Of the countless duties and responsibilities a teacher must address on a daily basis, the most frequent would undoubtedly be the task of answering questions. This is, after all, an extension of the fundamental role of a teacher; to convey knowledge, to relay information, and to resolve uncertainty. In fact, the volume of queries that are proposed to a teacher on any given day can be remarkably overwhelming. There have been numerous occasions in which I felt as though I had to consciously strain to keep my own eyes from crossing by the end of a class, simply because of the barrage of questions I had sustained. As teachers though, we must be incredibly cautious about how we endeavor to address these requests. In fact, it is because of the great quantity that the task of answering questions must be handled with a certain degree of delicacy and thoughtfulness. It_'s all too easy to become dismissive with the regularity of certain kinds of questions and fall into the habit of providing routine responses. We must constantly remain intentional about how we answer and always be mindful of the fact that there is an art to answering questions.

The way we answer most questions will not only speak volumes to a student about how we regard the content of our class, but it will also greatly inspire their own perception of the subject and their motivation for the remainder of the course. We must be careful to answer questions in a way that promotes thought in the mind of the student instead of preventing it. When teachers simply dole out direct answers and advice upon request, students become dependent on the teacher and less capable of developing their own sophisticated ideas. The best way to avoid this is to, whenever possible, answer questions with questions. By doing so we redirect the responsibility for creative thinking back to where it belongs, between the ears of the student. When this is done consistently, it develops a tendency in the students to begin internalizing their questions and finding answers for themselves. This should, of course, be the goal of every teacher, to create independent thinkers that no longer need our constant advice and direction.

In an art classroom there are several kinds of questions that appear quite frequently. Many of these seem innocent enough on the surface, but a seasoned teacher will recognize that these inquiries are laced with subtle layers of contrary meaning. Perhaps the most iconic of these enquiries is as misleading as it is manipulative, "Is this finished?" When a student asks this question it initially sounds as though they are thoughtfully engaging that awkward moment every artist experiences in trying to determine exactly when to leave well enough alone and step away from a work in progress. More often than not though, when a student asks, "is this finished_", they are expressing an intense desire to be done with a project and are seeking permission from the teacher to cease and desist all creative activity. Furthermore, they are hoping to obtain a forecast as to the type of grade they might receive for their work in its current state. A teacher should never answer this question, but instead, press the student to reflect upon what they_'ve done. I always begin with a 10 foot test. While looking at the work with the student I will ask them a few simple questions: "What do you like best about this work?" After listening to and affirming their response, I ask what they like least. This is an easy question for them to answer because most students are very critical of their own work. Once they've identified an area they are not pleased with, a few more questions will prod them into being specific about what exactly they don_'t like about the offending portion of the work. It is at this point that the student has been perfectly positioned to answer their own question. They_'ve located a problem area within their work and have indentified precisely what it is that makes it less successful. They are one question away from solving their own dilemma, and that question is, "So what could you do to fix that?" By pressing the student for several possible solutions, they engage in creative problem solving and can then select what they determine to be the most successful alternative. Often times the student will return to work without even realizing that their question was never actually answered.

This is just one example of the myriad of enquires that are asked of a teacher on a daily basis, but the formula for answering them all remains the same. Resist the temptation to provide straightforward answers and challenge the student to think for themselves. Whether the questions are technical (_"How should I paint this?_") or theoretical (_"What are warm colors?_"), our responses should help students to answer the question themselves. Questions sometimes come in the form of confessions like; "I don't know what to do next_" or, "I can___'t think of anything." Even in these instances we must avoid tossing out specific ideas, something which often comes easily for creative minded art teachers, and instead guide the student_'s thought process with probing questions. This is a skill that does not come easy and after 11 years of teaching I still catch myself reverting back to bad habits when I get overwhelmed. It requires constant effort, relentless practice, and it demands that the teacher always be conscious about how they are responding. But this is true of any skill that is worth mastering. The more one engages in exploring a particular skill set, the more they become aware of the subtle nuances within the task. It is then with finesse and creativity that what was once a technical task becomes an artful execution, and the same is true with answer questions.

~Michael Mize

I had been waiting my entire career for the chance to teach a painting class and it wasn't until last year that I was finally presented the opportunity. The same was true for a colleague of mine, Cindy, who had been waiting for her chance even longer than me. Needless to say we went into the assignment with a great deal of enthusiasm and anticipation about how we would teach the course. I've seen painting classes taught before that were very prescriptive in the projects that were required of the students. Each student, for example, might be expected to paint a still life, followed by a landscape, and then a self portrait. There is nothing inherently wrong with teaching a class in this manner; in fact, a majority of the classes I teach myself follow a curriculum of assigned projects. Painting, however, is such a versatile and expressive medium that it seems to be a missed opportunity to not allow the students a little latitude in deciding what they will paint. By extending a little creative freedom to the students it creates another incredibly valuable prospect; the chance to teach them to think like an artist.

When Cindy and I began discussing how we wanted to restructure the painting curriculum, this was an idea we both agreed upon right from the start. Both of us are painters ourselves, so there is an obvious bias for paint, but that also means that we have a greater understanding of the expressive range of the medium. This is an attribute of paint that we both considered to be of vital importance to educate the students about. To effectively introduce the expressive qualities of painting to the students it is essential that the students have the freedom to decide what it is they want to express. Placing a pile of dusty, old still life junk in front of the students and asking them to paint it expressively would be an unrealistic request. These random artifacts would offer nothing for the students to personally relate to, and thus nothing of consequence to express, other than depicting the general appearance of the objects.

We knew, or course, that we could not simply open the creative floodgates and tell a room full of teenagers to paint whatever they wanted. That would be bad. We did, however, want to offer the students as much creative leeway as possible while still retaining enough control ourselves to be able to filter out inappropriate or trite imagery. We decided that the best approach would be to generate an intentionally vague list of possible topics the students could interpret and explore from the context of their own personal experience. By being allowed to select their own subject matter, it greatly increases the probability that the students will discover a theme with which they can relate. This, in turn, makes it all the more likely that they will be intrinsically driven to do their best work and really engage the painting.

This freedom, however, does not come without a price. In exchange for this aesthetic free will the students must pledge to us that they will complete one important task prior to beginning their work; they must promise to think. We want them to think about what it is they're going to paint. We want them to think about how they're going to compose their chosen subject. And we want them to think about why it is they are addressing this topic in the first place. All this thinking must also be well documented; we're not simply going to take their word for it that they've got it all figured out. (I fell for that one in my first few years of teaching!) This is where their sketchbooks come into play.

Sketchbooks are an essential component in our painting classes; they are the driving force in our students' creative process, steering all the decision making that must go into each work. Prior to each new painting every student is expected to develop an idea of what their next subject will address. We encourage them to write in their sketchbooks and discuss the motivation behind their topic as well as analyzing the key elements that will appear in the composition. We advise them to do some brief research if the topic is one with which they are not readily familiar, the notes from these investigations should also be collected in their sketchbook. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, is the actual arrangement of the composition itself. I frequently tell my students that our first ideas are rarely our best ideas and they should not simply paint the first thing that falls out of their head and lands on the paper. Great visual arrangements are like great musical arrangements; they require patience, finesse, and careful consideration.

The most reliable formula for creating a strong composition is simply producing multiple drafts of an idea and then combining the most successful versions. Thus, the students are expected to sketch several variations of their composition before deciding on the arrangement for the final painting. I will often demonstrate this notion by bringing in one of my finished works and sharing with them the pages in my own sketchbook that developed the idea. This allows them to not only see the sequence of the creative process and track the evolution of an idea, but it lets them identify with the fact that this is how artists really work and not simply something we're requiring them to do.

It must also be noted that simply assigning students to keep a sketchbook will not produce the desired results. The development of these sketchbooks must be closely monitored and the continued use of them will require constant encouragement and insistence. I will often remind my students that I'm not only trying to help them develop better ideas, which lead to better paintings; but I'm also trying to instill a habit in their creative process. My ultimate hope would be that if they continued exploring art outside of my class that a sketchbook would be vital part of their work.

Once the students have spent a few days developing their ideas in their sketchbooks we will usually spend a class period in one of our school's computer labs. This allows the students the opportunity to gather reference images, find examples of similar artwork, and complete any extra research on the idea in general. While I do not condone simply copying a photograph for a composition, (that's another blog) I do certainly concede that students will need images to refer to in order to depict them accurately. If, for example, a student was painting beach seascape they might need a picture of a palm tree to reference for accuracy.

It is also essential that my assistance in their thinking be delegated very carefully, lest I begin planting too many seeds and the idea becomes mine instead of theirs. This is a dangerous snare for many art teachers, we get excited about what a student is doing and we begin telling them how "we" would handle the idea. This is a terrible disservice to students because it superimposes our own thinking onto theirs. Many times a student will feel obligated, out of obedience, to follow our suggestions. Or worse yet, the student becomes dependent on needing the teacher's ideas in order to be able to create works of any substance. This is perhaps the most detrimental because it produces student artists with great talent who have no idea of what to do with it. In order to help myself avoid this pitfall, I try to keep all my advice in the form of a question, thus returning the burden of thought back in between the student's ears where it belongs. I feel strongly enough about this that I would rather see a student create an average looking painting that clearly expresses their own idea, than a beautiful painting of my idea. Just as it is essential that the work be done by the student, so too, must the thinking.

Ultimately, the goal of retraining a student's way of thinking is challenging task for a great many reasons. I believe, however, that the effort is worthwhile because of the overwhelming benefits of an expanded perception of the world around us, and the ability to communicate that unique view. And at the end of the day, that is what art is all about: communication. I want students to realize that no matter what medium they are working with, all the decisions they make during the production of a work have the potential to communicate to the viewers. They have a rare opportunity to express something about themselves, to convey a feeling, or share a memory. Granted, it can be difficult deciding what it is they want to say, and certainly it is challenging to find the best way to say it. However, all this can be made much easier once they begin the rather enjoyable process of thinking like an artist.

~Michael Mize

I was informed a few months ago by a colleague at the local university that there was a chance I could be supervising a student teacher this coming fall. Initially I was very intimidated by this prospect as it would be my first occasion hosting a student teacher and I was uncertain if I was ready for the responsibility. I've always strived to be very personally reflective of my teaching style and have functioned under a credo of never teaching a class the same way twice. I challenge myself to try and constantly be tinkering, tweaking, and adjusting my instructional processes and aesthetic motivations. Being one of five art teachers in a single school has undoubtedly made these efforts much easier by providing a wealth of influences and inspirations. However, to some extent, my continuing efforts towards improvement have created some latent feelings of inadequacy in my professional opinion of myself. I remember clearly wondering how I could instruct an eager new teacher when I'm still trying to figure this whole thing out myself.

Granted, I don't view myself as inept, I certainly have a hefty bag of tricks concerning teenagers and art making that I would readily share with any new recruit. And there is an undeniable confidence I feel in a room full of teens that certainly was not always there. But somehow I imagined when the time came for me to supervise a student teacher, I would feel more professionally mature than I do presently. Even now as I prepare to enter my tenth year in the field, there are times I am absolutely and unquestionably flying by the seat of my pants. I guess I imagined at some point that would stop.

So I spent much of the last few months of the school year in a kind of educational schizophrenic dialogue with an imaginary student teacher. Scripting out what I would say to explain whatever it was I was doing, or had to do, or wanted to do. I became hyper-reflective of everything I was doing in an attempt to figure out if I felt up to the challenge of being the role model to a hopeful new art teacher. If you've ever taught high school you'll know that the last few months of the year are no time for an ongoing soul-searching debate with yourself, but I continually engaged in it nonetheless. And here I sit, two weeks into my summer break, and only now are my eyes beginning to come uncrossed.

But in that frenzy of activity and contemplation I realized, or rather remembered, the reason that I've intentionally tried to keep myself in a state of professional flux. Because in art, and only in art, there are so many deliciously satisfying shades of gray. This is, perhaps, what I love most about it. There are no rules, no constants, and no absolutes. There is only infinite opportunity laced with imagination and wonder. Therefore, to truly be an effective teacher of the arts, my instructional style must model that. As soon as I get rooted in educational repetition and pedagogical habit, I begin to slowly fence in the limitless boundaries of artistic possibility. I begin to suggest, even if only subtly, that art is finite. And that would truly be a shame.

I understand that there are those that would view this line of thinking as naïve or needlessly overzealous. And I'm aware that there is nothing new under the sun, that's been true since Solomon said it in Ecclesiastes 1:9. But I like to think that doesn't diminish the possibility that there might be. I'll admit that I cling desperately to the romanticized notion that art is indisputably whatever someone wants it or needs it to be. I find that idea to be endless fascinating and completely invigorating. And in order to truly demonstrate this, my teaching style needs to remain loose and flexible with room to spontaneously explore unexpected tangents. Of course, the down side of teaching this way is that I often find myself not knowing what will be going on during any given day. Consequently, that's also the upside of teaching this way!

As it turns out, I don't have a student teacher coming under my tutelage next semester, and I'm actually quite happy about that. Not so much because of my concern over how I would handle the situation, but more because I've got a bunch of new ideas and I selfishly wouldn't want to share the class time. And while I will certainly continue to inform my students about many of the popular guidelines in the artistic community, i.e. elements, principles, composition, symbolism, etc. I very much hope I can maintain an enthusiasm for art that would peel back the curtain and reveal to them not just what art is, but what it could be.

~Michael Mize

Some aspects of teaching kids art are quite obvious and straight-forward: the correct way to hold a linoleum cutter; using gel medium when painting a thick impasto; or mixing a hue with its complement to dull the color slightly. These are the kind of facts and techniques students must acquire to ensure proficiency within a given media. This kind of information is essentially the first order of knowledge in the hierarchy of aesthetic understanding, and it answers the artistic query of how to create. (How do I sculpt this form? How do I draw a face? How do I clean a brush?) Typically, the necessary skills are demonstrated by the teacher and then replicated first hand by the students. However, the especially inquisitive students will, without asking permission, deviate from the teacher's example. By experimenting and exploring they seek to find the limits of the material and uncover its hidden secrets. I watch these creative minds carefully as there is a high probability that they will have much to teach me.

The second question that students must face at the onset of each new artistic adventure is "what to create?" (What should I make? What should it look like? What colors should I use?) This question is of a higher order as it requires students to assimilate their understanding of the assigned media with the visual components of their idea. Students must develop the concept of their design and then devise a plan with which to create it, taking into account the strengths and limitations of the materials to be used. Very often the level of effort put into formulating a clear and concise answer to this "what" question directly correlates to the success of the final image. As a result of this, I encourage students to not take this portion of the creative process lightly; they can't simply go with the first thing that falls out of their head and lands on the paper. An idea must be carefully engaged and thoroughly examined if it is to ultimately find a means of convincing expression.

Last on the scale of aesthetic understanding is a question that seems to elude many students, "why create?" (Why am I painting this? Why do I want to address this subject? Why am I using this particular image?) It appears that students either don't stop to fully consider this query, or they simply maintain a superficial response that the activity was merely required. This is an unfortunate oversight for it seems that more often than not, a confident answer to this question of why is what separates a nice picture from a great work of art. For example, you can find nice pictures at Walmart, your dentist's office, or Thomas Kinkade's homepage. Nice pictures are undeniably lovely and little else. They are like the assembly instructions for your entertainment center attempting to describe a sunset. (Insert Yellow Sun [A] half way behind Horizon Line [E] thus creating Palm Tree Silhouette [D]. See Fig. 1-3)

Great works of art, however, force you to pause in wonder. It might punch you in the gut or gently caress your heart, but either way, great art makes its presence known. The potency of a great work of art can illicit unintentional guttural vocalizations in the viewer. These utterances are raw emotion responding to the tangible soul that has been imbued into the artwork. This is what great art does; it connects with its audience. It is this relationship between viewer and artwork that is the fundamental concept behind why artists create. It is a fascinating interaction when carefully and deliberately arranged inanimate materials entice a complete stranger into an intimate and emotional dialogue.

Part of the reason great artists are able to develop such a rapport between the audience and their work is the fact that they have clear sense of why they are creating. When an artist has honestly reflected on why they are creating it provides their work with an undeniable feeling of purpose. It is as if the art itself develops a sense of confidence in proudly proclaiming its message to any and all onlookers. This is what I want my students to consider in their own work. Before beginning a two week oil painting, for example, stop and reflect a bit on why you are about to do what it is you are about to do. What do you hope to accomplish with this effort? What do you want people to think? Why? Granted I don't always accomplish this in a 50 minute class period, but it doesn't stop me from continuing to put the question out there.

Perhaps the greatest aspect of exploring the notion of why one creates is the fact that there is no shortage of correct answers. There are as many reasons to create as there are people creating. Honesty and self-awareness are essential ingredients in determining the real reason why one creates because what works for one artist will not necessarily work for another.

I was reminded of this recently when we had a guest artist come speak to our students. He boldly exclaimed to the students that if they were only interested in the end result of making pictures then they were "in it" for the wrong reasons. This was, I thought, an unfortunate statement to make in front of a room full of budding artists, many of whom still don't have a clear sense of why they want to create. I worried that this cool, young artist had unknowingly began to install objective boundaries of "right" and "wrong" around the concept of why people make art. I was concerned that students would hear this comment and suddenly feel guilty for still simply enjoying the act of making pictures.

Because at the end of the day I really don't care whether my students are making nice pictures or great works of art. The world honestly needs both. I'm more interested in attempting to instill in them the simple joy of creation. And I do it with the sincere hope that it is something that would continue to serve them in some capacity for the remainder of their lives. For within the act of creation we not only generate opportunities to express something about ourselves to the world, we are also afforded the chance to learn something personally about our own selves. And to my mind, that is one of the most significant reasons of why to create.

~Michael Mize

There are two distinct areas of study to focus upon when teaching kids art production: the technical, and the analytical. The far easier of the two is the technical aspects of whatever media is being explored in a given project. Demonstrating and familiarizing student s with the various processes and procedures associated with a specific medium is always fun and relatively straightforward. Typically the students are excited to get to work and dive into their projects eager to make a calculated mess with the newly discovered materials. It is only then that a majority of them realize they lack the second and more important ingredient of art making: the ever illusive idea. This particular component of the creative process has long plagued both veteran artists and beginning students seemingly for as long as we as a species have been making marks.

There is a fascinatingly complex relationship for students to discover between the physical act of making art, and the psychological reasoning behind it. Art, at its core, is a form of communication; a vehicle of expression. And whether it is sophisticated or shallow, there needs to be some degree of motivation behind an artwork if it is to stand any chance of resonating with an audience. In other words, the artist needs to know why they are creating a particular image and allow that reasoning to influence the direction of the work. Otherwise the work is in danger of becoming another trite image in an ever expanding ocean of kitsch. Even work created with exceptional technical skill, if lacking a clearly defined purpose, becomes a transparent window exposing the artist's lack of intention.

Furthermore, it is imperative that the motivation be authentically expressed in the work. Not only must the artist know why they are making an image, they must pursue that inspiration with a focused sincerity. A finished image will translate to the viewer whether the artist embraced or neglected the impetus behind the piece. It is the non-verbal body language of a work and an audience need not be particularly art-savvy to pick up on it. The work will exhale whatever the artist breathed into it.

And that's not to say that the stimulus behind a work has to be exceedingly complex or intellectually engaging. In fact, some of my favorite artists are intentional juvenile, playful, witty, and absurd. And that is where the relationship between art and idea becomes so intriguing; there are no restrictions as to what dictates a successfully honest piece of artwork other than the motivation of the artist. As long as there is a clearly defined purpose in the mind of the artist, and that purpose is followed in earnest, anything is fair game. (Including the decision to not have a purpose and simply explore the possibilities of random visual coincidences. However, in order to successfully accomplish that you'd have to be cautiously attentive to not do something intentionally, and thus you'd be committed to following your purposeless objective!)

The careful development and nurturing of an idea is an absolutely critical factor in the art making process. And it never ceases to surprise me how many beginning students miss the importance of this concept. I try and illuminate the subject by comparing it to writing a paper. I point out to them that they would not expect to spend fifteen minutes stringing together a series of unrelated random words, devoid of syntax and grammar, and expect anyone to be able to understand it. Instead, they need to first decide what it is that they want to say, before they say it. Then they need to carefully develop a plan for how they want to express this idea so that it will be clearly understood by those who read it. Making art is no different.

In the microcosm that is a classroom, it can be a delicate task to try and facilitate the development of unique ideas. The proximity of the students to each other can often lead to multiple variations on a single theme. Ideas are cross pollinated into hybrid concepts and then borrowed and traded like stocks. As a result, one of my constant objectives is to encourage students to allow an idea to develop, grow, and blossom far beyond their initial conception. This can lead to a barrage of "what if" queries that I simply deflect with questions of my own as I try and carefully avoid superimposing my own ideas onto those of the student.
In the end, making art is essentially about making decisions. Romare Bearden likened it to playing jazz saying, "you do one thing and then you improvise." One decision leads to another and exponentially they grow into a chain of thoughts that reach out to the world in an attempt to make contact and communicate. And it all starts with just one idea.

~Michael Mize

The title of this article might suggest that I'll be exploring some kind of compelling Freudian doctrine concerning moral phobias. I'm afraid, however, that my topic is nowhere near as intriguing and will entirely circumvent discussing either the id or the ego. This is a blog about teaching kids art, and thus the values of which I speak are the light and dark variants of tone. Admittedly, the concepts of tint and shade appear rather innocuous, but it has been my experience that these artistic principles unsettle the nerves of a vast majority of beginning drawers. While this fear may be more pronounced in some students, it often manifests itself in the same predictable behavior. In fact, it is the frequency in which I observe this tonal apprehension that provided me with the motivation to try and understand it. No doubt, Freud would have his own ideas about this irrational fear of values. But I've often wondered, as did Rene Margritte, about Sigmund's iconic cigar. (Ceci n'est pas une cigare.)

Beginning drawers are exceedingly timid creatures who often only make their initial progress in the tiniest of steps. I find that in the early weeks of a class I must choose my words ever so carefully when providing constructive criticism. For many students it's almost more than they can bear to just have a piece of paper in public view that displays their first clumsy attempts at mark-making. And so when I come hovering around behind them you can almost see their shoulders tense up in anticipation of what I might say. Often times constructive criticism can be misconstrued as a commentary on them as a person, instead of the lines they've drawn on the page. So I handle them, at first, as delicately as possible and slather them with as much sincere praise as I think they can tolerate.

However, once they start to recognize actual improvement in their own work, the pace of progress takes on a more confident stride. They begin sharing their work and asking the opinion of their peers. They perform ten foot tests without me having to pester them into it. They start assertively taking sight measurements, not worrying about if they look silly with one eye closed and elbow locked. In short, they begin not only acting like drawers, but they actually start believing that drawing is something they can do. However, despite this self-assured growth, there is always one area that consistently remains behind the learning curve: the development of values.

Interestingly enough, this trend of latent shading is even more specific in that most students are surprisingly resistant to dark values. It is not uncommon for a student to become nearly paralyzed when I dare to suggest that they should begin to add some dark values into their beautifully crafted contour drawing. In fact, I've encountered this exact scenario with such regularity, that I have dubbed this behavior "darkaphobia" (a curable condition marked by a pronounced and irrational fear of heavy pencil shading) This mind set is nothing short of an epidemic in a beginning drawing class, with confident shaders comprising a very slim minority. I have come to accept the fact that this is simply another hurdle that new drawers must learn to overcome. But in order to do this, my gentle words of encouragement and affirmation must become a little more firm and persistent. And sometimes, we need to touch a raw nerve or two.

Over the years I've had my assumptions about what might fuel this illogical fear of dark values. And by interviewing a number of chronic darkaphobiacs I've discovered my assumptions were correct. Like all drawing related anxiety, this fear is perpetuated by concern that the student will "ruin" their drawing. More specifically though, in context to dark values, there is a sort of safety zone in the range of lighter values in that can be easily erased. That is to say, that on the scale of light to dark, there is a point-of-no-return. There is a certain level of darkness with graphite that once achieved, cannot be undone. And if a mistake is made in this particular value range, it cannot be corrected, and thus, the drawing is ruined.

The "I'll ruin it" fear has always struck me as being a very rudimentary concern, and one I should be able to deftly wipe from the minds of my students. However, it is instead a pervasive and persistent nag not easily ignored in the back of nearly every drawing students mind, including, at times, my own. Fear is a strong emotion and is not one to go down without a fight. Often times these anxieties include completely unrelated emotional baggage into the irrational source of the fear. Failure can be a terrifying thought to many, especially if it is a regular occurrence in someone's life. They don't need a piece of paper reminding them of all the other instances in which they did not experience success.

So I try to be mindful of this when I remind my students that there is quite possible nothing more boring than a blank sheet of paper, and thus, anything that they do to it is an improvement. I implore them to understand that a drawing cannot be ruined, it can only be underdeveloped. (You can imagine the ensuing debate over semantics!) And I assault them with the mantra that every drawing simply must include a dramatic range of values. It is this range of values that really breathes life into a drawing and transforms it from marks made on a page into something capable of touching a soul.

~Michael Mize

It is my opinion that self reflection is perhaps one of the most important attributes of a successful teacher. This characteristic is essential because it bears so heavily on the overall quality of education an instructor provides. Whether successful or not, I believe the culmination of every project should lead to some degree of reflective thinking on the part of the educator. These introspective inquiries should be motivated by a sincere desire to further improve the instruction, application, and outcomes involved in the lesson. And I find, more often than not, that the one factor requiring modification or revision is the method in which I am presenting the project.

However, this ability to step back and view our own performance from an impartial vantage point can be a difficult task for many reasons. It can leave us feeling vulnerable and exposed, especially when projects have been ineffective or unproductive. It can be time consuming to try and evaluate all the various elements involved in an assignment and isolate the ones in need of refinement. And in a profession where our clientele changes so frequently, it is often challenging to not be biased in how we view our teaching style. When reflecting upon the success of a lesson though, I believe there is another contributing factor that must be considered: The Group Dynamic.

This variable directly addresses the regularity with which our classrooms are refreshed with new students. Any seasoned teacher will agree that every class is a microcosmic community, and the unique energy generated by each particular group of students can have a dramatic impact on the overall classroom atmosphere. This becomes especially apparent when teaching the same course multiple times each day. Even when presenting the same information in, more or less, the exact same fashion, the response from the various classes can be significantly different. Some classes might be populated by numerous students with preexisting talent. Other classes may have a majority of students with no previous experience at all. The number of students who already know each other will obviously have an impact on the mood of the class, as will the various demographics of age, race, gender, and socio-economic status. There are countless scenarios and an innumerable assortment of students that all provide an unending array of classroom environments.

All of this conspires to illustrate the somewhat cliché mantra of the sincere teacher which states that we do not teach a subject, we teach students. If you can ignore the debatable semantics of that statement, there is a real pearl of truth to be discovered. If an educator only focuses on teaching their subject area, they miss the whole point of the profession. And unfortunately there are teachers that do this, that simply relay the required information in the way with which they are most familiar, and it is up to the student to make sure they comprehend. I like to believe however, that the converse is true for a majority of public school teachers. They understand that real learning only takes place by focusing their attention on the students first, and then presenting their content in a way that suits those specific pupils.

The group dynamic is an inescapable element in the classroom, and an attentive teacher is well aware of its potential to effect learning. With each new semester, after a customary two week "honeymoon" grace period, the personality of each class begins to reveal itself. In fact, most teachers will admit that it does not take long to identify the one hour a day that will prove to be the most challenging and the most enjoyable. In much the same way that a good friend is familiar with the character traits of their peers, a skilled educator will quickly recognize the persona of each class. This knowledge can then be used to help cater the style of instruction to match the needs of each class. It can also be beneficial when evaluating the effectiveness of a particular project. As I mentioned before, when teaching the same subject several times a day I discover interesting trends in the final products. Some classes will always excel while others will perform far less consistently. These kinds of fluctuations must be considered when deciding if and how to restructure an assignment.

While I cannot speak for teachers of other content areas, I do believe that the group dynamic is even more applicable in an art classroom where the work being done is so subjective and personal. The sooner I can get to know the "vibe" of a class, the sooner I can begin to really teach to them, instead of at them. And the more effective I am at establishing a connection with those students, the more effective I am at helping them to begin to create works of art with more sensitivity and sincerity. And those are two essential components in all great art. The significance of that cycle is not lost on me, though sometimes is does get overshadowed by the demands of every day. In order to help my students learn to create art that sincerely attempts to connect with an audience, I must first attempt to sincerely connect with them. It's different with every single class, every single semester. It is a process that is both frightening and exhilarating. Though at its best, when it's really working and I'm truly realting with a class, it is also one of the most rewarding aspects of my career.

~Michael Mize

My slightly askew and easily distractible mind often compares the process of teaching kids art to swimming against the current of a rapidly churning river. The implications of this analogy might suggest that I feel some kind of affinity with salmon and the determined effort they make swimming up stream each mating season. The fact is, I do not. The salmon perseveres so that they can eventually spawn, whereas I would simply like a teenager to be able to tell the difference between an abstract painting and a non-objective one. But before I get myself hopelessly off topic, allow me to try and illustrate my point. Teaching kids art, or any subject for that matter, is similar to paddling across the current in that it requires an exorbitant amount of effort. Often there is a distinct impression that, despite all the kicking and flailing, no real progress is being made. This can lead to an overwhelming temptation to resist fighting the current altogether and, instead, be intentionally swept away with it. In my experience, there is one catalyst that has proven to be remarkably effective at promoting the level of determination it takes to keep your head above water in the teaching business, and that, is change. Change is an absolute necessity.

I must clarify though that change, in and of itself, is of no real benefit without the right attitude. There must be a conscious mindset in place that allows the positive benefits of change to take root in the mind of its recipient. Even in my limited years of experience, I have seen countless teachers overwhelmed by the weight of change. Embittered, they expend their energy grumbling and groaning about why nothing stays the same. Like the Ghost of Christmas Past, these educational apparitions roam the halls shaking their chains and lamenting the good ol' days. This is unacceptable, the stakes are too high and public schools have no room for educators without the stomach for change. Our modern world, and thus our children, are changing at an exponential rate. We must face this fact head-on and force ourselves to adapt if we genuinely hope to engage this, and future generations.

However, it is not enough to simply tolerate change, it must be encouraged, nurtured, and celebrated. One of my professional credos is that I never teach a class the same way twice. With each new semester something in my syllabus is modified, adjusted, rearranged, or completely thrown out. Projects are tweaked, new media is explored, ideas are borrowed and adapted. It is my hope that each new subsequent version of the class is an improvement that makes the overall course more worthwhile for the students. And students do frequently give me one of the nicer compliments a teacher can receive, albeit they do it unknowingly. This occurs when a former student discovers that the same class they just took from me is doing something they didn't get to do. And they express their dissatisfaction with a level of sensitivity and tact known only to the teenaged. That is to say they stomp their feet and whine about why they didn't get to do anything cool like this. But that begrudged comment is invaluable feedback to me as it provides evidence that the changes are having an effect. I won't, however, even attempt to suggest that I am consistently successful in those efforts, but that doesn't stop me from tinkering. Besides that, I'm safeguarded by a back-up philosophy for when things go wrong

And that leads me to another important clarification about change, the fact that all change is not inherently good. But I do know this, the attitude with which we approach any change, be it good or bad, is the single greatest factor in determining how that change will ultimately effect us. Change has the remarkable ability to alter our perspective and allow us to see ourselves and our surroundings in a new light. As we fight our way up the stream of life, we need the scenery along the shore to slowly change in order to know that we're getting somewhere. Without that scrolling landscape in the background, we are simply beating the water in vain, wearing ourselves out, and tempting stagnation. More often than not, the most disgruntled and frustrated teachers are the ones who have been teaching the same exact way for the vast majority of their tenure. Frustration is inevitable when kids with iPods are taught with the same methodologies as were their predecessors with transistor radios.

The rejuvenating properties of change can be surprising when they are approached with a positive outlook. This point has become exceeding clear to me during this present school year; a year that has been privy to a great many changes. Building modifications, new classroom assignments, and new administrative teams begin the list. Followed by an increase in my course load, whereas I used to teach two classes in a six period day, I now teach four. Two of those classes I've never taught and I'm assisting in a complete rewrite of their curriculum. And finally we've added a new teacher in our department as our long time art department chair retired last year. (If you've ever known an art teacher, we can sometimes be a sensitive and socially awkward group, and new personalities in such close proximity can sometimes be a bit overwhelming for us.)

At the end of this past summer, as I stood on the precipice that overlooked a new school year overflowing with so much change, I was certainly not without my worries. But I gave them to God and threw myself into the mix. I have, without question, been busier than I have ever been as a teacher. And as exhausting as it's been, it's also been frantically exciting. The new classes are a blast and the new staff member has been a dream come true. Brad LeDuc has not only become a quick friend, but is also an exceptional teacher with a wealth of ideas and a vast source of inspiration for me personally; I'm honored to be teaching with him. And I'm elated to report that this year has been the most exciting semester of my professional career, and it's only half way through. And as this semester draws to a close, I find myself eagerly anticipating the next one. My brain is already cooking up some new ideas, the art department as a whole is bouncing around several others, and I'm very much looking forward to seeing what else will change.

~Michael Mize

I've previously written about the enviable enthusiasm of children and the contagious excitement evident both in their art, and their art making. I believe there is another important lesson embedded in that subject, and it's one that I'm reminded of nearly every single day in my vocation. The scope of this lesson extends beyond my professional boundaries of teaching kids art and often convicts me in my personal life as well. Its significance is also deeply rooted in my firm belief that all educators, regardless age or subject area, must remain candidly self-reflective about everything we do in our role as teachers. And I would submit that perhaps one of our most important tasks is to model the fact that learning is a life long passion. Included in that task is the necessity that we remain constantly open to the opportunity to learn from those we teach. We must humbly adopt the role of the student teacher.

It has been my experience that there are two fundamental attributes a teacher must possess in order to effectively create a successful learning environment at the high school level: Authenticity and Respect. I list authenticity first because it applies to absolutely everything a teacher does in the classroom. Students can spot a fraud almost as fast as they can text message. And if a teacher is not earnestly sincere in what they are doing in the classroom, students will completely disengage. So if I want my students to become not just interested in art, but excited about it, I must be willing to authentically reveal my own excitement about the subject. I must be open, honest, and sometimes even vulnerable about the passion I have for my content. Part of that vulnerability is being willing to admit that as much as I love art, I certainly do not know all there is to know about it. And then try and readily fill in those areas of deficiency as I discover them. This becomes even more significant when a student can highlight one of those deficiencies, and then help me fill it in. I believe nothing strengthens the bond of the teacher-student relationship more then when the teacher eagerly learns from the student.

This also directly correlates to the second attribute of Respect by affirming to the student that the teacher esteems them enough as to benefit from their insight. This is a level of humility that many teachers struggle with in their instructional styles. This is unfortunate because humility can be such a remarkable tool in breaking down the walls so many students have built up around themselves. Authentic humility creates common ground for a teacher and student to relate upon. My wife has a beautifully concise definition for humility that I remind myself of when I feel I'm becoming too proud. "Humility," she says, "is remaining teachable." Need I say more?

For many teachers, there seems to be a fundamental misconception that, in the classroom, knowledge is power. The problem with this view point is that it makes teachers feel threatened when they are exposed for not having an answer. The unfortunate response to this threat is some variety of retaliatory sarcasm directed at the class. This teaching style quickly disintegrates the classroom into an atmosphere of teacher versus student which, not only destroys the learning environment, but can often repel a student away from a subject entirely.

It has long been my belief that tenure breeds apathy. If teachers had to earn and validate their position on any kind of semi-regular basis, I believe our whole educational system would be an entirely different entity. While there is certainly an extensive population in the teaching community that does an exceptional job of pouring their heart and soul into their students and their instructional strategies, there is also an equal portion that teaches purely from repetition. Teachers must be willing to change, adapt, and grow as professionals. Furthermore, we must let the students be the primary catalyst for that change, not the current educational or political trends. Because what it all boils down to is the fact when the bell rings, and the door closes, it is not one teacher and twenty-five students; it is simply one classroom, and the learning, must be reciprocal.

~Michael Mize

He who can, does; he who cannot, teaches. George Bernard Shaw is credited with this line from his 1903 play Man and Superman, although it is unknown whether this was actually the opinion of Shaw, or merely a line of dialogue for one of his many characters. Either way, it is a platitude that still finds its way into our modern conversations with a great degree of regularity. And while there is no definitive way to determine how many believe this sentiment, the fact that it shows no sign of fading into obscurity after a century of use says a great deal.
Misconceptions like this one are so unfortunate because not only are they fueled by ignorance, but they perpetuate it as well. The recipe for these misguided generalizations seems dependent upon two major ingredients, the first being a cunningly crafted mnemonic used to express an oversimplification. The second is the fact that, for one reason or another, many people seem content to allow someone else to do their thinking. Whether it's due to the hectic pace of our modern lives, or just plain old fashion laziness, single sized servings of ill-founded logic and overly vague generalities seem every bit as popular as downloading the latest ring tones.

Corporate advertising has capitalized on this tendency and churned out innumerable slogans and catch phrases that make the line between ethics and consumerism nearly indiscernible. We walk around regurgitating these prepackaged thoughts and expressing our individuality with mass produced clichés. Through sheer repetition and rote memorization, we risk allowing these nuggets of disinformation to evolve from cleverly worded adages into national perceptions.

While I don't believe that the average citizen holds the same level of contempt for the teaching profession as Shaw, there are the obvious trends that make one question our society's opinion of it as a whole. The salaries and benefits for teachers continue to be substandard, funding and budgets are consistently cut or reallocated, and the number of people entering the profession remains on a steady decline. However, there is no shortage of sappy, feel-good propaganda meant to induce the warm-fuzzies and placate us into submission.

In fact, it is that specific genre of writing that causes me to choose my words here with great caution. I do not want to simply restate an argument that has already been made countless times before. There is a wealth of literature that expounds on the nobility inherent in the teaching profession; that addresses the numerous intrinsic rewards and outlines the unending hours of extra duty needed to remain a successful classroom teacher. And that is not to say that I don't agree with these statements, I just wanted to try and do more than merely echo the sentiment of other educational advocates.

Instead I wanted to try and get at the root of this phrase and unlock the thinking behind why it still has life in our modern society. My best speculation about the original inception of this slogan is that it was, unfortunately, entrenched in fact. There was a time in our nations history when the standards for becoming a public educator were dramatically lower than they are presently. This was coupled with the misconception that being skilled at a specific trade qualified an individual to be a successful teacher of that same trade. As a result, our public schools become populated by a number of people who simply ended up, unintentionally, becoming teachers. In an environment such as this, it must be noted that Shaw's critique bears some truth.

But a lot has changed since then, and I believe that the average person is well aware that being skilled in a certain subject, and being a successful teacher of a certain subject, are two entirely different tasks. And by no means does the former ensure the latter. In fact, I would contend that a majority of people would defend teaching as a profession of some nobility that requires a unique commitment and dedication. To that end, it has been my experience that nearly every single person has a favorite teacher that somehow significantly impacted their life. Not only that, but when questioned about their favorite teacher, most people immediately revert to a child like enthusiasm in recounting the specifics of that teachers affect on them personally.

So why does Shaw's myth persist? I could continue rambling on trying to formulate some hypothesis, but in the end, it would all be meaningless conjecture. So instead, I opt for a different strategy. I propose we face this myth head on and do what we can to smite it from our public vernacular. I recommend that we counteract the negativity inherent in Shaw's statement with a wave of positivity that washes the proverbial slate clean.

Here's what I suggest. No doubt your mind has already wandered a bit to thoughts of your own favorite teacher since my mention of it earlier. Take some time to remember that teacher. Think about what they specifically did that affected you meaningfully enough that you would still recall them all these years later. Examine your present life for signs of that teacher's continuing influence. Gather your thoughts, take some notes, and then, make contact. Track that teacher down and let them know the role they've played in your life. Write a letter, make a call, send an email. Perhaps you could share your memories here and send them the link, whatever. Make contact.

I can assure you that the ten minutes of your time it will take to do this will be well worth it. Personal feedback from former students is among the most prized and cherished rewards a teacher can receive. And your actions will be in direct contradiction to Shaw's misconceived dialogue that has already lived long past its prime. You'll be helping to rewrite and reshape the public perception into a statement that better reflects what we all know to be true: "Everyone can, because of those who teach"

~Michael Mize

Before my own children were born, I would spend my summer breaks teaching kids art. Only instead of big kids, I was teaching little kids, typically four to six year olds. I've often said that after nine months of teenagers, teaching little kids was like desert. While I do love my high school kids, and the depth in which we can explore the arts together, they lack a few of the admirable attributes found in their toddling counterparts.

Try as I might, I do not believe I have ever managed to inspire those tiny artists as much as they did me. Paul Klee understood this when he noted, "Children also have artistic ability, and there is wisdom in their having it! The more helpless they are, the more instructive are the examples they furnish us." There is a level of honesty and purity found in children's art that is simply impossible for an adult achieve. They are not tainted by fear or contaminated by formal training; they are living squarely in the moment and expressing themselves with a wildly contagious and enviable enthusiasm.

Picasso summed it up very succinctly when he stated that, "All children are artists. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up." The artwork of young children is so captivating because it is fundamentally pure, motivated only by a genuine desire to create and explore. While we "mature" artists like to fancy our efforts as being sophisticated and thoughtful, we are but poor imitators of childlike exuberance. We pride ourselves on our innovative methods and techniques, yet we are simply groping around in the dark trying to regain even a glimmer of the freedom we enjoyed as children.

There is an overt sincerity in the way young children produce art. Their aesthetic decisions are not persuaded by the potential opinion of others. They are not concerned with stylistic expectations or name recognition. They are not interested in how realistic their drawings look. They have not learned to worry about "ruining" an artwork. Their tiny hearts and hands are completely unaffected by the large cache of emotional baggage most adult artists bring to the proverbial drawing board. We have so much to learn, or perhaps, to unlearn.

The slow and subtle development of fear is a crippling cancer that destroys creative integrity in teenagers and adults. We can become so committed to our irrational distress, allowing unimportant nonsense to influence us into a self-inflicted paralysis. We quite literally worry ourselves into a state artistic immobility. When I contrast that with swift and purposeful marks made by my four year old daughter, I almost laugh at the arrogance of calling myself an art teacher.

The artistic freedom children enjoy is a direct result of the complete lack of restraint they place on themselves. The art making experience is never more direct or intentional than it is in the hands of a child. They plunge into the creative encounter with a joyful abandon and produce works of such expressive character; works that allow us a precious glimpse into their unique and wonderful perception. Theirs is truly the only original art, and the methods and techniques they employ are beyond our understanding. Picasso knew this full well when commented, "It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child."!IMAGE375!

~Michael Mize

A few months ago I wrote about the propagation of what I have often called The Drawing Myth and its role in the spreading of misinformation concerning the accessibility of drawing as a learnable skill. This is a fascinating topic for me and one which I find myself returning to with each new semester of teaching kids art. The beginning of this school year was no different, and in fact, I found myself just this week delivering my Drawing Myth speech to a collection of eager new faces. My mind is often prone to wander while my mouth is delivering familiar words, and I'm often just as prone to allow it; I'm curious to see where it might go. On this particular journey, my mind followed an illogical path of reasoning to an unexpected and enlightening conclusion. I decided to remove the brain filter and allow myself to think out loud in front of my students, a risky move that can, and often has, led to disastrous results. This time, however, it brought me to an epiphany of surprising intrigue that I find myself still trying to fully grasp.

I've always given my Drawing Myth speech to students on the third or fourth day of class, which is safely within the confines of the "honeymoon" grace period. It usually takes teenagers approximately one full week to shed their introverted cocoons and emerge into the class environment displaying the full spectrum of their colorful personalities. While this does not guarantee that my philosophical dialogue will fall upon the ears of a rapt and captive audience, it does increase the likelihood that they will at least be quiet for its duration.

My introduction of the drawing myth has always proceeded my explanation of the two halves of the brain, which includes a list of their specific traits and cognitive responsibilities. My goal is to illustrate the significant role the brain plays in either inhibiting or allowing a student to truly begin to improve their drawing. Much of the information I share comes straight from the text of Betty Edwards' Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain, which, in my humble opinion, is the definitive source for teaching beginning drawers. And while it is not my intent to simply recite Edwards' work, there are a few key points I must mention in order to better explain the revelation that occurred to me.

First, and foremost, are the completely contrary personalities exhibited by the two halves of our brain. The left side of our brain is the verbal, analytical, logical, digital (i.e. numerical) and temporal side of the mind. Much of what we do while we are awake and walking around falls under the jurisdiction of the left brain. The left brain is task-oriented, efficient, and a bit of a megalomaniacal control freak. What's more, it is the opinion of the left brain that anything not included on its list of responsibilities is an unnecessary waste of time. The left brain is so convinced of its superiority, that it will often resort to cognitive sabotage to ensure that it remains in control of all sensory output.

Contrast this to the exceedingly gentle and passive personality of the right side of our brain. Often referred to as the creative side, the right brain excels at skills that are nonverbal, intuitive, spatial, and holistic. The right brain is exceptional in divergent thinking and seeing the whole for the sum of its parts. The right brain is already a great drawer, it is expressive, compassionate, and okay with the fact that the left brain is usually in charge. However, when allowed to drive, it will quickly assert its influence, which often results in loosing all track of time and having a great deal of fun.

We all have these personalities bouncing around inside of our heads and we are often unaware of exactly how much influence they have on both our personality and behavior. I have become quite fond of showing several of the Mac/PC commercials to my students because I believe, as a metaphor, they perfectly personify the right and left brain. The humor of the ads help ease the tension of what can be a fairly heady (pardon the pun) topic, but I also think it helps solidify our understanding if we can imagine our brains as having predictable personalities. After all, we are very nearly cognitive slaves to the synaptic will of our own gray matter, and the more we understand it, the more likely that we can be the ones in control.

I frequently tell my students their hand has little to do with them learning to draw. The key ingredients are their eyes, and more importantly, their brains. Since we spend most of our time perceiving the world through the eyes of our dominant left brain, tasks like drawing are understandably difficult and frustrating, because the left brain is no good at them. The right brain, however, is well versed in the necessary skills that make drawing something which not only comes easily, but is enjoyable as well. The real key is being able to make a cognitive switch from the left brain into the right. I tell my students that I understand all of this brain stuff sounds like a bunch of tree-hugging, new-age, crystal-loving nonsense, but it's the honest truth. The difference between an "artist" and the average person is that the artist knows how to make the necessary cognitive switch to engage creative thinking.

And that's when I was struck by a two-ton block of obvious. That is the source of the drawing myth. That is the key. Artists know, if even only on a subconscious level, how to make the switch to the right brain. And once we are functioning under the control of the right brain, tasks like drawing become much easier. And to the average person, who is largely unaware of all this business about our two conflicting brains, it appears that the artist must have simply been born with this unique ability to draw. It suddenly becomes easy to understand how this perception can so easily continue to perpetuate itself. The artists go about their work, deftly switching into the right brain and making their craft seem effortless. All the while the general population, to whom drawing is quite difficult, goes on unaware of the fact that their own creative abilities are being held hostage by their dominant left brain.

I will admit that saying it out loud, and now typing it, makes me feel like some crackpot conspiracy theorist. But this relationship between ability, and the perception of it, seems so transparent and obvious to me now. I sincerely hope I've explained it in a way that makes it clear, especially since I've not yet reached the bottom of the rabbit hole.

I've followed this line of reasoning to an even greater depth and discovered what is, at least to me, another fascinating parallel between our brains and our behavior. We know that each of us houses this complex dynamic of contradictory thinking inside our heads. And while it is true that everyone has varying degrees of dominance between the two halves, for a vast majority of our population, the left brain exercises a commanding influence. We must also admit to some extent that influence inspires who we are and how we behave, both individually, and as a species. So if we compare the responsibilities and preferences of the left brain to our societal priorities and norms, some interesting similarities emerge.

Of specific importance to me is the perception of the arts, both in education and society in general. While we do certainly have advocates outside our immediate subject area who help champion our cause, I don't think I'm understating it to say that the arts receive minimal support at best. More often than not the arts are categorically placed on the edge of societies perception and forced to operate in the peripheral of the public eye. In addition, we continue to see art moved lower and lower on the list of subjects our children should learn, if not removed from the list entirely.

This type of thinking has always frustrated me profoundly because it seemed to condescendingly simplify and negate something I'm incredibly passionate about. But now I find myself looking at this flawed attitude with new eyes. It might be that those with a less than supportive attitude towards the arts simply don't know any better. And I guess I always knew that, but now I think I understand why they don't know any better. What's more, I think I have an idea of what needs to be done to try and resolve such rampant neglect of one of the most unique and soulful aspects of being a human. But the task is so large and overwhelming, where does one begin. I guess I'll start with 1st period tomorrow.

~Michael Mize

There is a tangible energy in an art room; a palatable excitement that at times I have to force myself to slow down and savor. You can sense it when the students are really enthused about an assignment and they're eagerly immersing themselves in their work. I float around the room encouraging creativity, nudging inspiration, and playfully joking with the kids. Amidst the flurry of noise and activity there are days I must simply stop and smile as I take a moment to remind myself that teaching kids art was my dream, and I'm living it.

I've known I wanted to be a high school art teacher ever since I, myself, was a high school art student. Under the tutelage of some exemplary instructors I heard my future vocation beckoning me. It took me seven years to slowly drudge my way through my collegiate career and eventually earn my degree. During four of those years I worked full time as a ad designer for the local newspaper, essentially earning a second degree in graphic design, a skill that continues to serve me well today. Throughout those long years of designing newspaper ads by day and studying art education pedagogy by night, I dreamed about the time when I'd finally stand in front of a class. I imagined what I would say and do, the projects I'd introduce and the lessons I'd try to convey. I envisioned the rhythm and tempo of the class dynamic, how the students would respond to me and how we all would relate as a group.

It was much to my surprise then, and my amusement now, that I realized a majority of my daydreaming was the result of misdirected naiveté. I have since come to discover that the process of teaching kids art is not a tranquil and serene interaction between placidly intrigued students and their eager instructor. Or at least my particular brand of art education is not. I'm sure there are classes in which the atmosphere is very calm and peaceful, but I'd be willing to gamble that the artwork being produced in such an environment is likely a bit dull and predictable. I don't say that to be arrogant, but to try and draw a parallel between the energy and the output of the class.

Teenagers are, by their very nature, full of explosive energy and emotion. Unfortunately our current public school format requires students to spend most of their day subduing and stifling their natural inclinations and enthusiasms. This is equivalent to placing your thumb over an open bottle of soda and then walking around all day shaking it; at some point there must be a release. I like to think that's where my class comes in. My preferred flavor of art instruction is a room of mild insanity that is only barely contained. It is a space that is pulsing with so much energy and life that it is positively contagious. And as a result, participation becomes inherently desirable to the students instead of merely being a product of mandatory obligation.

Now I'll be the first to admit, this can be an extremely difficulty dynamic to achieve with a room full of teenagers, especially at 8:00am. And I won't pretend that it this something I manage to accomplish with every class, every day. But I can say, with great sense of determination, it is what I strive for in all my classes. It is the gift I very much want to share with each of my students: a room full of energy and freedom, and an assortment of media with which to experience it.

It is my opinion that the classroom environment plays an absolutely crucial role in the overall quality of effective art education, especially at the high school level. And it is my thinking that on a good day, to an inexperienced, casual observer, a high school art room should appear to be in the throes of mutiny. Students should be out of their seats, moving about, talking, laughing, and engaging with each other. The room should be completely cluttered with artistic debris and music should be playing in the background just below an unacceptable level. Some students are working in pairs, others are sitting on the counters or on the floor in the corner. There should be very little semblance to traditional classroom order.

This does not imply that there is not a well established regime of classroom management that dictates behavior and procedure, but that is largely reserved for the first and last moments of the period. It is those precious moments in between in which students must be afforded an abnormal amount of freedom if authentic artistic expression is truly to be expected.

I'm always confronted with a sort of professional paradox this time of year. I spend the summer immersing myself in my family and enjoying a nearly indescribable contentment in the blessing that they are to me. I love them immensely. But I also really love my job, and every year in late July I start getting those twinges of excitement creeping back into the corners of my mind. I become emotionally entangled in an intrinsic struggle between not wanting to give up the luxury of spending so much time with my family, and the eagerness to get back in the classroom and try some new ideas out. I simultaneously try and savor every last day with my family while longing for the bustling energy of school and the challenge of encountering a new batch of kids. This year is no different. In fact, while I sit finishing these thoughts, my mind is both planning the details of one final camping trip, as well as new classroom strategies which will hopefully ensure that desirable level of controlled chaos.

~Michael Mize

CONTINUING THE ADVENTURES OF TEACHING KIDS ART!

I've mentioned before that most dreaded assignment I give any of my students is the notorious self portrait. No single project garners more gripes and groans than the ominous chore of being left alone with pencil, paper, and mirror. It should come as no surprise that this is one of my favorite projects to assign, not because I'm sadistic and enjoy torturing my students, although they would argue otherwise. There are actually two main reasons for my enthusiasm with the self portrait; the first of which is consistently seeing students perform far better than they ever imagined. This certainly isn't true for every student, but each semester there are a handful of kids who truly get involved in their portraits and end up with some fantastic drawings. I'll never tire of watching students amaze themselves.

The second reason for my fondness with the self portrait is the lecture I give the day before the students begin work. My excitement is not so much with the lecture as I've prepared it, which is actually a cheesy little PowerPoint with some intentionally goofy mug shots of myself as examples. My excitement is with the factual information I get to share with the kids. I get energized because nearly every time I give this lecture, a majority of the class stares at me with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. Their intrigue stems from the fact that most of them have never heard the facts I share with them that day, and yet they've been staring them in the face, literally, their entire lives. And if I've done my job correctly, during this lecture I can carefully, gently open a philosophical, even spiritual door, and pray that they will be bold enough to walk through it and explore. The name of this lecture is, "The Eyes Have It"

The content of the lecture itself, facial proportions, is fairly inconspicuous. Initially it seems rather dull. After all, the human face is so ingrained into our collective psyche that it is arguably the one image with which we are all most familiar. In fact, the specific configuration of two eyes, a nose, and mouth is so recognizable that our imagination allows us to see "faces" everywhere in the world around us. Ironically enough, with all the time we spend looking at and seeing faces, a vast majority of the population seem unaware of exactly how fascinating our faces are in regards to their arrangement.

Most of my students are familiar with one of the most important proportions of the human face, at least, that's what they think. In fact, most people seem to know that the eyes are placed about three-fourths the way up the face from the chin. There are a great many art teachers that even teach the handy trick of first drawing an oval to represent the face, then a vertical line done the middle to position the nose, and finally a horizontal line, about three-fourths the way up, to help place the eyes. (Anyone else remember this convenient gimmick?) The problem with it is that it's inaccurate. Our eyes are actually right smack dab in the middle of our faces. None of my students ever believe me, so I have them check. Using a pencil and a mirror you can prove this to yourself. Place the eraser end of the pencil at the midline of your eye, and use your thumb to mark the bottom of your chin on the pencil. You'll find this is the same increment from the middle of your eyes to the top of your head, when staring straight ahead. Try it. Our eyes are in the middle of our head.

This fact alone is responsible for more "lobotomies" in the art world than perhaps any other proportion. The eyes get placed to high and the rest of the face ends up looking off kilter. The eyes, however, have a lot more to offer in terms of accurate facial representations. (At the risk of preaching to the choir, I'll try and remain brief.) There is the width of one eye in between our eyes, as well as between each eye and the edge of our head. The corners of our mouths are positioned exactly beneath the middle of each eye. What's more, it is a span of two eye widths from our eyes down to our mouths. There is even the height of one eye between our top lip and the bottom of our nose.

During the lecture my slide show goes on to demonstrate these proportions with a cut out of one of my eyes bouncing around to reveal these curious measurements. There are some other odd proportions that are worth mentioning in the interest of being thorough. The bottom of our chin to the bottom of our nose is equivalent to the tip of our nose to the top of our brow. Similarly, the bottom of our chin to the bottom lip is the same as the bottom lip to the bottom of the nose. When all these proportions are used in coordination, you find our faces are continually divided into halves. In the distance between the top of the head and the chin, our eyes mark the half. From the eyes to the chin, the nose split's the difference. Finally, the lips are half way between the nose and chin.

I understand that all of this can be terribly confusing and dull, especially when simply listed off in a couple of paragraphs. I'm also conscious of the fact that a great many of you are likely already aware of these proportions. I share these with you so I can make the same point I make with my students. Our human face is an amazingly intricate construction of staggeringly subtle complexity. But perhaps the most fascinating detail of all concerning facial proportions is the fact that we all share the same basic layout. The differences between your face and a vacuum cleaner repairman in Germany are surprisingly few. The details that differentiate your appearance from anyone else on the globe are exceedingly miniscule. Fundamentally we all have the same basic foundational design. Allow that to soak into for a minute. The current estimates state that there are nearly 6.7 billion people on the planet, and yet there is only ONE basic layout for all our faces. Even as an artist, I find it nearly impossible to fathom that level of creative divergence from a single design.

Obviously, as a public school teacher I have to dance very carefully around this issue and choose my words carefully. But there are those that believe, myself included, that this is astonishingly strong evidence to support the existence of God, or at least Intelligent Design. Ultimately it's a decision everyone must make for themselves, but it is one I would encourage you to give some sincere thought.

In the end, what I hope students get out of the lecture, besides the knowledge needed to draw themselves a bit more successfully, is a renewed sense of wonder and curiosity. If there are new things to be discovered in something as banal and mundane as their own face, imagine what there is to find and explore in the rest of the world. There are discoveries waiting to be revealed by simply taking the time to look a little more carefully, a little more closely. There are mysteries to be unlocked, and where might the key be? The eyes have it.

~Michael Mize

I really love teaching kids art, especially drawing. Part of the reason for my enthusiasm, as I've been rambling on about in my last three blogs, is the fact that there is almost as much aesthetic philosophy to the course as there are hands-on skills to learn. As a result of my eagerness to teach the course, I do a fair amount of recruiting to build interest in the class since it is often overlooked. What's interesting is that the class is almost unanimously neglected by students for the same reason. Even more unfortunate is the fact that the reasoning behind the rationale to not enroll in a drawing class is fundamentally inaccurate. So one of the professional responsibilities I've taken upon myself is to do what I can to try and dispel The Drawing Myth.

As I see it, the average person's understanding of drawing is that it is a technical skill you are either born with or not. Thereby, if you are one of the unfortunate majority who lacks this creative gift, there is no sense in bothering to take a class on the subject.
I encounter this belief countless times every semester when encouraging a student to take a drawing class. "I can't take drawing," they inform me, "because I don't draw very well." This logic is so tragically flawed that it borders on being laughable, especially when compared to the thinking behind why one would take any other course of study. I usually reply with a comparison to learning a new language. Before taking a class in Japanese, for example, there is no expectation of prior knowledge or ability in speaking Japanese. (other than perhaps, "Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto!) Obviously, that is why a course of study is pursued, to learn a specific skill or knowledge set. Why then do people unnecessarily place the burden of prior talent upon themselves in advance of a drawing class? I believe it is because their perception has been tainted by The Drawing Myth.

What then is the source of this myth, and how has it continued to propagate? I think the principal culprit is the inconsistency or absence of art instruction in the later grades of primary school education. If you've ever had the privilege of being around very young children making art, you know that they pour themselves into the activity with an unmatched level of excitement that is positively contagious. Art education at this early stage is unquestionably important, but is also more about supplying materials and then staying out of their way, creatively speaking. We have far more to learn from them, than they from us. (but that's another blog.)

Gradually, as a child's formal thinking skills develop, they begin to realize that their drawings do not portray the world around them as accurately as they would like. This is when quality art education is perhaps most crucial, and unfortunately, it is always where it is most deficient. So as our young drawers are becoming aware of their own inabilities, as well as becoming increasing self-conscious about the opinion of their peers, many opt to completely disengage from the activity entirely. This is why we have Nobel Prize winners who still draw stick figures. In fact, a surprisingly large majority of adults draw at around a 6th grade level simply because no one ever taught them otherwise.

It's easy to see then how this myth continues to plague generation after generation. When most people have great difficulty drawing, those that do have a natural affinity for it seem like a chosen few, a rare group of select individuals with an inherent gift. And while it is true that some people do seem to pick up drawing easier than others, the fact remains, drawing is a skill that absolutely anyone can acquire. It is merely a rehearsed series of movements between the eye and the hand. The old adage that if you can write you can draw is infallibly correct. Anyone can learn to draw. And what's more, you don't need to know how to draw well, even a little bit, in order to learn. In fact, all you need is a desire to learn.

So what do we, as artists and lovers or art, do about this myth? Whatever we can! Encourage friends and family who have shown an interest to take a class or read a book. Share the benefits of drawing as an invaluable therapeutic outlet for expression and personal growth. Teach, whether it be a formal class or sharing some tips one on one with close friend. In the end, the most important thing we can do is try and not continue to perpetuate this myth by our own actions and attitudes. There are certainly those in the art community that enjoy basking in the inaccuracy that what we do is somehow privy to only an elite group of elevated individuals. In my mind, that mentality is detestable. Art is something you need not make a living at to benefit from personally. And to not encourage others to experience the joy that can be derived from this self-explorative activity we call art, is nothing short of selfish. And so as part of my effort, I challenge anyone reading this to make your own attempt at doing something to help discredit The Drawing Myth.

~Michael Mize

You can read a follow up to this blog, "The Drawing Myth: Exposed" by clicking here