From: Subject: =?iso-2022-jp?B?VGhyb3VnaCBhIFN0ZXJlb3Njb3BpYyBWaWV3ZXI6IFRyYW5zaWVudCBNb21lbnRzIGluIFJlbWVtYmVyZWQgVGh5bWUgfCBpbiBlZHVjYXRpb24=?= Date: Wed, Dec 22 2010 11:58:57 GMT-0600 MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/related; boundary="----=_NextPart_000_0000_7E222583.05846D4A"; type="text/html" ------=_NextPart_000_0000_7E222583.05846D4A Content-Type: text/html; charset="UTF-8" Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable Content-Location: file:///C:/Documents%20and%20Settings/johndona/My%20Documents/Digital%20Collections%202/in%20education/16(2)%20html/through-stereoscopic-viewer-transient-moments-remembered-thyme-162e.html =EF=BB=BF Through a Stereoscopic Viewer: Transient Moments in Remembered Thyme= | in education = <= /link> <= /link> <= /link> = <= /link>

Through a Stereosco= pic Viewer: Transient Moments in Remembered Thyme

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Articles

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Abstract

From the emulsion of images taken yesterday, we=20 develop our engagement in time today=E2=80=94the then that is always chang= ing=20 into now. Weathered shutters close together. Driftwood shifts on rocky= sand. Sedges grow among the seashells. Grasses ground a concert= band. Seen through the sights of a stereoscopic viewer, the author uses both her word and image to travel through presents in retaken pasts=E2=80=94po= rtals into the practice of her language arts classroom life. The thought of a carousel going round, turns writing into other ways for words to=20 resound. The recollection of sepia on a rooftop at night changes voice=20 into variegations of color and light. It is in these moments of=20 remembered scenes that the author reconsiders what her teaching means.

Author Name(s)

Cynthia M. Morawski

Issue

16(2) =

Through a Stereoscopic Viewer: Transient Moments in Remem= bered Thyme

Prologue

Memory always appears as an integral element of my teaching narrative whenever I ask myself who I am as an educator of=20 teacher candidates in language/arts. Specific recollections, the=20 ones that Annie Dillard (1982) describes as =E2=80=9Cno longer unnoticed bu= t now selected out for some meanings, large and unknown=E2=80=9D (p. 92), emerge= from within me as the shifting of images and sounds found in poetry and art: Plays of words in McGilligott=E2=80=99s Pool (Seuss, Dr. 1947);=20 patterns of octagons on a grandmother=E2=80=99s garden quilt; and purple pa= int=20 covering the side of a New England Cape Cod. Alfred Adler, a=20 leading researcher in memory work in narrative, recognizes our=20 recollections as signifiers of how we know and perform in the present=20 (Hestor, 2004; Schneider & Stone, 1998). That is, what we=20 choose to recall from the past, represents our perceptions and practice=20 in the recurring now. I find myself continually compelled by the=20 need to make sense of my life in language/arts. The parts that=20 specific recollections play in the enactment of my teaching already=20 exist in the pages of academic sites (Morawski, 2008, 2009, 2010;=20 Morawski & Palulis 2009). The piece that follows adds to these narrations. Placing myself in the path of public scrutiny is never an=20 easy task. Expressing myself via generated poetry and=20 arts-informed means, where =E2=80=9Cdifferent mediums reveal different=20 interpretations and possibilities=E2=80=9D (Butler-Kisber, 2010, p. 9), alw= ays=20 adds a definite dimension of vulnerability. However, inspired by=20 Cisneros (2009), who so eloquently and humbly recounts her own poignant=20 moments as a teacher-narrator, even after encountering =E2=80=9Ca famous wr= iter=20 who went to the Iowa Workshop=E2=80=A6and speaks and carries himself as the= =20 Emperor of Everything=E2=80=9D (p. xx), I venture forth once again to add=20 another layer of insight, a further glimpse into my ever evolving=20 narrative of teaching.

In between a bank of borrowed books and the=20 check-out counter, an oak table stood still for many years. Upon=20 its quarter sawn top sat a collection of vintage cards and their=20 stereoscopic viewers=E2=80=94wooden curiosities from a former time. = During each visit to the public library as a child, I was forever drawn to those objects of illusion. They had a way of performing tricks of depth=E2=80=94magic shows for the mind. It didn=E2=80=99t matter= that I could=20 have easily walked across the street to the movie theatre, or plugged my right ear into a transitor radio. The viewers, stocked with=20 double images of town sites, enchanted my mind with an aesthetic that no other medium could evoke. (C. Morawski, personal communication,=20 undated)

According to Adler (1958), we are both the=20 photographer and the picture, creating our recurring presents from=20 selected moments of archived pasts. That is, from the emulsion of=20 images taken yesterday, we develop our engagement in time today=E2=80=94the= then that is always changing into now. In the pre-service curriculum=20 of my own language arts teaching, memories appear in the practices of=20 classroom life. The thought of a carousel going round, turns=20 writing into other ways for words to resound. The recollection of=20 sepia on a rooftop at night changes voice into variegations of color and light. It is in the fragments of experience, Leggo (2007) reminds us, that we find =E2=80=9Csignificance in the moment, in the particular,= in the mundane=E2=80=9D (p. 194).

Still lured by the sights of the stereoscop= ic viewer, I now focus on the present, traveling by train through snapshots in retaken pasts=E2=80=94portals of perception into the practice= of=20 my classroom life (Connelly and Clandinin, 2006). The following=20 pages are memories from selected moments that help me make meaning. With my own word and image I look through the lens, while seeing each scene=20 in both past and present tense. I invite you to view, and feel=20 what you think. Now will become then, before your eye can even=20 blink.

A lone train travels into transient scenes of waiting pages.
Bells signal the start of another approaching day.
   Outside the coach=E2=80=99s window,
   images rearrange themselves
   into moments remembered last May

Overhead a shelf holds remnants of past routes from current stops.=
Station platforms place familiar names on inner walls.
   Sitting beside an empty seat,
   a camera takes unwritten texts
   on a rocky ledge by cedar falls.

   Across four beveled edges
   Refracting pieces of velum light,

She reaches for a box of tincture
To ink away an obsidian night.

   Smuggled thoughts travel freely
   from inside a wrinkled sleeve,
   An unspoken scene waits inside her self
   Standing under falling leaves.

   Fluid strands of moving pictures
Shadows cast a fading cry,
Fields recede from distant places
Clouds change into amber sky.

Rusted brick with milky paintings
Washes the city back to shore,
Pilot tugs push against a barge
A conductor opens the sliding door.

Sepia colors rooftops yellow
Photographs store memories found,
Carousels travel amusing places
Wind-up toys go round and round.

Milkweed surrounds a railway crossing
Buses stop behind a barn,
A lantern blinks a signal softly
Winds blow kites holding woolen yarn.

Weathered shutters close together
Driftwood shifts on rocky sand,
Sedges grow among the seashells
Grasses ground a concert band.

Whirligigs turn by backyard fences
Chimneys tilt against the rain,
Children play in tree top places
A rock just cracked a mullioned pane.

A cadence of a morning shower
The evening of a crimson tide,
Waves break into wading basins
Marshes surround the eastern side.

Ghostwriters draw their notes on= canvas
Boathouses list toward groves of pine,
Cardinals call with one last message
A memory is more than marking time.

Leaning into an aisle window
A mandolin plays with a cello=E2=80=99s bow,
Rhythms, lyrics, sounds and meanings
Recollections teach her ways to know.

Fountain pens coat parchment paper
A blotter soaks spills of ginger tea,
She landscapes sights in selected instants
Her muse plays a harp in the key of C.

Quiet anticipation fidgets the nearby handles of relabeled bags. The pull of luggage packs crowds into temporary quarters.
Entering the underground gates,
   A display board resets planned arrivals
   Departing from former times on future dates.

Upstairs the clock tower watches converging views= with a single lens.
High backed wooden benches provide space for silent thought.
Lingering by a field of flowering thyme,
   A train=E2=80=99s whistle summons nearby stanzas
   Recollected verse composed in syncopated rhyme.

(C. Morawski, personal communication, undated)

After placing the stereoscope on the table again, I=20 catalogue my viewing cards in the now of then. A morning=20 rain. The crimson tide. Waves breaking into basins by a=20 listing side. Connelly and Huber (2002) underscore the importance=20 of reflecting on our own lived experiences to make meaning in our lives=20 as teachers. In the previous pages, I traveled past routes into=20 the presence of recurring stops=E2=80=94apertures into the meaning of my=20 everyday classroom practice. Filtered through the lenses of my=20 stereoscopic viewer, both word and image provoke traces of teaching=20 narrated by remembered sights set in recurring time. When I invite my students to sketch a cello=E2=80=99s tune, I recall grasses grounding= a=20 concert at noon. While creating a lesson on ways to write, I see=20 refracting pieces of velum light. To introduce a stanza on falling leaves, I reach for words smuggled in a wrinkled sleeve. =20 O=E2=80=99Reilly-Scanlon (2002) talks about recollections as openings or cl= ues=20 into our ways of teaching via =E2=80=9Cwhat was once there and what is ther= e for us now=E2=80=9D (p. 77). Glimpsed in the transience of everyday scen= es,=20 the material of memory reconsiders my teaching with me. =20 Milkweed. Shutters. A lantern=E2=80=99s wink. I place pai= nts=20 and brushes by the classroom sink=E2=80=A6

Epilogue

In his seminal book on teachers=E2=80=99 in= quiry=20 into the meaning of what they are and what they teach, Jersild (1955)=20 states, =E2=80=9CWhen teachers face themselves, they face a hard struggle,= but=20 they also look forward to great rewards=E2=80=9D (p. 125). Although= the=20 continuing examination of my own early memories provokes a range of both reassuring and troubling responses, the process always fills in another clue, another piece of what I am and what I teach in relation to my=20 classroom work in pre-service language/arts. It is not just the=20 contents of the specific events that provide the working material for my narrative. It is also the range of ways in which these moments move=20 from the mind and body to the page: Sometimes with structure and=20 explanation (Morawski, 2008 Morawski & Palulis, 2009), while at=20 other times with the simplicity of performance (Morawski, 2009, 2010);=20 each time that I enter a memory, the ensuing changes in my narrative=20 shifts to enlighten and revise my teaching practice in the=20 present. Just as Cisneros (2007) said about what she would do at=20 the end of her writing on Mango Street, I will now go away to come back, back where memories loom and hide, waiting to enter and once again=20 revise my recurring narrative of teaching.

References

Adler, A. (1958). The practice and the= ory of individual psychology. Patterson, NJ: Littlefield, Adams.

Butler-Kisber, L. (2010). Qualitative= inquiry: Thematic, narrative and arts-informed perspectives. Los Ange= les, CA: Sage.

Cisneros, S. (2007). The house on Mang= o Street. New York, NY: Vintage Contemporaries.

Clandinin, D., & Huber, J. (2002). Nar= rative inquiry: Toward understanding life=E2=80=99s artistry. Curriculu= m Inquiry, 32, 161-169.

Connelly, F., & Clandinin, F. (2006).= Narrative inquiry. In J. Green, G. Camili, & P. Elmore (Eds.), Han= dbook of complementary methods in education research (3rd ed.), (pp.= 477-487). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.

Dillard, A. (1982). Teaching a stone= to talk. New York, NY: Harper Perennial.

Hestor, R. (2004). Early memory and narrat= ive. Journal of Individual Psychology, 60, 338-347.

Jersild, (1955). When teachers face th= emselves. New York, NY: Teachers College Press.

Leggo, C. (2007). Tangled lines: The art= of researching our lives. Journal of Educational Thought, 41<= /em>, 191-199.

Morawski, C. (2008). Watercolors awash in= crayoned responses: Teaching narrative in arts-based praxis. Language= and Literacy, 10, 1-28.

Morawski, C. (2009). From within a teachin= g narrative: Poetics past into presents of recurrent time. Educational= Insights, 13, 1-4.

Morawski, C. (2010). Remnants along a flag= stone path. English Quarterly, 40, 106-107.

Morawski, C., & Palulis, P. (2009). Au= to/ethnographies as teaching lives: An aesthetics of difference. Journa= l of Curriculum Theorizing, 25, 6-24.

O=E2=80=99Reilly-Scanlon, K. (2002). Muted= echoes and lavender shadows: Memory work and self-study. In C. Kosnik, A.=20 Freese, & A. Samaras (Eds.), Making a difference in teacher educati= on through self-study.(2) Proceeding of the Fourth International Conference of the Self-Study of=20 Teacher Education Practices, Herstmonceux Castle East Sussex, England=20 (pp. 74-78) Toronto, Ontario: OISE, University of Toronto.

Schneider, M. & Stone, M. (1998). Narr= ative: Creating stories. Journal of Individual Psychology. 54, 413= -415.

Seuss, D. (1947). McElligot=E2=80=99s= pool. New York, NY: Randon House.

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