It’s one of my favorite times of the year…right now. That could be one of a few things, actually. Jordan explodes with color in the spring, and we are enjoying the dazzling wild flowers and carpets of green. It lasts for about 5 or 6 weeks, and that it is back to the brown that we know so well.
It is the last few weeks with seniors too, but, if you have ever spent time with seniors in the spring, you know that that is probably not what I am talking about. Sigh. This time of year is actually pretty joy-less in the teaching biz with seniors. Even seniors whom you have adored and felt hung the moon become sullen and defiant and, again, joy-less. I have been seeing it for over 20 years. It comes with the territory. They begin the separation, and that includes teachers, especially teachers with whom they may have been close. They speak to you less frequently, dare not to act excited about class, and adopt a world-weariness that is unbelievable.
Oh, wait, this blog entry is about one of my favorite times of year, not one of the most trying times of year! Sorry, I lost focus!
It’s the time right before the AP Art History test. We have made the long haul from pre-historic times to post-modernism, so we covered all the ground required. And it is not that students are newly smart, but they are smarter, and more profound than ever before. They have come to that point in the course when they are not studying something for the first time, or probably even the second or third. They recognize that this test is not really about recognizing art works, but discussing how the visual arts have worked over millennia. They see how similar a pre-historic sculpture might be with a post-WWII de Kooning painting. And they say the most amazing things!
I feel a little like a parent of a chatty, inquisitive 5 year old at this time of year. Yes, everything they say is phenomenal! Well, it pretty much is really. We are not just cramming facts in heads, but they are responding to art works and testing themselves with mock essay topics and as Art Linkletter swore for decades, they say the “darndest things.”
Last week I asked the class to come up with their list of 50 art works upon which the whole course hinges. Now, admittedly, it’s a pretty easy assignment. Frankly, copy down any 50 art works and you get credit. But year after year, students take this assignment seriously, and they strain and furrow their brow and they try and have a list whittled down from the possibly 1000 art works we studied this year.
Last year a student decided to choose the one art work that moved him the most in the entire course. It wasn’t an assignment actually, he just wanted to select one and write about it…for fun…He chose a Rembrandt painting that is in the Met in New York, Aristotle Contemplating the Bust of Homer and wrote so well about why it matters to him more than any other art work…wow…sigh…This year I decided to pose that same challenge and asked if there was one art work that moved them more than any other. They know my choice since in February I tell them a particular Vermeer is my favorite and most moving of the entire year. I am pretty sure I have mentioned it in the blog at some point.
I had a student write and tell me the one he would choose. Again, it was a Rembrandt. Maybe there is something to that guy. The student chose a work that is in St. Petersburg, a narrative about the biblical story of the prodigal son. I will wait a second while you google image the work so you can see this Rembrandt work late, late in his career.
The story of the prodigal son is always interesting anyway. It is famous beyond the confines of the Bible and Jesus’ parables. Did you know that this biblical story is alluded to more often than any other in William Shakespeare’s works? There is something about the story. Think about it—it has almost everything, from greed to envy to confession to celebration to jealousy to bitterness to forgiveness. A sweeping array of emotions and responses!
The student explained why it moved him so much. Firstly, Rembrandt’s career had taken a nose-dove and he had become a pariah, of sorts. The student explained how the trajectory of his career had gotten him thinking about how we treat people on the way up the ladder and then, gulp, down the ladder. The student appreciated Rembrandt’s technique, yes, but the part of the painting that he responded to so much was how the story evokes “unconditional love.” He said that! Again, a painting can make you think about the most important, universal things.
The student’s response offered me the opportunity to think about the story again. At times when I have thought about the story, I think about that other son, the elder son, and how he reacted to his brother’s return and his father’s response. I can picture him now, with his arms folded, marinating in his own bitterness. I wonder what happened after the parable ends…does he let go of his resentment? When we resent someone, it gets down into our bones and our tissues and our cells. It can rot away at our insides.
We don’t know what the younger son did. The Bible doesn’t relate many details about his escapades. In class, as we look at the painting, I always suggest the younger brother went to Las Vegas, or a fraternity party, so that they have an idea, but I don’t have to spell out exactly what he might have done. The King James version does tell us that “he wasted his substance in riotous living.” They get some of the levels of what “wasted” can mean.
Then I think about the younger brother—why did he come home? Was he out of money? Hungry? Needed to wash clothes? Sorry for his having “wasted his substance in riotous living”?
But of course, the real focus of the story, and the student reminded me of it, was the attitude of the father, the bar set so high in how to love. The story is about transformation—at the beginning of the story the thoughtless kid has a “gimme” attitude as he claims his inheritance, a kind-of biblical Veruca-Salt who wants it, and wants it now. But upon his return, and look at the Rembrandt painting now, and you see how that has changed. He has transformed and begs his father to “make me.” He wants to be made a hired hand so he is worthy of his father.
But the student’s response focused my attention on the father and his character. When the young son confesses his unworthiness, it is his father’s love that prompts the confession, not the confession that prompts the father’s love. When the older son rails against the father for showing a special, favored love to his decadent brother, Dad reminds him that it is not a special, favored love. This just happens to be the way the father always loves.
The student marveled at the unconditional love shown by the Dad. I also marvel at that as well. For most of us, loving part of the way is what we tend to do, instead of all the way, and that acts as our defense against being hurt. Not so with the father in the story. His love is not an “if you do this, then I will love you” variety. It is so much more a “because of who you are and who I am, I must love you” type.
The student said he had a father like that. I told him that I also am fortunate to have a father like that. We didn’t say much to each other after that—who needed to speak when we had just figured out one of the most important lessons for humanity???
But it is not an easy lesson, is it? It is a love riddled with unfairness. The younger son is mystified by the extravagance of the father’s love, and the older son is infuriated by it. But then, the father isn’t working on fairness. Indeed, if you think about the end of the parable, the story is actually an exercise in un-fair¬ness. That party! The father practices unfairness in the celebration of the return of that younger son.
Fairness. Whoa. Talk about your weighty subjects. I guess fairness really only works in the realm of mathematical calculation. I don’t teach or spend much time with mathematics, but I deal with the mess of humanity. I guess grace and generosity have little to do with math, and we no doubt, probably deserve little of either if we scrutinize our own behavior.
It is now May, the month of Mother’s Day (in the United States) and my father’s birthday. How lucky I am to have had parents who both exhibited that kind of unconditional love, both to me, my sister, and to each other. I need no better example about love and generosity.
So these seniors…well, I love them, and I have loved teaching them. But they seem awfully like that younger brother, itching to go, and not very grateful. No, I suppose it isn’t fair. But it also isn’t fair, perhaps, that I have gotten more than my fair share of exciting, invigorating, challenging, thrilling students over the years.
One art work can spawn such a great discussion. I wish you had been there the other day in class as a student masterfully analyzed a work by 1980s artist Barbara Kruger, or the student who talked about Gauguin’s Nevermore in a powerful way, or…I could go on and on…it’s just that time of year. Each day offers thoughtful, moving analyses, not about names and dates and show-off cocktail party conversation about art works, but about the human condition. And how we might appreciate it just a little bit more.
It is the last few weeks with seniors too, but, if you have ever spent time with seniors in the spring, you know that that is probably not what I am talking about. Sigh. This time of year is actually pretty joy-less in the teaching biz with seniors. Even seniors whom you have adored and felt hung the moon become sullen and defiant and, again, joy-less. I have been seeing it for over 20 years. It comes with the territory. They begin the separation, and that includes teachers, especially teachers with whom they may have been close. They speak to you less frequently, dare not to act excited about class, and adopt a world-weariness that is unbelievable.
Oh, wait, this blog entry is about one of my favorite times of year, not one of the most trying times of year! Sorry, I lost focus!
It’s the time right before the AP Art History test. We have made the long haul from pre-historic times to post-modernism, so we covered all the ground required. And it is not that students are newly smart, but they are smarter, and more profound than ever before. They have come to that point in the course when they are not studying something for the first time, or probably even the second or third. They recognize that this test is not really about recognizing art works, but discussing how the visual arts have worked over millennia. They see how similar a pre-historic sculpture might be with a post-WWII de Kooning painting. And they say the most amazing things!
I feel a little like a parent of a chatty, inquisitive 5 year old at this time of year. Yes, everything they say is phenomenal! Well, it pretty much is really. We are not just cramming facts in heads, but they are responding to art works and testing themselves with mock essay topics and as Art Linkletter swore for decades, they say the “darndest things.”
Last week I asked the class to come up with their list of 50 art works upon which the whole course hinges. Now, admittedly, it’s a pretty easy assignment. Frankly, copy down any 50 art works and you get credit. But year after year, students take this assignment seriously, and they strain and furrow their brow and they try and have a list whittled down from the possibly 1000 art works we studied this year.
Last year a student decided to choose the one art work that moved him the most in the entire course. It wasn’t an assignment actually, he just wanted to select one and write about it…for fun…He chose a Rembrandt painting that is in the Met in New York, Aristotle Contemplating the Bust of Homer and wrote so well about why it matters to him more than any other art work…wow…sigh…This year I decided to pose that same challenge and asked if there was one art work that moved them more than any other. They know my choice since in February I tell them a particular Vermeer is my favorite and most moving of the entire year. I am pretty sure I have mentioned it in the blog at some point.
I had a student write and tell me the one he would choose. Again, it was a Rembrandt. Maybe there is something to that guy. The student chose a work that is in St. Petersburg, a narrative about the biblical story of the prodigal son. I will wait a second while you google image the work so you can see this Rembrandt work late, late in his career.
The story of the prodigal son is always interesting anyway. It is famous beyond the confines of the Bible and Jesus’ parables. Did you know that this biblical story is alluded to more often than any other in William Shakespeare’s works? There is something about the story. Think about it—it has almost everything, from greed to envy to confession to celebration to jealousy to bitterness to forgiveness. A sweeping array of emotions and responses!
The student explained why it moved him so much. Firstly, Rembrandt’s career had taken a nose-dove and he had become a pariah, of sorts. The student explained how the trajectory of his career had gotten him thinking about how we treat people on the way up the ladder and then, gulp, down the ladder. The student appreciated Rembrandt’s technique, yes, but the part of the painting that he responded to so much was how the story evokes “unconditional love.” He said that! Again, a painting can make you think about the most important, universal things.
The student’s response offered me the opportunity to think about the story again. At times when I have thought about the story, I think about that other son, the elder son, and how he reacted to his brother’s return and his father’s response. I can picture him now, with his arms folded, marinating in his own bitterness. I wonder what happened after the parable ends…does he let go of his resentment? When we resent someone, it gets down into our bones and our tissues and our cells. It can rot away at our insides.
We don’t know what the younger son did. The Bible doesn’t relate many details about his escapades. In class, as we look at the painting, I always suggest the younger brother went to Las Vegas, or a fraternity party, so that they have an idea, but I don’t have to spell out exactly what he might have done. The King James version does tell us that “he wasted his substance in riotous living.” They get some of the levels of what “wasted” can mean.
Then I think about the younger brother—why did he come home? Was he out of money? Hungry? Needed to wash clothes? Sorry for his having “wasted his substance in riotous living”?
But of course, the real focus of the story, and the student reminded me of it, was the attitude of the father, the bar set so high in how to love. The story is about transformation—at the beginning of the story the thoughtless kid has a “gimme” attitude as he claims his inheritance, a kind-of biblical Veruca-Salt who wants it, and wants it now. But upon his return, and look at the Rembrandt painting now, and you see how that has changed. He has transformed and begs his father to “make me.” He wants to be made a hired hand so he is worthy of his father.
But the student’s response focused my attention on the father and his character. When the young son confesses his unworthiness, it is his father’s love that prompts the confession, not the confession that prompts the father’s love. When the older son rails against the father for showing a special, favored love to his decadent brother, Dad reminds him that it is not a special, favored love. This just happens to be the way the father always loves.
The student marveled at the unconditional love shown by the Dad. I also marvel at that as well. For most of us, loving part of the way is what we tend to do, instead of all the way, and that acts as our defense against being hurt. Not so with the father in the story. His love is not an “if you do this, then I will love you” variety. It is so much more a “because of who you are and who I am, I must love you” type.
The student said he had a father like that. I told him that I also am fortunate to have a father like that. We didn’t say much to each other after that—who needed to speak when we had just figured out one of the most important lessons for humanity???
But it is not an easy lesson, is it? It is a love riddled with unfairness. The younger son is mystified by the extravagance of the father’s love, and the older son is infuriated by it. But then, the father isn’t working on fairness. Indeed, if you think about the end of the parable, the story is actually an exercise in un-fair¬ness. That party! The father practices unfairness in the celebration of the return of that younger son.
Fairness. Whoa. Talk about your weighty subjects. I guess fairness really only works in the realm of mathematical calculation. I don’t teach or spend much time with mathematics, but I deal with the mess of humanity. I guess grace and generosity have little to do with math, and we no doubt, probably deserve little of either if we scrutinize our own behavior.
It is now May, the month of Mother’s Day (in the United States) and my father’s birthday. How lucky I am to have had parents who both exhibited that kind of unconditional love, both to me, my sister, and to each other. I need no better example about love and generosity.
So these seniors…well, I love them, and I have loved teaching them. But they seem awfully like that younger brother, itching to go, and not very grateful. No, I suppose it isn’t fair. But it also isn’t fair, perhaps, that I have gotten more than my fair share of exciting, invigorating, challenging, thrilling students over the years.
One art work can spawn such a great discussion. I wish you had been there the other day in class as a student masterfully analyzed a work by 1980s artist Barbara Kruger, or the student who talked about Gauguin’s Nevermore in a powerful way, or…I could go on and on…it’s just that time of year. Each day offers thoughtful, moving analyses, not about names and dates and show-off cocktail party conversation about art works, but about the human condition. And how we might appreciate it just a little bit more.
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