Jet Blue in the Final Hour

The first of what may be many miracles was recorded today, before I even got on the plane. Even the Pope would likely consider this one verifiable.

With all the planning that has gone into this trip, and it has been going on for over a year, there have been a few things that I have left totally up to outside help. So in the mad scramble to get all the luggage to the proper weight, packing malarial pills, alcohol wipes, extra socks, etc., I didn’t give the itinerary a second thought. I printed it out, and my wife and I headed out the door, grateful that something as complex as getting a man and 200 lbs of art materials and tools ready to get through three major airports and onto another continent on the other side of the world was finally completed. Big mistake!

Our plan was to drop Barbara off with the check-in luggage so she could get that part going while I parked the car. Our big worry was whether or not we could get away with one and a half lbs excess weight in one of the bags and a half pound in the other.
Sometimes the airlines are sticklers.

So, when the ticket agent started looking at the computer screen with a questioning eye and asked her colleague for help, we began to wonder. Turns out, according to the computer, we were a day late for our flight. Our jaws dropped!  Our hearts sank!

“No, I have the right day," I pointed out the date on our itinerary. “Yes, but there is some mistake on your end,” was the response. "You need to talk to your agent…There is nothing we can do!”

"Well, get me on a plane to JFK…any  plane. I have to make a connection to Johannesburg. I am supposed to be at a conference tomorrow.”

“That’s the problem, all of your flights were booked for yesterday. We have no way of rescheduling tickets for South African Air. See if you can get your agent on the phone and figure something out. You have about a half hour."

Call, call, text text, email, messenger, facebook? Help! Emergency! Nothing. Twenty minutes go by. I’m just settling into the dark feeling that the Dark Continent is not going to happen…not today. Maybe never.

Then, here comes the miracle:  Michael Porter at Jet Blue comes over to us after a long stint at the computer and hands me a packet with boarding passes for the whole trip and smiles…”I found a way." Barbara breaks all security standards, jumps across the scale and gives him a hug. Not to be outdone, I jump over and do the same. Our baggage is expedited (no charge for the extra piece of luggage and forget about that excess two lbs), and I am on my way…goodbye Portland, hello yellow brick road.

 You decide, miracle or just business as usual.

Sitting in the airway station, got a ticket for my destination...horay!

Mighty Rivers: The Zambezi and The Columbia

Comparing rivers to each other is arguably a romantic exercise at best, but both have had a hand in shaping the culture and geography of the lands they flow through. Both can qualify for bringing life in abundance to the indigenous people of their respective lands.  And both hold an allure for adventure-minded people.

The Zambezi remains one of the world's most pristine and unexplored rivers in spite of its size. It is the fourth largest river in Africa. Only two dams restrict its flow, and when you stand at its edge and see the clarity of its water and the power of the current, you don't need to see spectacular Victoria Falls to be smitten. But then there are The Falls.

The Columbia, by contrast, is the most hydroelectrically developed river in the world. More than 400 dams (11 on the mainstem) restrict its flow. There are few places left along its run where the current can be seen as anything more than gentle. I love the Columbia and swim in its waters frequently. I have met the challenge of swimming its width from the Washington side to the Oregon, but in terms of raw power vs harnessed power, these are two very contrasted rivers.

I had a notion that it would be cool to be able to say that I took a swim in the Zambezi, but every single person I have mentioned this to has said emphatically that it's a very bad idea. The depth and the current are foreboding enough, but two words are consistently mentioned whenever the subject comes up: hippos and crocs. The words that nobody's loved ones wants to read in the paper are "American falls victim..." So swimming in this magnificent river is off the list.

Victoria falls as seen from WayiWayi Studios (kidding) but not far away

Perspective

When I ask myself the question “What is drawing you to Africa?”, the big picture answer is: to change my perspective. My quest is not new. We humans seem to require a change in routine from time to time. Many European countries have acknowledged this and have a 4-5 week annual holiday built into their social system. Travel agencies cater to our need. I suspect that as our society becomes more interconnected and complex our need to get away and change it up, increases. Most of us regularly build small breaks into our routine, but occasionally the need for a big perspective change takes hold. In my 25 years of classroom teaching, I was blessed with the opportunity to take a two month hiatus each year, but once the school year started, I was locked into the saddle and rarely took a sick or mental health day. That’s a lot of routine. Jumping on a horse and trotting off over the horizon just to see what was there was a constant but quiet mantra that I kept in check by telling myself, “someday”.

Since my "someday" came with retirement, I am acting on a long held dream. My wife and I had planned to go to Africa together, but when the time came we had to face the realities of the physical limitations that this trip would put on her. With compromising health issues, she had to reluctantly decline. So the trip that has taken shape now is quite different from the one we had planned. The irony is that instead of taking a break from teaching, I am taking a break from retirement to return to teaching. This commitment has me examining what exactly I have been teaching all these years. Art, yes, but how? And did I really accomplish what I thought I was doing? And by what instrument do we measure success.

The last chapters of my teaching career involved me in the new wave of educational reform and accountability. Failing schools and outdated systems led to an increase in testing to measure the amount and kind of learning that is (or is not) taking place. Educational reforms are not news. What was new was the increase in standardized testing. Though the jury is still out as to how this is improving things, I was involved in helping to develop the standardized tests for art education for the state of Washington. I have since bought into the concept that some form of standardization in the teaching of the arts is needed and even desirable.

Prior to these reforms, the sacred cow of  art education was that each teacher has the freedom (and responsibility) to teach the arts in their own creative way. Since the majority of administrators admit they are poorly qualified to assess the arts, arts educators got a pass while other subject areas were under the scope for increased accountability. I enjoyed that “freedom” for a good part of my career but felt the alarm upon realizing that in the new paradigm, that which is not tested or testable will be destined to fall from the curriculum. The panic I felt on envisioning schools without the arts motivated me to get involved.

Working with other arts educators from across the state, we were tasked to come up with lists of standardized arts concepts that we considered essential to teaching the arts. This work led to a number of projects that the state eventually adopted as learning standards and assessments: http://www.k12.wa.us/Arts/default.aspx.
I have since gained confidence in knowing the arts are now being taught in a more systematic, accountable fashion. The teachers have at their disposal a data driven, sequential method to teach the arts as they relate to the skill and understanding at each class level. They still have the right and responsibility to teach in their own creative way, but with guides and support.

The ongoing work of getting art teachers to adapt these or any standards is truly like herding, not just cats, but paint-splattered, feisty, even fierce cats.  That work is now left to a new generation of arts educators, but the fact that classroom art teachers were able to come together to work on creating arts standards and assessments was novel, and I think, a necessity for eventual success.

None of the years I have invested in and outside the classroom has led me to say for certain, however, what any of this has directly to do with the task of bringing forth creativity. And that is the larger question. That question is being asked with urgency not only in the arts but in all subject areas. Standardization does not beget creative thought. And the world is in need of creative thought. Current brain research is telling us that humans are at their most mentally active and creative best when faced with new situations, new information, new environments and, consequentially, when we are out of doors. This is not what schools are set up for. We want to think we have figured it out with our standardized testing, lighting, paint colors, hall and locker sizes etc. , but this one-test-fits-all concept has many students struggling.

Teaching school for me was an involvement in setting up an environment where students would be challenged to use new forms of thought and action to solve problems. The environment and the curriculum was designed to challenge the old world view. That view included the idea that only some of us are creative. We need change. We need to have a new vision to address and work with our current world. Just as the first astronauts described having euphoric feelings looking at the planet from a whole new perspective. We have a need to get out and see new things.  Africa isn’t new, just new to me.

Entertained AND Inspired

To follow up on thoughts about how we humans either find ways to celebrate our creativity or deny, mistrust or misuse it, the old adage holds true: we stand to lose what we don't use. Not that I believe that creativity can really be lost, but what we can lose is the moment, the chance, as my poet/wife says, "To be a part of it all". And what is the loss when the curtain opens on the grand drama of our lives, if we find a way to slip out the back door? What is the result of the muse giving us a call when we don't pick up?

The personal loss is that we begin to form a pattern of denial that allows us to misread the cues of our calling and write ourselves out of the drama. A pattern that strengthens over time. The cycle of creativity is broken. The Muse's call becomes infrequent. The story still is written, but without our involvement and input it is no longer our story.

If we become non-participants in the creative act, we may also become lesser audience members to those we call the creative. This disconnect can cause us to idolize the artist or the creation. A performance or artwork can entertain or even amaze, but it may fail to inspire, if the creative process isn't awake within us. Without the connection that comes from the experience of creating we may quickly  lose interest in the next wonderful new thing that has come into our lives.

This disconnect repeated in person after person leads to a collective loss of creativity. We can see this effect manifested when we look around at negative aspects of our shared world, created without our input, and say "Is this the best we can do?" It is tempting to think that the state of our country, our community, and our environment is not part of our doing. We may think that we are not personally responsible for the terrible waste of human potential as we sit stalled in the traffic jams of our cites. Or the strip malls that are our vista as we sit idling. We didn't participate in designing this, but we were part of an uninspired audience while someone else took on that task.



When we acknowledge that we have a creative self and actively seek to develop it, when we use it in any way that expresses appreciation for life and the beauty and needs of this world, we are contributing to positive change. Invested, we can all offer new life to the collective act of creativity.

Such a Deal!

Last month, as I contemplated the awesome dilemma of  what I could possibly bring to Africa to share with students I had no experience with, my friend, Priscilla got me thinking by asking me what skills I am comfortable teaching. One of the things that I have learned something about in the ceramic arts is the RAKU firing process. Like so many who appreciate the ceramic arts, I have been smitten by the radiant colors, iridescence, antique crackling and smokey abstract shapes that appear on the surfaces of raku ware.

Raku was developed as a low temperature alternative to traditional firing in 15th century Japan. Finding a way to fuse the surface of pots with a glaze (glass) at a lower temperature has an obvious advantage in that firing takes less fuel (energy) and time. The disadvantage is that firing in this way produces a weaker bond in the clay structure and the glaze that is attached to the surface; thus a weaker vessel. Additionally, this quick fire, quick cool process typically introduces more variables and therefore lacks the predictability of higher temperature firing. The results, however, are so immediate and so transformative that the mystery of the outcome is part of the fun.

In Japan, raku was originally used for producing ceremonial tea bowls that were not destined for harsh treatment and did not need to be strong. Raku art as it is practiced today is still subject to the same limitations and consequentially, is made mostly as decorative ware. However, much has changed in the evolution of the artform as many artists exploring the process add their experimental discoveries. Raku kilns can be lightweight and portable, and for that reason raku has seen a resurgence in popularity in art studios, schools and community facilities.

I decided after learning from Agnes that WayiWayi studios did not have this kind of kiln that I would bring the supplies to make one, since it can be done with some basic materials and common items. My goal is to leave a functioning kiln and some practical know-how behind that future artists-in-residence or visiting artists may use. The decision to pack a kiln sent me on a quest to find more information about the process, the kilnmaking and the feasability of transporting the equipment.

Here I need to thank some folks that took the time to walk me through possible scenerios. Joe at Tacoma Clay Art embraced the project and spent hours plying me with helpful information and a sense of what would be essential. Bob at Georgie's in Portland has been on board with this from the beginning and whose assistance and support have been vital. And Bonnie and Dave Deal, who allowed me to invade their studio space and took the time to talk me through the raku part of the adventure.

I have noticed a general trend with ceramic artists: they typically possess a tolerance, if not a preference for, solitude, especially during the firing process. Raku can go from magical to butt ugly in a matter of inattentive seconds and requires a lot of direct observation and decision-making that is best suited to the personality that thrives on uninterrupted timespace. Knowing this personally, I was somewhat shy about asking  Bonnie and Dave Deal, our regional experts on all things Raku to invite me to their  home/studio in the hills above Camus to observe their process.

I arrived just in time to see the kiln reaching the desired temperature and was able to watch and film Dave operate in the last critical stages. I have come to agree with the research that suggests that 80-90% of what we learn is from non-verbal sources. Especially body language. I was able to pay close attention and learn from every move that Dave made until the last of the wares were safely "tucked" into a bed of combustibles (secret formula) to smoke, cool and mature.

Then, over cookies and tea, I was invited to pick the brains of these two special artists for any bits of wisdom they could offer that might help me succeed in bringing the craft to students in Africa. I learned that as an art team, Bonnie is more comfortable working the two-dimensional (brushwork, design) side of the equation, and Dave is all about the production and the fire. They live and work together in the woods without many of the benefits/trappings (like electricity) of society.  That they thrive on the space they have created for their process is clearly evident in the remarkable work that they produce. Thank you Dave and Bonnie!

You can see their work in public spaces around the region and they will be on sale this weekend (April 29-30, May 1) at the Oregon Pottery Association's Ceramic Showcase at the Veterans Coliseum.

Why Art? Why Art Education?

I began my career as the only art educator in a small rural school district, and as such, I had many opportunities to weigh in on questions from colleagues and the greater community about or related to the arts. There was a perception that having a degree in the field gave one permission to be historian, technician, practitioner, critic, assessor, ambassador etc., so trying not to disappoint, I wore all those hats and then some.

As the "art guy" in a world with no peers, I assumed the role and was proud to represent the arts at the education table even when my knowledge base was not as deep as others assumed. Over time, my position allowed and required me to build a broader base of subject and history, and I began to form some opinions based on observation about the place that art holds in the grand parade of civilization and some questions about the feasibility of actually teaching the arts.

Germaine to this discussion is a common notion that I encountered almost daily: the belief that we are either art "types" or we are not. If we are not, then what is to be done? And if we are then how do you teach something as personal and individual as the creative experience?

My observations have led to a belief that any student who is convinced that they are not an art type will have a transformative experience when they actually produce art or, they will continue for some time to hold onto their doubts in spite of contrary evidence until they learn more about working the creative process. Very few refuse to even try. My conclusion agrees with what many cultures know and put into practice: That we are all potential artists and become so as soon as we begin doing art.

What is doing art? I would define the doing as focusing energy into a creative experience that leads to a personal expression through that experience. In the art room, a high value is placed on understanding, developing and strengthening this process. Education is rediscovering that this teachable process is essential for success in any subject and through any walk in life.

Our world has automatons and robots; what we do not produce through our technology is the celebration of the human experience. Key to that celebration is the ability to concoct something that previously existed only in the imagination. Let us take a look at the elements of what we can call a creative experience.

Imagination- To use the mind to image or see or feel some form of an idea is common to all humans. We all do it all the time. It is the starting point of the experience.

Organization- In order to find expression, the components of a thought, vision or feeling need to be prioritized. What is primary, tertiary etc. requires choices.

Materialization- At some point, organized thought must manifest. Just using mental energy does not count as the experience, as it cannot be verified.  Organized thoughts can take form in any number of ways to qualify the experience: writing, speaking, acting, dancing, drawing, painting, sculpting, playing music. We choose the instrument of our expression. A creative act requires a physical expression.

Assessment- A word I much prefer to critique. A left brain function that is impossible to separate from the experience. When the organized thoughts materialize, they become subject to evaluation and comparison. By ourselves and others. We do it all the time. All of us. Critical thinking leads us to reevaluate, change, improve, improvise.

That is it in a nut shell. Who among us does not do these things every day? Not that we always do them well, but that is the point. We can get better. The masterpiece becomes possible when the components of the creative experience are cycled over and over until a high degree of expression is achieved. Not only can we learn new ways  to express our better selves, but to allow what is unique about us to become an active part of the big story.

Arts education holds a place of distinction in academia because the focus centers totally on the creative process. In any branch of study, simply repeating what has gone before is not the formula for evolution. New thinking is only possible when new ideas become manifest. We are all players and art types when we use the creative experience, and we do it all the time. We use this process when we choose furnishings, fonts and fashion, and when we acknowledge this in ourselves we open ourselves up to explore new thinking. More on this topic forthcoming.

Why I like to Ride but don't always like what I see.

I began my love affair with my bicycle around the time of my first job, a paper route, when I was about 12. I grew up in Denver in the '50s in an era of communal trust, living in a middle class neighborhood at a time when bad happenings in the world seemed far away. Most parents let their kids roam the neighborhood freely, and freedom for the day only required an occasional check-in or promise to be home for dinner. I loved this freedom, and my bicycle made my long leash even longer. About this time, I stumbled upon a great truth: I, by myself, had the ability to get up and go as far and as long as I wanted. So began my exploration of the world beyond the world that was given to me.

In pushing the boundaries of this new found freedom I discovered my limitations, of course: mental, physical and psychological, but weekends and summers offered endless opportunities to test the boundaries. These were enlarged exponentially when, at 16 I traded in my love for my bike for a car. The desire to see what's over the next ridge and the notion that I was the only one stopping me stoked a thirst for adventure that has stayed with me to this day. Thank you Jack Kerouac, et.al.

My love of the car  began to wane sometime around the invention of the turnpike. When getting "over the next hill" confirmed that a lot of people had already arrived, defiled the camp and were clearly not there to for the quiet and solitude, that love lost some luster. So, to keep my dreams alive and even fuel them, I returned to my bike. A state-of-the-art Fuji 12 speed, a surprise gift from my wife 30 years ago got me going. Although the thought of heading out the driveway and crossing the continent on my own still calls, I have learned to be quite satisfied with abbreviated versions of the big adventure.

A bike, like a boat or a horse allows one to see the world through a different lens and to reach places that people, otherwise, might not be able to get to. It allows for a change in perspective. It represents freedom: there is always a quick ride out of Dodge when the panic or escape mechanism ignites from any daily crisis.

On a bike, in the real 3D world, your perspective changes dramatically in two ways: The speed you are traveling (typically 5-25 mph) allows access to all manner of roads and pathways (relatively) safely while sharing with faster and slower vehicles. And our cities have lots of roads! Lots of access, and I often reach a destination as fast or faster than I would in a car. Outside the city and in the city's greenspace, you travel at a similar pace as many bird species. A thrush dives from a passing branch, cuts in front of you, matching your speed, and allows a close up view of a bird in flight. Not going to happen walking, and definitely not in a car. You are the director in your own wildlife movie.

The second  perspective shift comes with altering your height when you climb on a bike. That relatively minor adjustment has a profound effect. Consider the timing of the evolutionary change when humanoids gained advantage in their environment by becoming bipedal. Slowed them down, but speed loses some significance when you can see further, all the time, and therefore have more time to plan an attack or a retreat. More time to plan became a need to plan and that led to larger brain size (humans most "successful" adaption) and that led to the invention of the wheel....and, of course, the bicycle.

My latest "contribution" to evolution are adaptations in my style of riding. I have readjusted my seat so it functions more as a perch than a bench and I have added a device that extends the handlebars upward. This allows me to see further and adopt a variety of riding postures. These adaptations allow great relief from an aching neck that develops after a few miles on the road. This upgrade caused me to rethink the whole concept of maintaining a curled position through a ride. Was I going out to race or ride? The sight of spandex slickened bodies whooshing past me as I am stretching my back and taking in the sights does not trigger the competing urge like it used to. Following my ancestors, I have sacrificed speed for comfort and an improved view.

So, when friends asked if I would join them for a ride on Portland's much touted Springwater Trail I said sure, in the spirit of adventure, I will give it a go. We met at Oaks Park and started a lovely ride through the city of Sellwood, a burg of Portland, between spring downpours. As we headed east toward Boring, we entered the Johnson Creek floodplain, and it was clear from the rolling mass of water why it was so called. As usual,  I was riding high in my sightseeing position when the view along the trail changed dramatically. The greenspace started to be interrupted by a few scattered tents; maybe remnants of Portland's hippie communities...so that is where they hang. As we rode on into an industrial area tents became tent city. Packed in "no mans land" in the corridors between busy thoroughfares and between businesses was a sprawling nylon and plastic community which had all the need for the surrounding city's infrastructure, but had none. Well, not exactly none---someone provides a port-a-pottie every mile or so.

And this went on for miles. Moldy structures of every kind, pushed up against chain link fences, each with piles of soaked debris outside the "doors" and stacked overflowing in commandeered shopping carts. I moved from surprise to wonder to shock to fascination to a grim realization that I was seeing the answer to a nagging question I have harbored for some time: Where are all the hoards of homeless we hear have been chased from this or that city park or public area. They were here. It made sense that 8 years of political deadlock and economic crisis had made a few people in our country way more wealthy, but the folks living here were The Forgotten. I was riding high in the saddle seeing things I didn't want to see. I get out and about in this city often, but I had never seen this. These are the mentally ill, the migrants, the addicted, the sick, the unlucky, the troublemakers, the dropouts. Donald Trump's "losers". All this in a country that really should know how to take care of itself.

So, in a little over a month I am heading off to Africa where I will likely experience a different combination of riches and poverty.  Some places I may visit may not look all that different than the Springwater Trail, but my mission is to witness not to judge, and in my heart I hope I can find and fulfill a need. I will be very interested in what is over the hill.  Hopefully I can see some of this from the saddle of a bike. It has come to me that I will be going back to a place that was just the right spot for our species to want to get up tall and see as far as possible.


                           

   
                                                                             Home

                                                                    Homeless