A sweet American of mine friend died this week. She was full of loving creativity and gentleness and was always kind and attentive. She was an art teacher and she created a haven of creativity in her class. The start of every lesson consisted of the same five-minute exercise every day. When the students entered they found a fresh small yellow little Post-it note stuck on each of their desks and every student had just five minutes to create their own masterpieces on this tiny insignificant square.
In that five minutes of silence, felt tips, pens and pencils crafted gems, little beauties from out their souls. At the end of the exercise, she collected each post which had already been dated and signed by each author. These posts were carefully collected and kept in a folder with the student’s name. It meant she could not only view their work on that day but set it in context of a journey because it built up into a pile of posts in chronological order that allowed her to see the development of their craft.
They were teenagers, full of angst, and on some days a student would simply colour in the entire square black, like a black hole only square. Or one frustrated student had covered the entire yellow Post-it note with the worst swear words they could muster. These had been scribbled with such intense force on the small paper that they could be read from both sides. Even these my colleague accepted because she could see them in context. Could see that a student that would colour in an entire Post-it note black one day could a month later produce the most exquisite bird drawing that quite took her breath away.
Her acceptance of their output was unconditional but her careful collection and mounting them chronological order gave value to this creative output. She was able to make insightful comments on their report card because she could see the journey they’d been on with a broader sweep. For instance, she could spot after six months that the student had discovered three dimensions and perspective in a whole new light. It was only when she saw the Post-it notes one after another that she could really see the journey the student had been on and take pride in their achievement with them.
Strangely how despair and distress of a student could become so apparent in such a short task. The ones she really worried about were the odd student who left their Post-it blank and unused. What was going on in their lives that even this tiny task was beyond them? It is rare now in the high-paced intensity and strict learning objectives of today’s teaching to give a student those five minutes of space to find themselves, to express themselves and to hone their craft. Teachers are often so busy stuffing students with valuable information that they can forget the root of the word educate is to ‘lead out’ not to put in.
How clever she was to use this exercise to kickstart these student’s artistic engines and get them warmed up. Allowing them to find their voice in this tiny yellow window. Opening their eyes and hearts to all the infinite possibilities of choices in their lives. Reassuring them that there is always another day to hone your craft and that not even minutes should be wasted. The passage of time was so short, just five minutes of their lives, that it screamed hurry, create, make, capture and learn more potently and urgently than the rest of the week put together.
I shall miss her dreadfully. Even after she left Malta and returned to the States for cancer treatment she sent long lovely messages on WhatsApp about life. She continued to paint and create right to the end. In her own exhibition of art on Malta she gave the most moving presentation of her work I have ever encountered. Speaking from the heart she mentioned her cancer, life and artistry with such sweet wisdom it awoke a spirituality in the audience. It is rare to have such souls around. One can’t be greedy and demand more time with such giants you just have to be so very grateful for the minutes with them you have been given.
Interesting
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