Creativity is the opposite of conformity and is nurtured by a
supportive, positive environment that allows students to engage in
creative play and honest communication; a place where their fears and
vulnerabilities are, at least, acknowledged and not ridiculed.
On this last workday before the July 4th holiday weekend, I would like to share with you a piece by Linda Starkweather, who teaches theater at Eastridge High School’s School of Performing Arts in Irondequoit, New York.
Linda’s article appeared in New York Teacher, the magazine from my good friends and colleagues at the New York State United Teachers (NYSUT), which is the state-wide teachers’ union in New York.
It’s a touching article, from someone in the trenches.
Click here to read POV: The Challenge of Teaching Art in the Public School System
Here’s an excerpt:
Most teachers have heard, and indignantly bristle, at the mean-spirited
phrase, Those who can do, do. Those who can’t do, teach. But the
dilemma facing public schools — with the realization that the arts
might be important, if not essential, in cultivating the imagination
and creativity of our children in order to reverse the blind progress
of a culture gone mad with greed and individual success — is that they
need artists to teach the arts. And artists, by their very nature, do
not respond to institutionalized fear as motivation. The world has
become a place of terror and uncertainty, fueled by institutions that
have learned the secret of controlling their members quite effectively
by using fear. Although our government has the monopoly on this
strategy, most institutions are operating within that same paradigm.
linda starkweather says
Richard,
you were kind enough to share my POV article, The Challenge of Teaching Art in the Public School System, with your readers last year. I am now an Ex-teacher, in part I suspect, due to that article. I have just submitted a follow up piece. I don’t know if they will publish it, but I thought you might be interested in the rest of that story, so here it is . . .
Our Stories Do Matter – by Linda Starkweather
Former teacher of theatre at Eastridge High School in Irondequoit, NY
In June of 2009 NYT published my Point of View essay The challenge of teaching art in the public school system. One year later, after 14 years of teaching, I was laid off. Actually they offered me part of a job, a point six to be exact, which in real life, being a teacher of theatre which includes afternoon rehearsals and having an hour commute one way to school, was really a full time job for part time pay. I said “no, thank you.” The unraveling of my relatively short teaching career began just before I wrote that article in 2009, which was in response to the following experience.
I was invited to serve on a year long committee to evaluate and improve our district wide arts program. How exciting to be asked to help shape the future of the arts in our schools! I would finally get the opportunity to examine inequities like the $400 stipend for producing the fall play vs. the $4,000 stipend for coaching a varsity sport, or the minuscule budget, allocated district wide, for visual arts materials. In order for our committee to improve the arts program, It seemed logical to identify what wasn’t working – to share, for example the frustration of being a performing arts teacher under five different principles with five different agendas, in the same number of years. The point, I thought, was to allow all of the district’s teaching artists to tell their stories, good and bad, in order to better serve the arts in our district.
Well, my bubble was burst pretty quickly when I was hauled into the administrator’s office the Monday following an all day committee session only to be chastised for telling my personal story as a struggling arts teacher. Two years later, I am still haunted by three pronouncements uttered by that administrator during that humiliating inquisition. First she said:
“Our personal stories don’t matter.”
Through my tears, I responded to this first decree in the most enlightened way I could muster at the time. “Oh, but our stories do matter. All we have are our stories. Art is uniquely about our stories: Visual art is the personal depiction of how we see the world, dance is a pure expression of our personal or collective stories, music is the heightened expression of what it means to be human, and the theatre – in it’s very essence – is about our stories and the naked courage it takes to tell them.” I then asked her “if I am not allowed to tell my story, how am I supposed to motivate my students to tell theirs? How do I encourage the personal truth-telling that is at the heart of all art forms and the beginning of healing for our world? “ She responded:
“Well, we are not responsible for each other.”
Oh! But we are responsible for each other, I softly remarked. We are always talking about our ‘school family’ and the need to catch kids before they fall through the cracks. We have a dysfunctional world, in part, because we think we are not responsible for each other. I was still crying at this point, and I felt it was important to explain that my tears were not a sign of weakness, but an honest reaction to the disrespect I felt was being awarded to something I was passionate about and something I know is worth fighting for. I think my vulnerability threw her a bit because at that point all she could manage to say was . . .
“Well, you chose this profession.”
There was no need to respond to that statement. The message was loud and clear. The Arts, and artists in particular are not respected nor valued in a system that measures success only by numbers.
The remainder of the year included admonishments for posters I put up that read “How about No Child Left Unkind”, and another that read “Shakespeare – providing continuous employment for over 400 years!” I was also that I had better get my class numbers up – even though it meant recruiting students away from other teachers which may have put them at risk of loosing their job due to under enrollment. I had a proposal for an original, well planned, production of Shakespeare rejected in lieu of yet another mounting of the popular high school musical Annie. I began day one of my second semester facing eight, volatile, at-risk, freshman boys who were surreptitiously enrolled in my third year Acting Shakespeare class without any warning. I came to love them, but it pretty much sabotaged the class for the other eight students who really were serious about tackling the Bard. Whether consciously orchestrated or not, my superiors were clearly showing me the door. I’m sure my bumper sticker didn’t help my cause either. It reads, “Artists are here to disturb the peace.”
So, why tell my story today? Selfishly, I’m hoping that, just like in the theatre, sharing my tale will be cathartic – for myself and perhaps others who have had similar experiences. I am so weary of replaying that unsettling day in my administrator’s office over and over in my head. It’s time for me to let go and to move on. But, this is also a cautionary tale for those passionate, idealistic spirits that want to change the world through teaching. It is a reminder that sometimes the only thing more difficult than speaking the truth is hearing the truth spoken. And we have no control over the reaction of those who don’t necessarily want to hear from us.
I miss my kids and I miss my dedicated colleagues, but leaving the system has freed me to teach in the way I am convinced is of value – from a passionate, truthful, uncompromising platform that supports the belief that . . . “Our deepest calling is to grow into our own authentic self-hood, whether or not it conforms to some image of who we ought to be. As we do so, we will not only find the joy that every human being seeks–we will also find our path of authentic service in the world.” – Parker J. Palmer