Mystery and Misery

Yesterday I was asked by a parent of a prospective student what the point of AP Art History was. The parent’s child wanted to take the course next year with me, but the parent felt economics was a more important course. I agreed that studying the allocation of resources, essentially that being the study of economics, was indeed valuable. But I thought a moment and responded, “But studying art history explores the mystery and misery of our human existence. It is thousands of years of visual images and how we imagine the spaces around us.” I was kinda proud of my explanation of what it all was.

Last week 53 young art historians from KA undertook the AP Art History test. While it didn’t have quite the historical significance as last year’s AP World History test—none of those students had ever undertaken an AP test before; who knew what would happen???—there was that kind of building momentum that I have known so many merry months of May.

Taking an AP test is a little like 24, one of my favorite TV shows. If you know the show, you know that it is about many things, but among them most prominently are the villains and this FOX show’s forthright depictions of torture (that is not the only parallel, however, dear readers to my course—be careful!). But one of the exquisite things about 24 is that moment. If you know the show and the work of Jack Bauer, you know what I am talking about. It arrives near the end of every season of 24. I call it the moment: the unmarked but discernible instant at which you know you can relax.

When you teach an AP course, one eye is either on the calendar or the clock at all times. From the moment we started AP Art History last August 30, I was aware of the 5,000 years I needed to explore before May 12, 2010. When you start a season of 24 you are so aware that there will be 24 episodes played out in “real-time,” and never, no, never, can you indeed reach that moment until we have reached the climax of the story. Even when I turned the corner of Jackson Pollock a couple weeks ago, I thought, can’t relax yet—I still have to try and sum up the art of the 1950s-1990s in a short time…the moment hasn’t arrived yet!!

In the TV show when that moment arrives, when all the turncoats have been exposed and all the innocent hostages rescued, we can risk confidence that no one else we care about will be killed. The music takes on a more triumphant tone, and super-agent and chief worrywart Jack Bauer starts to shed the death-mask expression he’s worn for the entire season.

I can’t decide if I am at all like Jack Bauer. He is certainly a super-hero and I am, I guess, just a super-grader. But there is a certainty about Jack Bauer that I like to borrow. While Jack is relentless in his pursuit of the baddies, I say on the first day of class that as we work our way through these 5,000 years I will be relentlessly happy during class. The great virtue of 24, as with any great superhero, is certainty—the knowledge that in moments of crisis, Jack Bauer will always come to the right conclusion and do the right thing, a satisfying combination of supercompetence and incorruptibility.

I like taking students on this ride, and while I have feet of clay, I do enjoy the perils of the ticking clock and rushing calendar taking us to that day when each and every student takes that test. No one is allowed to dodge the test and all those students took that test and emerged excited and confident last Wednesday.

I don’t actually know what was asked of them on the test. I know parts of some of the prompts, but it is still shrouded in secrecy from the College Board. But I do know what the College Board put on the mock exam they made available to us to use. There were 115 multiple choice questions, and 7 mini-essays, and 2 longer essays—all over the course of 195 minutes. In the mini-essays the students were asked to analyze a page from a Gothic illuminated manuscript, analyze a post-modern building by Philip Johnson, analyze two Degas paintings, analyze a Romanesque Cathedral façade, analyze a quotation by a Renaissance art theorist, analyze a mortuary temple for an Egyptian pharaoh, and analyze a crucifix from circa 1000. The long essays asked them to write, first, about sacred sculptures and how they reveal beliefs and practices, and secondly, about papal patronage and the arts.

So last week that moment came—the test is over, and the course winds down. We watch movies about artists now.

I thought it might be interesting to share the journal sheet from one of my most intrepid students. Dana came to KA in the fall of 2008, and we did not hit it off well, at first. In fact, she made it into the blog—I know this, because she discovered an entry that had observations about a new girl and her “dollop of cyncism” she added to class. I am happy to report that my assessment of Dana has deepened over these two years. Dana is among the most exciting students I have ever taught, a fellow lodger in Clio’s house. I think her work on this weekly Journal Sheet, the last of the year, reveals so much of the wonder and the mystery of art history.


Masterpiece of the year:

My favorite artwork this year is Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, by German Romantic artist Caspar David Friedrich. I thought for a long time about what my favorite artwork of the year would be, but I kept coming back to this one. The wanderer has just climbed a mountain, and now he is standing on the mountaintop contemplating all the work he has just done, and the many more mountains he must climb. On this day, at this point in my life, I feel like I am about to reach a major mountaintop. High school trials, tribulations, and triumphs have made the climbing of this mountain impossible to forget, and in 20 days, I will reach the peak… before climbing back down to start another climb in three month's time.

Needless to say, I feel kind of like the wanderer. I've spent a few hours over the last 2 days staring at this painting and contemplating the meaning of the phrase "Life isn't about the destination, it's about the journey," in a Dr. Phil voice, of course. The wanderer doesn't have a clearly defined destination - the mountains go on forever. He doesn't even have a clearly defined journey - it is obscured by fog and distance. But, he's going to climb down the mountain and see what's next. I'M SO EXCITED/SAD/SCARED/READY!

Best textual example of the year:

My favorite textual example of the year is this excerpt from the Ingeborg Bachmann poem, "Bohemia Lies by the Sea:" If Bohemia still lies by the sea, I'll believe in the sea again. / And believing in the sea, thus I can hope for land." Essentially, context aside, this poem is wondering of there is hope for the future. In Anselm Kiefer's accompanying painting, also entitled Bohemia Lies by the Sea, we are shown Bohemia, but we are unable to see if it lies by the sea (and by extension whether or not there is hope for the future).

So what do we do? We have only one choice - we have to step onto the road and take the long journey (I'm starting to sense a theme here) through Bohemia and find out for ourselves whether or not Bohemia lies by the sea (and how much farther we have to go to find hope if it doesn't). Again, like the wanderer on the mountaintop, my classmates and I are about to start trudging through a wonderful mix of poppies and gunk until we find the sea.

Best insight from Mr. John of the year:

One of the finest pieces of advice I have ever received from Mr. John was given to me unwittingly: from Mr. John's December 25, 2009 blog entry comes this quotation: "Peace: It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart." The idea is similar to finding your eye of a cyclone (an area of calm weather located directly in the center of a storm)…. And in such a whirlwind time of my life, I like having this bit of wisdom as a reminder to center myself and find peace, even when I’m in the “midst of noise, trouble, and hard work.”

It’s easy to get caught up in the things that bother you – people, actions, decisions, and tasks can all disrupt our days and make us feel like Pandora’s Box has been opened and we are powerless to order everything and make sense of it all. But, if we remember to find peace in our hearts, we can work through the mess and move forward. This doesn’t relate much to Art History, but there you have it.

Best peer insight this year:

Who else could I pick for this but Ghassan? This won’t really have much to do with Art History either, but everything Ghassan does is insightful. He and I attend a school where many people get things because of who their parents are or the size of their bank accounts, and despite all of that he works incredibly hard to earn everything he gets. Outside of the classroom, he sweats empathy and compassion. This may sound a little like a love letter, but he is a truly admirable human being, who is in no way perfect, nor does he pretend to be – but he does do his best to correct his wrongs and make the best decisions possible.

We talk a lot about role models in high school – leaders, politicians, athletes, and authority figures. But I believe the most powerful role models are peers, because we don’t feel as though their age makes them capable of so much. Ghassan has been a wonderful role model to me throughout my time at King’s Academy and has inspired me to work hard and have a sense of humor about life.

Best vocabulary word or phrase of the year:

My favorite vocabulary word/phrase from the year is the name of my favorite movement, Romanticism. Romanticism is the movement that suggests God and religion can be found in nature, and indeed that they are one in the same. I believe it’s a beautiful philosophy, and can be applied to the somewhat industrialized world too – if you look hard enough, God can be found everywhere.

Similarly… good can be found everywhere. Even in the tiny corner of the world known as Manja, Jordan. Romanticism, however unintentionally, has become a reminder to look for goodness in even the unlikeliest places and an assurance that such a search will not be unrewarded.

If I ever wonder if it was a worthwhile year, I can just read this and feel quite blessed.