment of rehearsal, we are giving them the greatest educational opportunity possible. Through a myriad of mistakes, dropped lines, misplaced props, mangled dances and the inevitable missed entrance, students are forced to take responsibility for their own work. It is through these “mistakes” that the greatest learning happens. The student who misses his entrance, and accepts personal responsibility for doing so, will never miss that entrance again.
If there is truly magic in the theatre, it happens somewhere between the first tech/dress rehearsal and opening night. Grounded in hours of preparation, student actors are finally prepared to enter the crucible of live performance. If I have done my job well, they will be able to do so with confidence and joy. But ultimately, they must take the final steps on their own.
As every Teaching Artist knows, there is little left to chance in any arts education experience. It takes a great deal of strategic thinking, careful planning and plain hard work to achieve the desired outcome, especially an outcome that looks like it all just “comes together at the end.”
Like most arts educators, I work very hard to keep the focus on the students’ process throughout the rehearsal period and let the final product take care of itself. However, to do that requires a strict daily rehearsal plan, a willingness to accept imperfection along the way and the constant reminder that adult egos have no place in arts education. When Teaching Artists focus on the quality of students’ works as validation of their own worth as artists, the students are no longer being served.
Theatre is my particular discipline, and I certainly love a good show as much as the next person. I want my students to have a great experience during the rehearsal process, culminating in a production in which they can be genuinely proud of what they have accomplished. I am focused on student success every moment of every rehearsal. I use every teaching skill and performance trick I have accumulated over many years as an actor, director, writer and teacher. I explain, encourage, cajole, insist, cheerlead, demonstrate and inspire. I do whatever it takes to get the best performance from every member of the cast. But ultimately, they must be allowed to fail.
This is the secret weapon of the first dress rehearsal. By allowing students to fail while still in the protected environment of rehearsal, we are giving them the greatest educational opportunity possible. Through a myriad of mistakes, dropped lines, misplaced props, mangled dances and the inevitable missed entrance, students are forced to take responsibility for their own work. It is through these “mistakes” that the greatest learning happens. The student who misses his entrance, and accepts personal responsibility for doing so, will never miss that entrance again.
If there is truly magic in the theatre, it happens somewhere between the first tech/dress rehearsal and opening night. Grounded in hours of preparation, student actors are finally prepared to enter the crucible of live performance. If I have done my job well, they will be able to do so with confidence and joy. But ultimately, they must take the final steps on their own.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
The Perfect vs. The Good
Don't let the perfect be the enemy of the good.- Gretchen Rubin, The Happiness Project
As artists, many of us have devoted a considerable amount of our lives to the pursuit of the perfect. One more brushstroke, one more run-through, one more edit, one more "I'll give you four for nothing, ah five-six-seven-eight!" Yet if we are honest, perfection has always remained out of reach. It is easy to look at a classic work of art, and see perfection. But chances are, Da Vinci probably had some second thoughts about the Mona Lisa.
As Teaching Artists, we not only have to fight our own unmet needs for perfection, but we also need to stop expecting it from our students. This doesn't mean we should not have high expectations for our students. In fact, we do our students a disservice by failing to believe they are capable of producing high quality work. But we should be careful to always emphasize the process over the product. The acquisition of skills and discovery of process will last longer than any final project. This becomes an especially important balancing act in a school environment where regular assessments are the order of the day. Meaningful assessments in arts education should always be based upon individual student growth and measurable skill acquisition, never upon that mysterious thing we call "talent."
At some point, the student must take ownership of his own work. No matter the level of skill or sophistication, real artistic growth occurs when the student realizes that ultimately, his own art belongs only to him. This individuation of the student artist from the Teaching Artist only occurs when the the teacher steps back, gives his final critique and lets the student claim the work as his own.
As artists, many of us have devoted a considerable amount of our lives to the pursuit of the perfect. One more brushstroke, one more run-through, one more edit, one more "I'll give you four for nothing, ah five-six-seven-eight!" Yet if we are honest, perfection has always remained out of reach. It is easy to look at a classic work of art, and see perfection. But chances are, Da Vinci probably had some second thoughts about the Mona Lisa.
As Teaching Artists, we not only have to fight our own unmet needs for perfection, but we also need to stop expecting it from our students. This doesn't mean we should not have high expectations for our students. In fact, we do our students a disservice by failing to believe they are capable of producing high quality work. But we should be careful to always emphasize the process over the product. The acquisition of skills and discovery of process will last longer than any final project. This becomes an especially important balancing act in a school environment where regular assessments are the order of the day. Meaningful assessments in arts education should always be based upon individual student growth and measurable skill acquisition, never upon that mysterious thing we call "talent."
At some point, the student must take ownership of his own work. No matter the level of skill or sophistication, real artistic growth occurs when the student realizes that ultimately, his own art belongs only to him. This individuation of the student artist from the Teaching Artist only occurs when the the teacher steps back, gives his final critique and lets the student claim the work as his own.
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