I’d love to try to learn to ride this thing…
To see more from Xavi Bou’s Ornitographies, a chronophotography project of shapes generated by birds in flight, visit his website here and click “The Project.” If you’re like me and it doesn’t occur to you right away to scroll sideways, my recommendation is to scroll sideways.
I have moved on to (back to?) Amy Krouse Rosenthal’s earlier book, Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life, and am enchanted by a section she called “What my friends were confused by as children.” (This section is preceded by an account of the things she, Amy, was confused by as a child.) Here’s one: I thought the basement of department stores would fill up with steps from the escalator pushing them down all day. And another: I thought that when my parents were little the world was in black and white because all the pictures of them were black and white.
The anecdotes are funny and cute, but I also want to believe that Amy was pointing out that being a child requires a flexibility of thinking that being an adult doesn’t really. When existence demands of you that you go around figuring things out all the time, just in order to make some initial semblance of sense of it all, it keeps you in better contemplative and creative shape than when existence doesn’t require it (ie in adulthood when you’ve got reality All Figured Out).
This, from poet Sara Holbrook, who found some questions on a Texas achievement test, about poems she herself wrote, difficult to answer:
I have a tendency to get a little ranty about this subject, as I have always considered it risky business to teach a young person that it’s possible to know what someone else meant when they wrote something. It’s not that I don’t think it can be interesting or edifying to speculate about what someone might have meant, but to imagine that we can know without asking, or let anyone have the authority of knowing, yikes. Anyway, because I have the aforementioned ranty-ness tendency, I liked this characterization from Sara Holbrook. Big baloney sandwich. I found a triangular (lover of words and math that I am) drawing of one here to really drive the point home for myself.
I’m rereading George Dennison’s The Lives of Children and was floored by this passage regarding the role of an adult in the life of a young person:
“…elders of the community rather than heads of organizations…”
More on that here in an old post.
The other day I talked with an 11 year-old who wishes he were better at spelling. He told me (as many do) that when he writes a word he can tell if it’s not the right spelling but he often can’t figure out how to fix what’s not right. We talked about how this is a funny thing about the brain – if you know something when you see it, and you know not something when you see that, how could you be unable to generate the something itself? The answer, of course, is some version of this fact: receptive language (what you hear and process) and productive language (what you say) are not one process. We don’t have the same access to brain files when it comes to receiving and producing.
Later the same day I was reading more of Dan Roam and trying a drawing exercise in which I had to represent, in simple sketches, a few different popular cities. For Paris, of course, I attempted to draw the Eiffel Tower. I realized I was having the same trouble with the drawing as my young friend has with spelling. I know the Eiffel Tower when I see it, and I can draw all the shapes it would require to represent it adequately for someone else to be able to recognize it, but I couldn’t quite manage to pull together well enough the knowledge that makes it recognizable to me and my ability to assemble shapes into drawings to get it right enough.
Dan Roam has me convinced that it’s not too late for me to learn to do it, and my young spelling friend and I have been talking about how to use his extensive lexicon of recognized words when he’s trying to spell one. It, like the drawing, seems to benefit from involving the eye. The teaching of spelling has traditionally relied heavily upon the ear – “sounding out” – but for many young people who have become competent readers (and thus have an extensive collection of recognized words in their brains), the eye and the visual memory offer a steadier more reliable sensory assist.