I keep all sorts of REAL art supplies on hand, have a dedicated pantry in the kitchen! Here are some tips that have helped me tamp down the chaos of prepping for an art lesson:
I keep my paints in bins organized by color families—primaries (reds, blues, yellows), secondaries (oranges, purples, greens), toasty tones (umbers, browns), blacks and whites.
Drawing materials are all together on a shelf: chalk and oil pastels, charcoal, ink, fixative, rulers, and the oh so vital sundry of magnifying glasses.
I have one shelf for all things watercolor and gouache.
I have an art bin for drawing tools. My children and the students in my co-op are always allowed to dig in. The one rule: Get the tools back in the box!
Every once in a while I do an inventory and I've found that having the one rule works. I rarely find stray pencils or kneaded easers… well, unless the kneaded eraser is cleverly substituted for modeling clay!
It’s time to launch a brand new school year. I open iPhoto
to flip through images hoping to be inspired by antics past. I click through
until I spy little Taylor with two of his elementary home school buddies, “How
cute.” A few more clicks of the mouse and I pause at an image of the same three
characters in their teens. I crack
up.
So what do Mozart, Batman, and the GEICO Caveman have in
common?
Individuality.
We cultivate genius when we inspire the heart, nourish the
mind, and train the will to actively pursue individuality.
Goals 2000 was beginning to be implemented when my oldest
daughter, Hannah was in Kindergarten. I received a cryptic postcard in the mail
from the school district, a disclosure that the exit exam was on its way. In
ten short years Hannah’s graduating class would be affected. I remember being
fascinated by the specific goals the district had in mind, goals that seemed
vague and far removed from academics that would promote individuality. Being an
inquisitive mom, I tucked the postcard into my purse and paid a visit to Hannah’s
Principal.
I began my show and tell. The Principal had never seen or
heard about the information on the postcard. Flustered, he pulled an enormous
binder from a stack on the shelf behind his desk. With a slam and a great puff
of dust he proclaimed, “…must relate to this.” The sad reality is that the
discouraged Principal confessed,
“Who has time to read?”
The next year I began homeschooling.
I have three secret ambitions:
1. Grow a garden that thrives
2. Learn to play guitar
3. Become fluent in Italian
Sometimes my ambitions frustrate me, especially when I walk
up the driveway, look to my left, and see the small plot of city dirt that
holds the potential to feed my family as I rush to my computer to get cracking
on another lesson plan. I become discouraged when I compare myself to Barbara
Kingsolver (Animal Vegetable Miracle), James Taylor, and Pavarotti (okay, so
Italian as the stepping stone to opera).
I had a roommate in college who was a focused high achiever.
While I had so many interests that I found myself spiraling into a state of
indecisiveness, she had two activities on her free time list: exercise and
cheesy romance novels. What I perceived as a lack of imagination kept her
schedule even keeled. My roommate, who eased her way into a pediatric practice,
was living the “can’t do it all” kind of life that I secretly envied.
But the good news is I think I finally understand. As I press
into the work of cultivating my individuality, I’ve made the conscious choice
that there are some things that I simply cannot accomplish.
We’ve been studying Leonardo da Vinci’s crossbow design. So naturally my youngest son wanted to purchase a toy crossbow. His dad suggested he make one. Søren mulled it over for a few days then whipped out his design at the dinner table for Willie to approve.
It’s Sunday. Søren set up shop on the picnic table, pulled down the plastic picnic pitcher, stocked it with ice water and drew the pattern for his design by hand on a piece of wood supplied by his dad. Søren has been chiseling by choice for two hours.
My husband is a proud dad, keeps tapping me on the shoulder, “He’s been at it a long time.” He’s the dad pacing in the background like a kid himself waiting to jump when Søren is ready to transition to from chisel to file. I don’t think my husband the master woodworker is entirely sure that Søren’s design will work out perfectly, but there is no doubt in either of our minds that our son will learn much and have a blast trying his idea.
Basho wandered by foot through medieval Japan, kept a diary
of his journeys—prose woven with haiku. There is sublime simplicity in the
poet’s observations:
A hundred years!
All here in the garden in
these fallen
leaves
With plum blossom scent,
this morning sun emerges
along a
mountain trail
Basho’s work echoes the ordinary, revels in simplicity, and
invigorates the soul.
This time, be creative with haiku form. After all, Basho
warned his students, “Do not simply follow in the footsteps of the ancients;
seek what they sought…abide by the rules, then throw them out!”
Concentrate on crafting lines with a designated number of
words instead of syllables:
five words
s e v e nw o r
d s
five words
But, keep in mind, three lines should be woven to one
thought:
and I wait for the
scent stewed with honey, mottled with sun,
to ripen at room temperature
Explore Basho together and have fun writing some haiku. Use this image of pears in a bowl as a jumping off point or create your own still life. We'd love to read your poems so please share them here.
For more about Basho take a look at this wonderful book.
Fixed gear bicycles are all the rage in our neighborhood. I think this means that the bike can’t coast because the bike’s crank and the rear wheel are dependent of each other. What is so great about that? I mean I love coasting, don’t all girls?
Still Liam assures me that fixies are, “…awesome Mom.”
Whoever makes and markets these bikes is completely aware of this fact too because the bikes cost a small fortune. So this is how the conversation goes:
“Dad, can I get a fixie if I pay for it myself?”
“Sure Liam, but why don’t you make one?”
Liam had $200 to spend. All his friends ride $500 fixies. Back when his dad was a kid everyone had to have a BMX bike. He couldn’t ever have the newest or the coolest, but if he wanted it he could build it from a combination of used parts and a few new essentials.
Liam’s dad assured him that a homemade bike will never look like Lance Armstrong’s track bike, might not even look like the ones his friends ride but he will ride with the satisfaction of knowing that he made his bike.
And so bike construction began. Liam learned today how to purchase a spoke for 60¢, install it, and true the wheel instead of plunking down $100 for a brand new wheel.
Ownership is certainly valid, but pride in craftsmanship has personal investment that can’t be bought.
The year I moved back to LA the first thing I did was pack
the kids in the car and head to art museums. I had been teaching art for years,
but here I was in LA, an art hub for sure, and I wanted them to experience what
we had studied in books and on the web in all its glory! So that first summer I
sought out art opportunities for my children, enrolled them in week-long
workshops at the Getty, Otis, and LACMA… back to back.
Week 1 Taylor and cousin Cloe hit LACMA, got some really
cool t-shirts with bright orange graphics and got to wander behind the scenes
at the museum. Last time I was at Tracey’s I smiled at the sculpture Cloe made
of blocks of wood that is perched on a shelf with other works of art.
Week 2 at the Getty our kids came home with sculptures made
of meat trays, paper towel rolls, and yarn. Really? Tracey
and I raised our eyebrows, didn’t need words. Not sure what happened to those
sculptures.
Week 3 was Hannah’s turn to go to camp with cousin Cloe.
Otis Art Institute was on the schedule. When we arrived to pick our girls up, their faces were less than
enthusiastic. The girls had been given tempera, newsprint, and an easel and
were told to paint a dream… for three hours!
“Mom we have an easel in the back yard, do I have to go back
tomorrow.”
“No dear.”
That was the last summer I enrolled my children in art
workshops. Looking back, I know much was gained from those experiences that I
cannot re-create in our studio, but where was the canvas, acrylic and chalk
pastel on rag paper and clay that had to be fired in a kiln? Looking back, I must
admit I was a bit of an art materials snob.
I believe the creative work of children should be elevated
to a state of permanence. The
creative work of children is important. Striving for “perfect” is not the goal,
but elevating a child’s creative work validates their process and is a very
important goal. Back then I somehow came to the conclusion that using
sophisticated art supplies was the best way to achieve this goal.
But I’ve been enlightened by aluminum foil.
This past spring I wanted to teach the elements of sculpture
but didn’t want to simultaneously dive into the complexities of manipulating
clay or alabaster. So I taught my students to look at and think about 3D
objects and handed them a roll of foil. I think the results speak for themselves.
Building with LEGOs is academic. I have witnessed my boys
following complex directions, engaging in problem solving and demonstrating critical
thinking for hours upon end as they engage with LEGOs. When we pour two enormous tubs onto the
wool rug in the living room, I have witnessed my three boys learning to live
together in harmony on LEGO Island.
Being the mother of three imaginative boys, I made a pact
with myself long ago to not be annoyed by LEGO blocks scattered here and there.
But early yesterday morning in the kitchen, as we were racing to start the day,
I went sliding across the kitchen on a Ferrari F-1 driver, severing his
arm and nearly cracking my skull.
The race came to a halt. My
youngest son caught my eye. I took
a deep breath and said between gritted teeth, “That was close.” I took another breath, “Can he be
fixed?” Søren’s face beamed with a
wide smile.
I think what saved me in the kitchen
this morning was an image I had just snapped the day before—a little LEGO world
Søren had tucked near the leg of my desk right next to work stacking up. This
juxtaposition made quite an impact.
Today I was reminded of the value of play: LEGOs are
academic.
For the past fifteen years, three (sometimes more) days a week my
home is transformed to a co-operative home school! It is tricky for a
house to wear many hats but ours has become an expert.
We utilize every
inch of our 1200 square feet (now there’s a math workout). During school
we give each space a name. To begin, a favorite space is: On the
Floor. The living room is transformed to the Great Room and in that room
is Old Wood, the table where, by night, our family gathers for dinner.
The
kitchen table is always the kitchen table… but not exactly, sometimes we call
it the Gathering Place, other times The Table in the Pink Room. And then
there is our detached garage transformed School Room, the classroom with a
clubhouse feel.
Because the weather is even keeled in our neck of the
woods, much learning takes place in our postage-sized backyard. In the Garden
we’ve created cozy nooks to read and write. And then there’s recess… hmmm,
the boys always find a way for fun!
Ultimately our school environment is authentic,
and that is precisely what makes it, well chaotic at times, but without
doubt an artful inspiring home that is at once a school.
Taylor began tackling a concerto back in October. The process of moving from notes on a page to music was grueling, not only for him but for all the inhabitants of our home. For the piece to resemble music, he had to break the thing into sections to be played repeatedly.Whenever he made a mistake he would repeat that section… over and over, leaving notes to bounce off 1800 square feet of walls and tangle somewhere in the center of my brain.
I was relieved when the notes were at last learned, thought I would enjoy 3 to 4 melodic hours a day. Nope. The next stage was to add dynamics, which entailed playing Ravel’s ridiculously fast composition in fast motion… then slow motion through absolutely everything in between while stopping at sections where his fingers slipped to, you guessed it, fix each mistake three times. I pride myself a fairly patient person with broad musical appreciation, but any given section of this piece taken out of its entirety is fingernails on chalkboard. So this is how it went for three months straight.
When Taylor at last performed Ravel Concerto in G Major, III. Presto,
Presto…
I was shocked, “What?!!!” I had no idea! Then his music teacher’s comment hit me on the head: “Taylor’s come into his own.”
My internal voice whispered in response, “Who was it up to before tonight?” It slowly dawned on me that the work of the teacher/mentor is implied in that overused phrase. As parents, Willie and I have never pushed or prodded Taylor to become a musician, but we have tirelessly encouraged him that his work matters. Taylor has worked hard to form this habit, but his teacher is right, he has at last embraced the work as his own.
Not only does Taylor play music, he writes music. Here is a recent composition:
This past week Taylor was sick and his one complaint was that he would not be able to work at his music… it’s true.
We are ridiculously busy in this world, at times too exhausted to chase our own dreams. As a teacher, my students readily share their dreams of being a prima ballerina or an astronaut or a paleontologist, or, in the case of my son, a performing composer. But what happens when we answer, “Yes you can,” pat them on the back and watch them while away hours on the X-Box? Dreams shrivel when students form enduring trivial habits.
Becoming Juilliard material was never our goal. Fighting for a habit of purpose is costly in more ways than one, but we find a way. There is no doubt Taylor's skill serves him well and hopefully will encourage others to engage in the work of chasing a dream.
When the phone rang and a writer from the Los Angeles Times wanted to speak to Taylor… wanted to interview my son, I speechlessly handed over the phone. He has certainly come into his own, one note at a time. What I see developing in my oldest son's character is something that a standardized test will never measure.
