I grew up on the south side of St. Louis, Missouri a quiet kid who loved art. I was introduced to art at an early age by my mother's friend Catherine. She lived in a late 1800's stone mansion in the Compton Heights neighborhood of St. Louis. It had a carriage house, a library, a dance hall, and a grand staircase that swirled up three stories to these huge ornate wood and glass attic doors. Behind those doors laid unspeakable magic in my child mind.
As the years went on, I continued to be inspired by the simple magic around me. I traveled around the world, got my associates degree in art, and I moved to Dallas, Texas where I discovered photography and became a teacher after getting my BFA in 2001. September 11th, 2001 was my third class meeting. At that time, I was teaching at night and doing commercial photography during the day. Everyone who experienced that day remembers how scary, emotional, and heartbreaking it was. I remember trying to figure out before class how I'd speak with my students about what had happened. That evening we took turns talking about our feelings as I gave each student as much time as they needed. On that historic and tragic day, I learned how to listen to my students.
My early days of teaching were full of passion, excitement, darkroom chemicals, and students that were older than me. I was always so worried about saying the wrong thing, giving the wrong information and plainly just messing up. I was given this amazing opportunity and I didn't want to let anyone down. I cared so much for my students and would do anything to help them. As I grew into the job over the years, I realized that making mistakes was a huge part of my learning process. I learned a great deal from failures and applied what I learned to my teaching and art making processes.
On May 3rd, 2017, my teaching career took a dramatic and instant turn during my classes final critique. I was leading the critique when we heard gun shots down the hall. My students didn't realize what was going on. I told them to move to the opposite side of the room and get on the floor. I calmly asked the less panicked students to assist the very panicked ones while I closed and barricaded the door and turned off the lights. Two of my students in that class were pregnant and crying hysterically. People from all walks of life, old and young, rich and poor, came from all over the world, and spoke many different languages. The one language we all spoke that day was a love for one another. Two students died that day. In those moments during and after we all connected as human beings, and I learned how important it is to meet each student where they are in life.
Then Covid materialized in mid spring semester of 2019. Students and teachers a like had to pivot. I remember talking to my class just before we left for spring break. I was teary eyed while telling them all to be careful and we'll be back before you know it. Little did I know that we'd never meet in person again. My coworkers and I had two weeks to completely change how we taught. Some of our students didn't have computers or even phones. We had to stay calm and find multiple ways to teach students from all walks of life. Covid taught me to be flexible. Things are always going to happen. It's how you deal with those situations that define you as a human and a teacher.
My teaching style up to now has been an almost invisible progression that seems to have changed slowly over time by my students and life experiences more than by my own doing. I learned so much from my students during my twenty years of teaching photography at Dallas College. Going forward my teaching style will change along with my student's grade level. As I shift to teaching younger minds I will run into new lessons. My only hope is that I see them for what they are and I'm able to use those lessons for the betterment of my students.
The photograph I chose for my metaphor at first glance appears very basic and straight forward. Subtle colors, and tones, not a lot of contrast and simple use of lines. I am facing east, where my life began, sky blue was my favorite color, and the magic of the life was all around. The power lines represent a connectivity I feel to everything and everyone around me. The farmland represents the latent potential of spring or my future as a teacher. The pattern of the snow on the road mimics the pattern of the clouds in the sky from which they fell. The fence is a boundary, a small but not an impenetrable layer of protection and fear. Do I jump the fence and see what is out there? Or stay safe and risk not becoming a better teacher in the future? This photograph has me looking to the horizon, for what's next.
Ten important things that I will consider when I teach art:
Learn from failure. Don't be afraid to explore.
Students teach me.
Meet each student where they are in life.
Give each student the time they need.
Each student is important and brings unique viewpoints based on life experiences to the classroom.
An inclusive environment is vital for every student to feel safe and comfortable enough to learn.
Be flexible.
Don't be afraid to get messy.
Humor always helps.
Problem solving.
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