Free Little Art Galleries

When we were all basically home bound during the worst of the pandemic, I started walking my neighborhood daily. I’ve continued the habit, even throughout Michigan winters, except when ice makes me fear for life and limb. One of the joys of neighborhood walks is discovering new little libraries, those small delights in which neighbors use small boxes to take and leave books to share. In one local example there’s even a dog extension, offering sticks for the taking!

Recently I learned of a new variation on the theme—free little art galleries. It is hard to pinpoint where a trend like this starts, but at least one place seems to be with Stacy Milrany’s Free Little Art Gallery in Seattle.  The Free Little Art Gallery invites visitors to take a piece of art, leave a piece of art, or both. By necessity, the art works are small, viewed by tiny patrons in a dollhouse-sized gallery.

Since the Free Little Gallery opened, other galleries have popped up around the country. My home town of Ann Arbor has at least two.  Try a quick search to see what might be near you, along with tips for starting your own gallery. Many tiny galleries, like Milrany’s, seem to house primarily the work of older artists, but others are focused more on young people.  I have not been able to find one associated with a school or classroom, and I wonder why not? It may just be that school efforts haven’t reached a searchable location, but a tiny art gallery seems like a splendid opportunity to showcase student art. You’d need to decide if you want to continue in the “take one, leave one” spirit of the original galleries or add more structure to the opportunities. I can see benefits either way. If anyone sets up a gallery in their classroom, I know we’d all love to see it!

Jane Goodall Goes Trick or Treating

My five-year-old friend is planning to be Jane Goodall for Halloween. She has her khaki pants and miniature binoculars ready. She even requested that I make a chimpanzee suit for her favorite doll, so the doll could come along as part of the costume. How could I refuse?

Last year this same young girl, at four years old, dressed up as her favorite artist, Frieda Kahlo. How is it that a child so young would choose to dress as accomplished real-world women rather than superheroes or ghoulish creatures? One big reason is her enthusiasm for the book, Good Night Stories for Rebel Girls, a collection of 100 short stories about women from around the world. The book is typically recommended for young people ages 6 and up, but it also can be fascinating for bright younger children, like my friend, who become entranced with biographies. You can hear a few of the stories on the Rebel Girls podcast page, along with links to their app.

Of course, there are many other biographies available. A Mighty Girl’s website is full of books and toys reflecting the lives of women. I enjoy browsing there, often wishing those materials had been available when I was younger. I’m sure I would have enjoyed them, but more importantly, such reading materials might have helped me grow up like my young friend, to whom it has never occurred that her gender might limit her career path. Such an idea would seem like crazy talk—if hundreds of women can do interesting and exciting things, why not her? Representation matters. It really does. In similar ways, it is essential that children of color hear stories of important works of people who look like them, along with the traditional cast of characters found in textbooks. It could be interesting to ask students who they’d choose if they had to dress as a real-world creator. Would they know who they’d choose?

I know that now that she is in school, my young friend may find that holding onto her confidence that girls and women can have many options is harder than it looks. There is certainly research suggesting that girls’ beliefs that “really hard” work is for boys can start early (see Bian et al, 2017, for example). But I must believe that when her earliest concepts of men and women include varied and exciting roles for everyone, it will make a difference. Time will tell. In the meantime, I have that chimp suit ready. For a day next week, my young scientist friend will become one of her heroes, while collecting miniature candy bars.  One day, when she is doing her own creative science, I hope she remembers this little chimp and smiles.

Bain, L., Leslie, S., & Cimpian, A. (2017). Gender stereotypes about intellectual ability emerge early and influence children’s interests. Science, 355, 389–391.

Engineering with Dad: What Could This Be?

This weekend, while making small inroads into the clutter in our basement, I ran across something I’d thought was lost. It is a piece of acrylic, curved on one end and straight on the other, perhaps ten inches long. What is it? I believe it may be one of the earliest acrylic ice scrapers—at least the earliest I’d ever seen. Why do I have it? My dad.

My father was trained as a chemical engineer and began his career when plastics were new and exciting. When I was young and I asked him to explain his job, he said that his work was to match materials and problems. People would bring him a problem, and it was his job to find a material they might use for a solution. Other people would bring him materials and he would figure out what they could do with them.  His experiments with new materials led to interesting happenings in our basement, including a homemade fiberglass boat so unstable it was only good for lifeguard practice, and clear paperweights with all manner of things embedded in them. In this context, during one upstate New York winter, it isn’t surprising that he looked at the scrap of clear plastic on this desk and thought, “I’ll bet I could scrape the ice off my windshield with this.” As it turns out, that piece of acrylic made the best, most durable, ice scraper any of us had ever seen.  When I got my first car, the scraper came to me as a marker of my father’s concern for my safety. I’m not sure when it disappeared, but somehow over the years it vanished, only to reappear this weekend. It feels a bit like buried treasure.

But, of course, it also makes me think about the design thinking involved in my father’s work, and the creativity involved in thinking, “What could this be used to do?” One of the key SCAMPER questions is “How could this be put to other uses?” In schools, such design questions can be used as inspiration for technical challenges, writing prompts, or art projects. In our city, SCRAP Reuse provides all manner of industrial and other scrap materials that can be used for creative projects, but it can all start at home—or in your imagination. For example:

  • What school or household problem could be solved using Amazon shipping materials?
  • In just a few weeks my lawn will be covered with leaves. If I have too many to compost, what could I do with them to solve some problem? What about the branches that constantly fall off my lovely but “self-pruning” river birch?
  • Imagine that our recycling stopped accepting plastic gallon jugs or some other common material. What might we do with them to solve rather than create a problem?
  • Remember the book, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs? Imagine that it rained something else, perhaps a food, perhaps paper clips or pencils or any other material you can imagine. What might you do with all the “rain?”

We know that generating less scrap is an important challenge, but once the material is here, what do we do with it? Budding engineers, authors, and artists may be anxious to take on such a challenge, and I’d love to hear what they create.

Metaphors, Cat-Talk, and Advice for Doc Students

This fall, the faculty at the university from which I recently retired went on strike, largely over proposed changes in health care. The strike was settled quickly, but during that time, some former students came to me with a dilemma. They were responsible for writing the doctoral student newsletter. Typically, the newsletter contains a “Dear Doctor” feature, in which students pose a question and a faculty member responds. Because retired faculty were not part of the strike, but might want to be supportive, they asked if, perhaps, my cat Tony—who had attended most of my Zoom classes and advising appointments—might like to write the column.  

How could I resist? But the request forced me to ponder: What might a cat say in this situation? What advice would he give? The experience reminded me, yet again, of the power of metaphor and perspective-taking in creative thinking. Examining an issue, problem, or situation from a different perspective requires us to engage in flexible thinking. Some of these exercises are familiar to creative teachers. We ask students to consider the situation in Venice from Shylock’s perspective or debate the points of view involved in historical conflicts. Such studies are particularly valuable when, like Shylock, it can be tempting to view individuals or “sides” in a conflict as obviously right or wrong. Things are almost always more complicated.

Fortunately, perspective taking does not need to be limited to studies of literature or history. Synectics suggests that we can gain understanding of even inanimate objects or physical principles by “being” the thing. At a basic level, imagining ourselves as a blood cell traveling the circulatory system can make the path more vivid and easy to understand. But the same processes can be useful in understanding more complex content. Remember, Einstein is said to have used thought experiments about a train in developing the theory of relativity.  We can do the same things with simpler mathematical principles. How might a fraction feel about being reduced or equivalent to other fractions? What might ¾ think about 6/8? Similar questions might be asked about algebraic equations. What would they think about being simplified? What about the electrons involved in chemical bonding? What might that experience be like for them?

As silly as such questions might initially sound, they can allow us to think more deeply about important concepts, supporting both comprehension and creativity. You might take a look at the things you are teaching this week. Is there something that could be better understood by examining another perspective—human or object? If you try, I’d love to hear about it.

And if you are curious about what Tony had to say to doctoral students, I’ve pasted it below. He ended up being edited somewhat, as the strike ended before the newsletter came out, but some of his original advice is good for graduate students anywhere.

Many students are concerned about the faculty strike. What is going to happen to us?

[Stretch. Scratch, scratch.] Oh, you have questions? Worries? I understand. Lots of things worry me. I worry when my human leaves the house. Or the room. I worry when my food bowl is empty. I worry when my cat friends disappear. Fortunately, I know what to do about worries. Be a cat.

I know, I know. Growing silky fur and an exceptional tail probably aren’t in your skill set, but in many ways, doctoral students are like cats already. Think about it. You are not here to be walked around on a leash like SOME other species I could name. You are independent. You have ideas. You don’t march in lockstep groups. You know what they say about herding cats. That’s you, or it can be.

Truth is, coming into a doctoral program is a cat apprenticeship. You come in having spent many (many many) years being given educational direction and step-by-step instructions for your learning. When you leave, you will be scholars in your own right. Of course, you will still have much to learn from colleagues, but it is a different kind of learning in which each learner—each cat—comes to the table as a valued peer, not a (ahem) puppy to be trained. You are getting ready to forge your own paths. Like a cat.

Now, when your faculty supporters are occupied with the strike, you might feel a bit like I do when my human disappears—worried and wondering who will help me. Perhaps some of my feline strategies will help you.

  1. Remember, just as my human always returns, the faculty will be back. They care about your learning and very likely are as worried about the separation as you are. No one wants you to miss your educational food. When they return, they will work hard to make sure you get what you need. Don’t let yourself get so caught up in worry that it keeps you from doing the things you can do.
  2. In the meantime, practice your independent cattitude. What is your work as doctoral cats? To think. To critique. To ponder. This is a fine chance to strengthen your individual thinking, imagining the day when you are a scholar on your own. I might spend my days grooming my coat—because it truly is luxurious—but you can spend time practicing catlike intellectual independence. This might mean trying out different kinds of note taking to see what helps you, brainstorming how the ideas in your readings tie (or conflict with) your interests, creating reading guides or advanced organizers that might help others, or reaching out to colleagues to compare ideas. I have heard my human say that she sometimes learned more from her doctoral colleagues in study groups than she did in her classes. Learning can continue.
  3. Don’t forget that you are surrounded by support. You have each other. You have the cats in your cohort and the cats who have been in doctoral herds longer than you have. Reach out. Encourage and strengthen each other. Ask questions. Share what you know. Create a study group to compare ideas. There is a huge amount of professional wisdom in your community.

Many years ago, when my human was in graduate school, her advisor brought all the incoming students around a conference table and said, “Look around. These are your professional colleagues. They will be your colleagues for as long as you are in this field. We are a professional family. We support one another. We help one another succeed. I don’t ever want to hear about you doing anything else.”  And it was true. The people in that program, including those from years ahead and behind her, have been her best professional support network for more than thirty years. Begin building that now. Your cat-colleagues are likely to be part of your professional network longer than the faculty. When my humans are gone, cats stick together. You can do that, too.

In feline solidarity, Tony

Take More Time, Cover Less Ground

Often, the ideas that are most meaningful to me have multiple levels. Perhaps that is a function of aging. As the years go by, it seems more important to spend available energy and time thinking about things that are meaningful. Perhaps it is because leveled thinking appeals to my fascination with creativity, metaphor, and stretching my thoughts into new corners. Whatever the cause, I recently found one of those multi-level phrases catching my attention at a streaming concert by one of my favorite folk singers, Carrie Newcomer.  And each level relates in some way to creativity!

The song that struck me was based on a quote by Thomas Merton, a Trappiest monk, writer, theologian, and mystic, “Take more time, cover less ground.” I haven’t been able to find the context for the quote beyond being attributed to Thomas Merton, and perhaps it is for the best, since it leaves the thought-space around it wide open for me to explore.

My first notion, not surprisingly, was physical. I’ve been walking a lot, these pandemic years. I walk in my neighborhood and nearby parks, seldom venturing too far from my established route. It is easy to plug in my headphones and stride briskly down the street, virtually unaware of my surroundings but adding up those minutes of cardio. I need the cardio, to be sure, but I also need my surroundings. I live in Michigan, where the seasons change, and the nearby woods bring sights and sounds that shift with the months. If I don’t look now, I’ll miss the emerging golden light of late autumn days. I know that being open to the world around me—the ideas and the awe of it—is important for creativity, but it is important for my soul, too. So, at least sometimes, I try to slow down my walking.

But not all slowing is physical. In her video, Carrie Newcomer talks about slowing down the pace of our rapid-fire lives. She suggests, as she does in her song, that we aren’t always served well by our frantic pace of multi-tasking. Like the landscape, we can let ideas rush by unnoticed. Perhaps we’d do better to be more open and present to a given moment, a given thought,  before racing on to the next one. That’s a good lesson for me, as I try to figure out what retirement looks like. I don’t have to sprint from research article to research article or lesson prep to lesson prep. Sometimes, at least, I can afford the time to stop and think. And that matters for creativity, too. When I pause and give my brain time to just stop a bit, new ideas come. However incubation works, just slowing down is a piece of it.

Finally, the other idea that struck me while listening to “Take More Time, Cover Less Ground,” was that it sounded like really good advice for curriculum design. I’m guessing that neither the theologian author or the mid-western song writer who brought me the phrase ever intended it as a suggestion for teachers or curriculum directors, but it should be. Perhaps more than ever now, with the news—and sometimes administrators—beating a constant drum about learning loss during the pandemic, it can be easy to think that the solution all educational problems is more content, presented faster. No time for reflection, breaks or (heaven forbid!) play—that image of education entails cramming information into young heads like overfull suitcases. Such images can be popular with politicians, but teachers know that isn’t the way education works. Students can memorize mountains of information for today’s test, but it’s all gone by tomorrow. And so, what good is it? Long term learning is meaningful. It requires finding the big ideas that allow the facts to make sense and reflecting in ways that allow our brains to find meaning and connection. In the end, fewer big ideas that stay with us are more valuable than the vanishing piles of facts. Less can be more. Take more time, cover less ground. Yes, Carrie, I think so.

If you’d like to hear the song, you can find it here (at least for the moment), or just search for the title. Enjoy!