The other morning as I waited for the espresso to make its gravity-defying journey into the upper chamber, I paced the kitchen in despair. My literature review was allowing me to delve into many pockets of insight regarding Maxine's work but not one bit of the reading mentioned the "lived life." I've been making my own connections with terms like "life world" and "situatedness" but the "l-l" grail was out of reach.
In a recent comment to Allan DiBiase, I noted that I have found myself "linking arms" with the word "embodiment." Likewise with "situatedness." As with the "lived life," these are words/terms that prick up my ears (to borrow from John Lahr and Joe Orton).
This past summer I had a theatre artist in a graduate arts education course that I teach. In my teaching--which utilizes an approach developed by the Lincoln Center Institute based on Maxine Greene's philosophy--there is lots of reflection and sharing. When words or phrases emerge that prick up my ears, I write them down on the whiteboard, or chart paper. It's not unusual for the walls to be covered in words and phrases by the week's end. My student was excited by the word tent we were living in. "It's because I'm a theatre person," she explained. "I LOVE words."
As my roommate in Queens (and now a philosophy professor in the Midwest) used to say, "mmm, texty!"
"Lived life," "embodiment" and "situatedness" are mmm, texty. They have mouth feel for me. It may indeed be a theatre thing, but they represent a sensibility that can be physicalized in my mind/body. While "embodiment" is low in my anatomy, around the hips and my center of gravity, "situatedness" is all about the mouth and its articulators--the lips, the teeth, the tip of the tongue.
I have decided to use "embodiment" and "situatedness" as part a framework for how I will present my review of the literature. And because odd numbers are more interesting than even ones, I have added "aesthetic." This third term is important given the uniqueness with which Maxine approaches the term.
And while imagination is a theme that comes up over and over again in the writings of others on Maxine's work, I want to make sure that my work on Maxine Greene is aligned with "aesthetics." There has been a tendency to equate "imagination" with "aesthetic" and it is simply wrong.
Besides, "aesthetic" has a far more interesting mouth feel than "imagination."
Showing posts with label aesthetic inquiry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label aesthetic inquiry. Show all posts
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
How do I summarize?
I have an opportunity in the next week to teach a session of undergrad students enrolled in a historical and philosophical perspectives of education course. It will serve as a demonstration of my teaching abilities for a search committee looking to hire a new faculty member. I will, of course, devote the session to Maxine Greene.
In doing my prep I found myself running in circles. Not twisting in productive spirals, but re-meeting myself every 360 degrees in repetitive loops. Why? WHY?? The "why" is waged in a quandary with "how do I summarize Maxine Greene's philosophy?"
Well, there is the "doing philosophy" which I find to be incredibly helpful, especially for newbies encountering philo-speak for the first time.
There's Maxine's particular take on aesthetics and how it differs from the more pragmatic approach of Dewey.
There's the sheer difficulty of life with its exclusionary impulses that shapes her approach to phenomenology and the ideals of social justice.
There's the "without answers" quality of the arts which provide timeless questions for both students and teachers to ponder.
There's the wonder of a 93-year old, female Jewish intellectual living across East 89th Street from the Guggenheim Museum who has stated that "Consciousness doesn't come automatically; it comes through being alive, awake, curious, and often furious."
And there's the value and richness of the "lived life."
It comes down to doing and being. Not an easy conceit for most college juniors especially within a 45-minute span. But the doing part is incredibly important and accessible. The being aspect can be a prompt or challenge at the conclusion to take a later moment to reflect.
Be present. Engage. Find questions.
In doing my prep I found myself running in circles. Not twisting in productive spirals, but re-meeting myself every 360 degrees in repetitive loops. Why? WHY?? The "why" is waged in a quandary with "how do I summarize Maxine Greene's philosophy?"
Well, there is the "doing philosophy" which I find to be incredibly helpful, especially for newbies encountering philo-speak for the first time.
There's Maxine's particular take on aesthetics and how it differs from the more pragmatic approach of Dewey.
There's the sheer difficulty of life with its exclusionary impulses that shapes her approach to phenomenology and the ideals of social justice.
There's the "without answers" quality of the arts which provide timeless questions for both students and teachers to ponder.
There's the wonder of a 93-year old, female Jewish intellectual living across East 89th Street from the Guggenheim Museum who has stated that "Consciousness doesn't come automatically; it comes through being alive, awake, curious, and often furious."
And there's the value and richness of the "lived life."
It comes down to doing and being. Not an easy conceit for most college juniors especially within a 45-minute span. But the doing part is incredibly important and accessible. The being aspect can be a prompt or challenge at the conclusion to take a later moment to reflect.
Be present. Engage. Find questions.
Friday, November 5, 2010
On being an impostor and becoming
I have been reading William Ayers' collection of essays on Maxine Greene, "A Light in Dark Times." In one of the early essays, Wendy Kohli of Fairfield University writes about Maxine's association with the impostor syndrome. When Maxine first earned her doctorate, there was a great deal of disdain/disregard/noses upturned in the field of philosophy about educational philosophy being inferior to "real" philosophy.
Maxine never bought the doctoral regalia she earned because she never considered herself to be a real professor.
Yet Maxine is also fully conscious in her writing about her status of "becoming." She writes of a constant state of invention and revision, of digging deeper and reaching wider. The line often ascribed to her is "I am not yet."
I'm wondering if there is a connection between the external forces that place many of us under the fear of being an impostor, of not knowing enough, not being good enough and our internal aesthetic process of constant reconsidering. Because we haven't reached a state of conclusion about our ideas and our own self, we take the risk of feeling inferior. It's the difference between aligning with the categorical and working to understand/up-end/re-imagine it. It's imagination as a constant.
Imagination as impostor...
Maxine never bought the doctoral regalia she earned because she never considered herself to be a real professor.
Yet Maxine is also fully conscious in her writing about her status of "becoming." She writes of a constant state of invention and revision, of digging deeper and reaching wider. The line often ascribed to her is "I am not yet."
I'm wondering if there is a connection between the external forces that place many of us under the fear of being an impostor, of not knowing enough, not being good enough and our internal aesthetic process of constant reconsidering. Because we haven't reached a state of conclusion about our ideas and our own self, we take the risk of feeling inferior. It's the difference between aligning with the categorical and working to understand/up-end/re-imagine it. It's imagination as a constant.
Imagination as impostor...
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Labels
About a month ago, Gia Kourlas wrote in the New York Times about the blurring of words used to describe dance that is not classical. This is dance that at one time might be have been referred to as "modern." Some of the pioneers of "modern" could include the likes of Ted Shawn, Ruth St. Denis, Martha Graham, Dorothy Humphrey and others.
And then in post-modern times (I'm not sure exactly when that transition happened--just like the confusion of when we had officially entered the 21st century: January 1, 2000 or January 1, 2001?), the label of "contemporary" was picked up. As Kourlas wrote, "the word contemporary was a sterile if functional way to describe work that wasn't traditional modern dance or ballet." From this we can infer that our post-modern sensibility had rendered "modern" dance as "traditional." In fact, modern dance had become as traditional as classical dance. I'm shaking my head with my cheeks slapping back and forth like Curly Howard after being bonked on the noggin' by a brick from overhead.
Kourlas goes on to bemoan how the term "contemporary" has now come to no longer refer to an "artistic movement but a way of dancing that generally includes unison formations, swift kicks, rolls to the floor and cheap sentimentality." It's the stuff that is now seen on reality television series devoted to dance.
Shoot. I was just getting the hang of the modern/contemporary divide.
The solution to this dilemma of how to approach what is contemporary, what is modern and maybe most importantly, what is good, rests in the idea and sensibility of "choreography." It is an ontological reduction. Kourlas claims choreography as "the only word that really holds it all in: the questions, the craft, the imagination, the design, the multimedia and, finally, the showbiz."
I bring this up because I am still struggling with how to approach my "methodology" for researching Maxine Greene's work. It is an interpretive inquiry. It is heuristic. It is arts-based. One of my solutions is to call my research methods "practice" instead of methodology. For me, "practice" is more closely related to the artistic process and the mode of aesthetic inquiry.
But I'm not sure how to refer to the style of practice I will be using. Part of the dilemma is that it is an ongoing process. I don't know for certain what it will look like in the end or the scope of elements it will use in its progression. What term could possibly capture the "showbiz" of what I am attempting?
I tell my students each day that this is the risk involved in the creative process: this ambiguity of form and structure and end results. I tell them it takes courage to engage in such an open environment where boundaries aren't certain.
With my own earnest advice, I shall simply do and see where it takes me. The labels will emerge in practice.
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And then in post-modern times (I'm not sure exactly when that transition happened--just like the confusion of when we had officially entered the 21st century: January 1, 2000 or January 1, 2001?), the label of "contemporary" was picked up. As Kourlas wrote, "the word contemporary was a sterile if functional way to describe work that wasn't traditional modern dance or ballet." From this we can infer that our post-modern sensibility had rendered "modern" dance as "traditional." In fact, modern dance had become as traditional as classical dance. I'm shaking my head with my cheeks slapping back and forth like Curly Howard after being bonked on the noggin' by a brick from overhead.
Kourlas goes on to bemoan how the term "contemporary" has now come to no longer refer to an "artistic movement but a way of dancing that generally includes unison formations, swift kicks, rolls to the floor and cheap sentimentality." It's the stuff that is now seen on reality television series devoted to dance.
Shoot. I was just getting the hang of the modern/contemporary divide.
The solution to this dilemma of how to approach what is contemporary, what is modern and maybe most importantly, what is good, rests in the idea and sensibility of "choreography." It is an ontological reduction. Kourlas claims choreography as "the only word that really holds it all in: the questions, the craft, the imagination, the design, the multimedia and, finally, the showbiz."
I bring this up because I am still struggling with how to approach my "methodology" for researching Maxine Greene's work. It is an interpretive inquiry. It is heuristic. It is arts-based. One of my solutions is to call my research methods "practice" instead of methodology. For me, "practice" is more closely related to the artistic process and the mode of aesthetic inquiry.
But I'm not sure how to refer to the style of practice I will be using. Part of the dilemma is that it is an ongoing process. I don't know for certain what it will look like in the end or the scope of elements it will use in its progression. What term could possibly capture the "showbiz" of what I am attempting?
I tell my students each day that this is the risk involved in the creative process: this ambiguity of form and structure and end results. I tell them it takes courage to engage in such an open environment where boundaries aren't certain.
With my own earnest advice, I shall simply do and see where it takes me. The labels will emerge in practice.
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