Can Creativity Exist in a Vacuum? And Who Gets to Say Yes?

 I've been reading The Idea Agent: The Handbook on Creative Processes, by Jonas Michanek and Andreas Breiler, for a grad class this summer.  Today's question:

Why Does No One Appreciate My Brilliant Idea?

In my mind, that translated to "My Brilliant Creation," which got me to thinking about a rather existential concept of self-fulfillment vs. the need for societal approval.  What causes people to create?  Sometimes it's boredom, sometimes necessity, sometimes intentional.  Let's assume that any creative energy expended for no reason other than personal satisfaction stems from boredom.  (No extrinsic reward - no grades, no compensation).  Necessity would be the opposite.  Assignments for school, work, or something that ultimately results in an item or idea worthy of sale, would fall in this category.  Intentional creativity would be akin to that classic scene in Apollo 13 where the engineers in Houston were challenged to use existing materials on the rocket to create a round filter from a square one.  

This all left me wondering whether creativity requires an audience.  (Insert tree-falling-in-forest analogy here.)  I've done millions of doodles in margins of agendas during meetings, some of which weren't immediately crumbled and filed in the circular file.  I've made play-doh snakes and LEGO creations and sand castles, and other temporary creations, only to crumble, crush, or break them apart, with few, and in some cases no, people viewing, appreciating, or critiquing the item.

In 2002, I travelled to NYC to the Whitney Museum, to view the Gee's Bend quilt exhibit.  The quilts on display had been made in the early 20th century in a small African-American community-Gee's Bend, Alabama (Arnett, Wardlaw, Livingston, & Beardsley, 2002).  While it was a fascinating collection of quilts, and the power of women to create out of almost nothing, there was literally NO CREATIVE INTENTION in terms of style, color or form, on the part of the makers.  One "quilt" consisted of a blue and white ticking fabric that had been part of a mattress, where someone had obviously given birth.  The giant stain left on the mattress had made it unusable, and the fabric had been re-purposed into a quilt. It was rather gross.  Yes, the quilts "spoke" about the ingenuity of the maternal spirit, and the task and lengths these women went to making something out of virutally nothing.  But nobody considered them to be artistic endeavors. In fact, there were videos playing throughout the exhibit where these women talked about how much they DETESTED sewing, and how amazed they were that anybody would want to even SAVE these quilts, let alone hang them in a museum and charge people to view them.  How could something be viewed as creative -- as art -- when the actual creator of the item didn't view it with that lens?

Art, creativity, and the creative spirit seem to be intertwined.  There really isn't, in my mind, a test worthy of a quantitative measurement of creativity -- despite Torrance's attempts to say otherwise.   What resonated with me was the last paragraph in Chapter 8; the single most important reason to engage in creative activity is tied to the individual "happier and more fulfilling life" that can be found in the creative process.

Because maybe, just maybe, that Kickstarter project that went unfunded this year will be celebrated in another form by another generation, much like those quilts.  And,  if the creator saw value and worth in the creation and received fulfillment from the process, then it was already worth it, right?

Arnett, W., Wardlaw, A. J., Livingston, J., & Beardsley, J. (2002). Gee’s bend to Rehoboth: The women and their Quilts. United States: Tinwood.

Michanek, J., & Breiler, A. (2013). The idea agent: The handbook on creative processes. London, United Kingdom: Routledge.

Who can take down Godzilla?

 

Yesterday, an administrator commented that she had awakened early, and noticed the full moon.  Suddenly all of the irrational behavior experienced recently had come into perspective.  For all educators know that a  full moon falling on a shortened week heading into a five day weekend for students, and a four day weekend for teachers pretty much is akin to the stars aligning for a Powerball win.

Except not in the happy way. 

Today was a classic example of the randomness that happens on a daily basis, which seems to be exacerbated by the lunar cycle.  In one single period, I uttered phrases that I've never uttered before, and expect I will never say again:

"Why no, I can't identify the superhero that has the best chance to take down Godzilla."

 (Why?  Because I'm currently trying to teach these students how to do a fabulously gorgeous Works Cited page in MLA Format.  But that is clearly not obvious to you, because you know I always just sit at my desk during class fantasizing about the qualities and shortcomings of superheroes.)

Things quieted down for a while, as the students worked on finishing their rough drafts of their essays, which were due at the end of class.  There were questions, there were redirections, there were bulgy-eyed cows and foam brain stress balls supporting the determined.  For the most part, it seemed like we were on track to finish the essays as planned.  Some particularly diligent folks finished early, and took out books to read for the remainder of class.

And then the debate happened.  It was quiet, at first, and then escalated requiring redirection.  

"What color do you think Jesus was?"

My brain asked, "Is this relevant to your career essay?"  My mouth stayed silent.

"Do you think Jesus was white or black?"

Once again, my brain had many a witty comment to make, all of which were suppressed. 

("Okay, seriously, this is a great topic to research, but I'm pretty sure that none of you is aspiring to be the Messiah, and we're focusing on FINISHING these essays before the end of class. "   "You don't need to walk on water, you JUST NEED TO FINISH THIS ESSAY", etc.)

"I'm pretty sure he was..." 

"All right!  Get back to work!  FOCUS, people, FOCUS!  You have minutes left to complete this, or you will be doomed to all sorts of grueling work over your break -- with no actual BREAK in your weekend!  Finish it, print it, staple it, upload it -- just get it done!" 

It seemed simple enough.  A plea from the desperate.  A statement of truth, allowing the pact we'd made two weeks ago to meet the established deadlines, allowing the break to be homework free, to be just that.   And had the moon not been full, it might have happened.

"What do you think Jesus used as chapstick?"

You know you're a teacher when you simultaneously shake your head in disbelief, look stern, laugh internally, send an email to your teacher-friend who knows these kids, and then regain control by uttering the words:

"OBVIOUSLY He used Olive Oil.  Get back to work."

Happy Spring Break -- whenever yours starts.  

T - 24 hours, + an Inservice Day for me.

 

Twin Peaks

In the early 90's, my husband and I were drawn into the investigation of the death of Laura Palmer, homecoming queen, discovered wrapped tightly in plastic near the river in Twin Peaks, Washington.  Unlike the Netflix fascination with the death of Teresa Halbach by Steven Avery, we watched the brilliantly-written/bizarrely-woven tale of Twin Peaks for two seasons, as Agent Cooper from the FBI delved into the clues, chatting with the Log Lady, the vertically challenged dancer, and allegedly-hallucinated giants, all while obsessing about the "damned fine cup of coffee" served at the local diner.

It was weird.  So weird, that even when we couldn't quite figure out what the heck was going on, we couldn't turn away.  Although Twin Peaks aired for only two seasons, prior to its short-lived revival a couple of years ago, there are many 40 and 50somethings who nod in understanding when phrases from the cult favorite come up in conversation.  In hindsight, I wonder why we spent so many hours watching something that remains in my mind as being nothing more than a bad head trip, rather than a brilliantly-woven tale of intrigue.

Flash Forward

Given that yesterday was the last day of Mardi Gras, it seemed appropriate to reference flashing in a blog about education, right?  There were more than a few people flashing their twin peaks for beads in the French Quarter last night, I am sure. Honestly, I've given little thought to the people of Twin Peaks, Washington, since the turn of the century, aside from attempting to revisit my youth when the series was revived a few years ago.  Yet my mind has been fixated on Twin Peaks -- rather --- twin peaks -- since 3rd period yesterday.

My class was divided into two circles of students, assigned with a task to illustrate and differentiate between qualitative and quantitative observation.  As often happens, one group finished the task far more quickly than the other, and were waiting for the alternate group to complete their task before the "next step" in the lesson.   It was during that brief five minutes that I overheard the words 'shrooms, high, duct tape, and toothpaste, while witnessing an intense "E.F. Hutton Talking" kind of listening happening among the finished group members.

"Yes, Mrs. Heydt.  All you need to do is rub toothpaste on your nipples and cover them with duct tape."  

Seriously?  Who says this to a 54 year old teacher?  More importantly, who even discovers or considers such behavior?  

Instantly, there was a flurry of searching Urban Dictionary and Google.  And yes, it's true.  Kids are actually attempting to create hallucinogenic experiences by rubbing toothpaste on their twin peaks, (check the Urban Dictionary!), and adding duct tape patches to seal the deal, protect their clothing, and allegedly extend the duration of the high.  It's referred to as "Pasting."

Most of the online discussion about this phenomenon appears on sites frequented by kids like Reddit, KnowyourMeme, and yahooquestions, and that only causes me to become more concerned.  Heck, when I was a kid, I used to put toothpaste on zits on my face before I went to bed, hoping for blemish-free  skin by morning, so I could have been accused of using the dentifrice for "medicinal purposes" myself.  I spoke to our School Resources Officer (SRO), who is usually In the Know about the popular trends in drugs and hallucinogenics, and he was equally clueless.

There is some potentially credible science available indicating that the makeup of the human nipple allows for greater absorption of chemicals into the bloodstream, and that there is the possibility that "Pasting" actually may alter reality.  Urban Dictionary has definitions for Pasting dating back nearly four years.  Youtube contains more than a few videos of insanity regarding this topic.

The reality is that kids will continue to "be kids" while demanding to be treated like adults.  There are hundreds of documented cases of kids who accepted the "Cinnamon Challenge"  or "Chubby Bunny" and wound up in the emergency room.   As educators, it is our responsibility to monitor, vigilantly, the conversation and trends in our classrooms and cafeterias, and attempt to deter the desire to alter reality as a means of escape or acceptance by their peers.

It's tough, though.  Especially when the story overheard is so seemingly stupid that your first thought is the mental image of the associated pain of ripping duct tape off of your sensitive skin.

My comment to my students?  "Why would you try it?   It may kill you, and you'll be forever-known as the kid who died with duct taped nipples.  Not much of a legacy, right?"

Is that enough to deter the behavior?  I certainly hope so.  Because beyond that, I'm fairly speechless.

#reflectiveteacher #drugabuse #urbandictionary

Moo-Reese and the Indestructable Phone.

Virtually Indestructable

It was the end of the period, and the majority of the class was gathered at the computer cart near the door, pretending to put their computers away.  In reality, they were stalling, jockeying for position, as more than half of them were headed to the cafeteria next for lunch.  Amid the gaggle of feet shuffling, I saw a cellphone drop, out of the corner of my eye.  It was quickly retrieved, and then the unimaginable happened.

It was SPIKED into the floor by its owner, who picked it up and proudly proclaimed, "the guy at the Verizon Store was WRONG!  This phone is NOT indestructible!"

I stared, in stunned disbelief, as this freshman in high school was doing something akin to an end zone victory dance because he had proven the Verizon dude wrong.  My amazement was short-lived, as he then cut his fingers on the shattered screen, claiming that the phone still worked.  In short order, it started to smoke and heat up, and then shocked him as he attempted to reboot it.

Honestly, I was still pretty confused.  Not nearly as confused as the administrator who got the phone call when I sent the young lad to surrender his phone to the secure confines of an envelope in the office, to be picked up at the end of the day.  And, I bet, not nearly as confused as the mother who received the phone call (initiated by the principal) from her son explaining what had happened.    I was told by the para-educator, who escorted the proud young man to the office, that he made it about halfway to the office before the sense of accomplishment turned to the sobering reality of the situation.

It's days like these that I come home claiming, "I just can't make this stuff up!"

Laurence Steinberg, the esteemed expert on child psychology, and professor at Temple University, compares the teenage brain to a car with a great accelerator, and a really weak brake.  Examples like the smashed phone certainly abound, with varying motivational forces behind the escalating behavior.  Often it's peer pressure, either internal - "wait until they see THIS" -- or external, "CHUG, CHUG, CHUG"...  you get the idea.  As I reflected on this, though, I couldn't help but see a potential correlation between the teen brain - okay, THIS teen's brain, and the Fixed vs. Growth Mindset studies of Carol Dweck.

It's a new semester, and I am still struggling to learn all the names of the kids in my five classes, so I can't really speak to the motivation and willingness to learn of this particular individual.  I'm still in that Making Meaningful Connections mode, trying to prove that I am an adult, I sympathize with their hatred of research and writing, but we're in this together, and I believe in them.  I've studied CDT data, read IEPs, highlighted SDI's (Specially Designed Instruction), and have noted dozens of accommodations in the Differentiation Section of my lesson plans.  I've pulled out all the stops -- the basket of "fiddlers" is back, including the bulgy-eyed cow and an assortment of stress balls.

It probably won't surprise you to know that the bulgy-eyed cow has been named MOO-Reese, and now owns an origami hat, with a promise of a top hat, and maybe a baseball hat, to be fashioned and added to his collection of chapeaus.   We're connecting, we're uniting in common, and not so common, interests, and learning to trust each other.  

And this teacher is choosing her words very carefully this semester -- because I certainly know that at least one young man refuses to be told that he "can't" do something, without rising to the challenge.

Will there be a new phone on Monday?  Only time will tell.  Will there be a new hat for Moo-Reese?  We can dream, can't we?  It's a new semester, with limitless possibilities in my mind.  But I'm going to listen to Laurence Steinberg and rein in some of the choices, for the sanity of all of us.

 

 

What is Risky?

photo courtesy morguefile.com

Randomness abounds, this time of year.  There are two - count them - two, days left before final exams begin.   I love this time of year, despite the constant revisions to the piles of research papers, the pleas for "just one more chance" to do some extra credit to boost that grade, and the endless game of cat-pursuing-mouse I am playing with students who owe me work.  

Why do I chase them?  Because it's easier than filling out the paperwork for an Incomplete on the report card.  If I catch them now, it's all over next week.  If I don't, well, chances are darned good that next semester's class will have a familiar face staring at me for another 90 days, repeating the course.

The love isn't for the thrill of the hunt, it's for the thrill of the presentations.   The Themes in Literature classes have dug out their Inquiry Questions just one more time to dig deep for their group presentations.  It was during that time today that Taylor said that she was still waiting.

For what?

The answer to a blog post from December, 2014.   

What is risky?

risk·y

ˈriskē/

adjective

adjective: risky; comparative adjective: riskier; superlative adjective: riskiest

full of the possibility of danger, failure, or loss.

"it was much too risky to try to disarm him"

synonyms:

dangerous, hazardous, perilous, high-risk, fraught with danger, unsafe, insecure, precarious, touch-and-go, treacherous, parlous

Thanks, Google, for the definition.  

Risky is not a thing in my classroom.  (Which stands to reason, what with it being an adjective, according to Google.  Yet gifted kids seem to fear risk more than the soulless eyes of zombies chasing them.)  In fact, risky is the exact opposite of anything.  Risky is NOTHING.  

Yes, I'm talking in circles, and yes, I'm still squinting at my computer screen as a victim of Post Concussion Syndrome, having overdosed on my alotted screen time for today.  Risky is something that I dwell upon, think about, and bemuse much more than I should.  To me, Risky is the very idea of any of my students failing to face danger, failure or loss, because they are too afraid to try.  

What causes kids, particularly gifted kids, to fail to try?  Well, heck, most of the time it has something to do with those ROUND SHAPED grades.  You know, Bs, Cs, Ds.  The fear of a grade that doesn't look like the side of a 60s swingset, complete with crossbar.  (You know what I mean -- we all hung upside down by our knees from that bar, or teased someone who did, with a rhyme about London, France, and underpants.)

Tomorrow the TDO Presentations begin.  Talent Development Opportunities are all about risk.  There's no target, no rubric.  The only promise is the guarantee of a 95%, regardless of the success of the project.  In fact, the only way to NOT do well on TDOs in my class is to turn in reflection papers (due 3 x a semester) late.  Those reflections are only scored for their reflective quality, and not the success or failure of the project.

So, Taylor, and the rest of my TDO Creators, What is risky?

Absolutely nothing.  No chance of danger, failure or loss.  You're all winners in my book.  Move forward, bare your souls, share your accomplishments, and admit to your failures.  And realize that every single thing you did, that mattered as you did it, has value to you.  Find it, recognize it, embrace it.  Learn from it, move forward, carrying that learning in your pocket.  Motivate your classmates with your stories, inspire your teacher to draw on another page in her barebook, and start thinking about what happens in two short weeks, when the 2nd semester begins.

Because if you think you faced risk this semester, just wait!

Climb Every Mountain.

I can't tell you off the top of my head exactly how many letters of recommendation I've written in seventeen years of teaching.  Between letters to colleges, potential employers, scholarship committees, and elite summer programs, I have amassed quite a collection of letters in my "Recommendations" file, and frequently scan the list of previous students, trying to find another of similar character or stature.   Most of the time, when writing recommendation letters, the recipient is entirely unfamiliar with the candidate, and it is up to the recommender (aka me) to introduce my exceptional student to them.

The same can not be said for letters headed to the pinnacle of Scouting achievement.  Climbing Eagle Mountain, to the rank of Eagle Scout, is a journey that truly begins with a single step.  Beginning as a tiny Tiger Cub, the mottoes are rehearsed, the derbies are run, the character is built -- all the while, the scoutmasters view each and every step, watching the refinement of the young man, and his character.  As a teacher, writing a letter of recommendation TO the scouts ABOUT a student hoping to achieve the highest rank, is particularly difficult -- honestly, what can I say about this fine young man that THEY don't already know?  Regardless of the challenge, writing the letter is both a privilege and an honor.  It also offers time to pause and reflect on the young man that that tiny boy, that I've known for years, has become.  

Today, I attended the Eagle Scout Ceremony for James. 

I first laid eyes on James at the Pennsylvania Association for Gifted Education conference.  He was four years old, half asleep in an umbrella stroller, after a day at the Philadelphia Zoo with his father.  His mother and brother were attending the conference, and this tiny blonde boy was introduced to me, barely able to keep his eyes open, let alone make eye contact or shake my hand.  "He'll be in your class soon!" I was told.  

And in short time he was.  mastering tasks, skipping grades, taking high school classes, while other kids his age were sitting in elementary school classrooms.   His interests are far-reaching, and so are his accomplishments.  He's a master musician, a scout, an historian who has gone to Nationals in National History Day competition.  He's spent 66 nights camping with the scouts, and earned several dozen merit badges.  And you know what the highlight of the ceremony for me was?

Seeing James admit to, and share, an unfinished, highly mangled, handwoven basket.

Climb Every Mountain.

Go ahead, cue the music from Sound of Music in your head.  (More than a few of us in attendance were subconsciously humming it, given the many references to the "path up Eagle Mountain." )   The journey to greatness -- any greatness -- is a single step.  (yada, yada, yada...)  And the other thing about that journey, which is rarely shown or discussed, is the unfinished, highly mangled, handwoven basket.  Those who know me well know that I am desperately trying to create an acronym out of UHMHWB that can serve as a grand motivational tool for others -- but even I know that won't catch on.  Still, I applaud James for sharing a failure in the midst of his celebration of achievement.

My friend, Seth, the author of Khembond's Corner, recently waxed poetic on this very topic:

"I hate to tell them, but failure is always an option and sometimes even a desired outcome. It builds resilience, a trait that is missing in the next generation. It builds grit. It educates us, if we allow it too. It provides necessary feedback. If we are honest we should be asking to push ourselves to the failing point just to make ourselves better."

I've spent most of my break reading Little Bets:  How Breakthrough Ideas Emerge from Small Discoveries, by Peter Sims.  Seeing James' basket today, served as a reminder to me of the importance of admitting to, and embracing, failure.  Sims' book illustrates the importance of this as well, in its study of some pretty powerful failures that motivated success for Steve Jobs, comedian Chris Rock, architect Frank Gehry, and the teams at Pixar.  The embracing of failure by each of these heavyweights has led to an entire study of the power of failure.

So James, congratulations on attaining the rank of Eagle Scout.  More importantly, congratulations on failing at basket-weaving -- and admitting it.  Don't throw away that basket.  Peter Sims may be writing about you in the next few years, and need pictures for his next book.  Meanwhile, enjoy the view from the top of Eagle Mountain.

 

Happy New Year: Resolutions and Inspirations!

"One of the advantages of being disorganized is that one is always having surprising discoveries."  - Winnie the Pooh.

Shortly after midnight, I awoke to the wonders of 2016.  I've never been a big New Year's Eve celebrator, and last night was no exception, so a bedtime before midnight shouldn't come as a surprise to those who know me well.  The concussion confusion continues, particularly when I'm surrounded by combinations of music and multiple conversations, so I opted out of the gracious invitations to celebrate with friends.  

I spent the evening cleaning and organizing my sewing space, discovering all sorts of projects - some started, some merely stacks of patterns and fabric, waiting to be made.  I emptied the closet, and baskets, and boxes, and, well, all sorts of containers, working my hardest to make sense out of what I'd stashed away at some previous time. Maybe 2016 will be the year where I finally know where everything has a place, and I remember where that place actually is.  For during the purge, I found not only Bruce's birthday present, but the elusive Claude Girioux ornament for Kristin that has been MIA since Christmas 2014.  

There's nothing like a brain injury to force one into organizing for the sake of sanity.  Suffice it to say, there are now piles for donation, piles that have been bagged and hauled out to the trash, and a significant pile of things to go to school on Monday.  

Yes, school.

Resolutions and Inspirations...

About a week ago, I discovered the Teacher Resolutions from the folks at thepensivesloth.com.  A number of the resolutions resonated with me -- particularly #4 - I will resist the urge to shove things into drawers and cabinets, because doing so is not the same as "organizing" my classroom."

I gotta say, in my own defense, that sometimes this allegedly bad habit can lead to some amazing inspiration.  It's easy, halfway through the year, to look at the second semester as that old line, "2nd verse, same as the first," and simply change the dates on the lesson plans from the first semester, reteaching the same lessons in the same old way.  Much like the excitement of unwrapping Christmas gifts on the 25th of December, I've discovered new inspiration in the stashes in my sewing room -- and am actually looking forward to digging through some cabinets at school to see what surprises await.  

I'm excited to return to school full time on Monday, for the first time since September.  I've got that Labor Day feeling - sketching out the future, and refining the past, which is an unusual feeling to have in the dead of winter.  I've never been the countdown person (see Resolution #12), but it's mostly because I 1)LOVE MY JOB, and 2) am not organized or mathematical enough to keep accurate count.

So January begins, and my heart is just a bit more excited about getting back to the classroom.  For there is only one thing for teachers that is more exciting than the infinite possibilities of teaching every single day - and that would be the giddy anticipation of the winter right of passage - a 2 hour delay, when we breathe, seek further inspiration on Pintrest, and clean out a few closets or drawers in search of more things to box up and take to school.  After all, the classroom is truly my second home.

Happy New Year!  May 2016 be the year or taking risks, daring to fail, and wondering about limitless possibilities.