1st, I ask them to define art. One guy gives the standard "everything" response, which may be cliche, but is also kinda true.
So I have them write while listening to a variety of musical styles, using stream of consciousness, whatever comes to mind, and also about famous paintings and photographs. I enjoyed their creative expression on this dreary March day. During the break I read "Van," which social media had reminded me I'd written on this day six years ago. When we came back, I put the photo of myself up on the television, that one where I'm sitting under the signpost, looking out at the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean, all sepia-toned and subdued, although, in reality, it was a bright and sunny day with blue skies and wispy clouds as far as the eye could see. That one that was worth thousands and thousands of words.
I got a kick out of their interpretations. They didn't know it was me, so I laughed really hard when one girl wrote that the boy had two girlfriends, one in London and the other in Tokyo, and was trying to decide which one to go with. Another said he'd just broken up with his girlfriend and visited all those places around the world with her, and was reflecting on his past. Another guy said that the signpost was his consciousness and the ocean was his subconscious, and that the way the ocean appeared to be blocking him and limited him was really just his subconscious, that is, his own mind stopping him from doing what he wanted to. Just like that line from Miller, "There is no boundary line anymore. It was I who made it."
After I'd heard all the interpretations, I told them the truth, that I was the boy in the photo and that I was in New Zealand, contemplating my future, and that my study abroad department at college had used it as their advertisement for future prospective travelers. I didn't get into all the details, but I said how the main theme was something along the lines of finding connection with the universe (one poem) amidst the supposed solitude and isolation, and that somehow, art/poetry/music facilitated this positive transformation of perspective.
When the class was dismissed, I was just about to walk outside with all the snowy concrete and pavement when a student asked to show me a painting called "The Tortoise Trainer." The day before I'd been explaining the story of the tortoise and the hare, and how "slow and steady wins the race." I recommend.
So I have them write while listening to a variety of musical styles, using stream of consciousness, whatever comes to mind, and also about famous paintings and photographs. I enjoyed their creative expression on this dreary March day. During the break I read "Van," which social media had reminded me I'd written on this day six years ago. When we came back, I put the photo of myself up on the television, that one where I'm sitting under the signpost, looking out at the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean, all sepia-toned and subdued, although, in reality, it was a bright and sunny day with blue skies and wispy clouds as far as the eye could see. That one that was worth thousands and thousands of words.
I got a kick out of their interpretations. They didn't know it was me, so I laughed really hard when one girl wrote that the boy had two girlfriends, one in London and the other in Tokyo, and was trying to decide which one to go with. Another said he'd just broken up with his girlfriend and visited all those places around the world with her, and was reflecting on his past. Another guy said that the signpost was his consciousness and the ocean was his subconscious, and that the way the ocean appeared to be blocking him and limited him was really just his subconscious, that is, his own mind stopping him from doing what he wanted to. Just like that line from Miller, "There is no boundary line anymore. It was I who made it."
After I'd heard all the interpretations, I told them the truth, that I was the boy in the photo and that I was in New Zealand, contemplating my future, and that my study abroad department at college had used it as their advertisement for future prospective travelers. I didn't get into all the details, but I said how the main theme was something along the lines of finding connection with the universe (one poem) amidst the supposed solitude and isolation, and that somehow, art/poetry/music facilitated this positive transformation of perspective.
When the class was dismissed, I was just about to walk outside with all the snowy concrete and pavement when a student asked to show me a painting called "The Tortoise Trainer." The day before I'd been explaining the story of the tortoise and the hare, and how "slow and steady wins the race." I recommend.
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