It was late winter of 2020, and everyone was hearing about Covid-19 and the possibility of it becoming a worldwide pandemic. Anxiety was increasing for everyone, but my coworkers and I kept teaching and reassuring our students that we would continue to be there for them regardless of what happens. We had quietly started thinking through and discussing different teaching strategy scenarios in the event it came stateside. Most of us in the art department had never taught and were not trained to teach online classes, so the pressure was increasing day by day.
March came and it was becoming clearer that the college would have to cancel in-person classes for at least two weeks. The Thursday before spring break I remember fighting back tears while reading a district prepared letter to my students about school switching to online classes for the near future. They had so many questions. Can I continue using my school camera? How will I edit my photographs at home when I don’t have the adobe software? How will I attend class when I don’t have internet or a computer at home? I assured them that I would be there for them and that I wouldn’t let any student fail my class for such reasons. We would work together to find individual solutions to solve each students’ fears.
It all sounded great in theory, but the practical side of it was much more difficult than I could have imagined. I had students with learning differences that were not able to communicate well or at all online. Students that didn’t have cameras. Students that didn’t learn as well in an online environment. And some students even drove to McDonalds for their free internet and attended classes in their car.
Over the last 8 weeks of the semester, we all struggled together. I learned a great deal about myself and my teaching. Before the pandemic started, I had relied heavily on being able to teach in person. I had taken for granted how easy it was to sit down next to one of my students and walk them through complicated processes. I no longer had that option. Basic communication and reassurance that I was there for my students became the goals.
Thinking back as an art educator at what happened and looking at TAB through this lens allows me to see that in the future, I need to always be flexible in all aspects of teaching. Flexibility appears to be a crucial ingredient of TAB. The pandemic also brought up questions about inclusivity. How do we bridge systemic gaps and level the playing field for all our students? The pandemic has made it very clear that we as art educators have a long way to go on this front.
I believe that this art piece touches on many aspects of what I learned from this experience, the anxiety I felt going through it, and how I can improve as an art educator. The walkway in front of the door is a clear path to where I need to go. The red color serves as caution, empowerment, and my passion for teaching. The door itself is shut but does not appear to be locked. I just have to have the courage to open it. And the light on the other side of the door represents hope for my future as an art educator.
My current understanding based on past experiences and my very short time in this art education program is complicated. I have a passion for teaching art, but I worry that I’m not going to be a good enough teacher to handle all the challenges that a K-12 art educator will face. My hope is that I am wrong, and I will discover this over the next year. I really enjoyed my time as a college level art educator and hope that will carry over.
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