“Some of the kids who struggle academically – they can shine in this because it is a totally different arena.” Tricia King, Rose’s teacher.
Join is for a very special minute when we hear about improv from 9-year old Rose.
Music References (modified) shared under Attribution 4.0 International license.
Kai Engel, Great Expectations and Summer Days
This podcast is available on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and Google Play.
Photography and concert recording by Micah Fleming (mfleming@willamete.edu)
Music: Gone, by Sove. www.sove-music.com
Welcome to the first episode of the Creativity in a Minute Podcast!
“Children should be seen and not heard” is a 15th Century English proverb, but I remember hearing adults say it when I was young and contemporaries say it when we had small children. The idea that a child might contribute something meaningful is challenging to adults who assume they are in charge.
Young people are aware of this oppressive attitude and their voices are rising, most recently among the youth climate activists. Policymakers have been resistant to action that would protect the most vulnerable communities. Indeed, if we are able to move toward meaningful climate action it will be in no small part because young people have spoken.
The Wonderland Project believes all voices are important and that children arrive with unique capacities to address the challenges that face us all. Silencing them will no longer work. We must listen and ask questions. We must work together to address the problems we have caused and right the course of this Earth ship toward their future.
Using improvisation in the classroom develops creative and collaborative competencies, confidence and self-esteem in a safe space where all input is considered valid and valuable, an environment where young voices can be found.
For a time, this blog will host Wonderland’s Creativity in a Minute Podcast, where we will hear young people share their experiences with creativity and school. Each podcast will feature a unique voice. We hope to amplify these voices so that we might hear and reconsider our attitudes toward them. It is time.
This post will feel different to my regular readers who know my writing as personal experience accounts of Wonderland Playhouse, the children’s acting improvisation and storytelling theater I founded, and also know that I have returned to college in my fifth decade. While at university I have been researching how improvisation may be used by teachers to reimagine classrooms. This is the first of several blogs that will bridge my experience and my research.
Elementary school can be a frustrating, isolating experience for both students and teachers. Standardized testing mandated by the government was the government’s response to the 1983 report A Nation at Risk that revealed American students were pacing far behind other countries in vital content knowledge (Popham, 2004). Testing and reporting requirements continued to increase with the Bush administration’s No Child Left Behind Act of 2001, and the 2009 Obama-era Race to the Top grant tied funds and teacher success to their student’s test scores. You may know the education strategy of this period as “teaching to the test” and an entire generation of Americans have now experienced it. Standardization rewards competition, conformity and convergent skills, a thinking style defined as “deriving the single best (or correct) answer to a clearly defined question” (Cropley, 2016, p. 391), and has left young Americans deficient in creative or critical thinking skills (Omdal, 2017).
Importantly, during this same time period, business leaders repeatedly identified creativity and innovation as the most important 21st century skills (IBM, 2008; Battelle for kids). Creativity uses various processes like imagination, intuition and divergence (the offering of many answers or ideas) and, interrestingly, longitudinal divergence tests show that 98% of kindergarteners test in the genius range of divergent thinking. Four years later those same students still testing at the genius level have dwindled to 30% and the decline continues to 12% by high school, with most adults testing at around 2% (Land, 2006, 9:16–10:35; Robinson, 2010, 8:50-10:00). In other words, the capacity for generating creative ideas evaporates quickly and almost entirely by the time we are adults. The lack of opportunities to develop and practice this natural ability together with its devaluation in school result in people who don’t think they are creative when, in fact, all people are creative (Robinson, 2006; Hardiman, 2016). Paradoxically, in our push to compete on global assessments, we have failed to educate students to compete in the global economy and have contributed to student disengagement, increasing behavior issues in the classroom and skyrocketing rates of physical and emotional health issues in children (Sawyer, 2010; Louv, 2008)
In 2006, Sir Ken Robinson’s 18-minute TEDTalk “Do schools kill creativity?” revealed this issue to the world and called for an education revolution. Since then, Sir Ken’s TEDTalk has been viewed 62 million times (as of this morning) and has ever since been the most popular TEDTalk. Taking into account the appeal of online videos since 2006, anyone might imagine a video by any individual (or kittens) could easily have eclipsed 62 million views, but no other TEDTalk has. In later writings, Robinson (2016) points out that high-stakes testing marginalizes other talents in education and regards those who do not excel as “’less able’ or ‘disabled’ – as deviations from the norm” (pp. 36-7), unfair labels that may cause wounding that follows students throughout their K-12 career. Sir Ken’s presentation may have been the first time many of his 62 million viewers considered the issue of creativity in education, but it wasn’t the first time for me. (Robinson, 2006; Robinson, 1999).
My son, Ethan, is a creative collaborator who imagines worlds. As a preschooler he oozed original character-driven epics, using everyday objects (the food on his plate, bottlecaps, or rock and sticks) as action figures, naming each one and elaborating their backstory in a constant narration that didn’t stop when he entered school. From 1st to 3rd grade his desk sat alone facing the wall (far away from his classmates who sat together) because he was a distraction to himself and others. Killing his creativity and achieving his conformity proved to be difficult. That’s when I started the Playhouse for children aged 3-13.
Improvisation highlights creative competencies which include listening, observation, communication, present moment focus, problem-solving, curiosity, accessing personal resources, risk-taking, failure recovery, negotiation, flexibility, humor, tolerance of the different or unusual, self-reliance, self-esteem, self-determination, and self-confidence. All of these could be considered collaborative skills and 21st century competencies. Social skills are also developed in an atmosphere play. Future blogs will explore ways teachers might use the natural process of improvisation to engage students, prepare them to meet the challenges of the future, and improve the classroom experience for everyone.
Ethan graduated high school in full possession of his creative capacities because they were loud, valued and developed at home and through music, but it was never easy for him. The tension he experienced at school created by the conflict between his natural gifts and the expectations of conformity caused physical and emotional health challenges that he shares with many of his peers. Times are changing and working with students in a creative way has made me an optimist. Listening to their ideas convinces me that young people have arrived to solve the problems of today. They already possess what is needed and there has never been a more critical time to help them.
References:
Battelle for Kids. P21 Partnership for 21stCentury learning. Retrieved from http://www.battelleforkids.org/networks/p21
Budde, Alyson. (2019, June 6). Ethan’s graduation[photograph]. Salem, OR.
Cropley, A. (2006). In Praise of Convergent Thinking. Creativity Research Journal,18(3), 391-404.
IBM (2008). Global CEO Study: The Enterprise of the Future. Retrieved from https://www.ibm.com/ibm/ideasfromibm/ae/en/ceo/20080505/index3.shtml
Land, George. “The Failure of Success”. TEDx Tucson 2006, December, 2011, Tucson, Arizona. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfKMq-rYtnc
Louv, R. (2008). Last child in the woods : Saving our children from nature-deficit disorder (Updated and expanded. ed.). Chapel Hill, N.C.: Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill.
Miller, Stan. Blog featured image [photograph]. http://www.morguefile.com.
Omdal, Stuart N, and Graefe, Amy K. 2016. Investing in Creativity in Students, In Beghetto, Ronald A., and Kaufman, James C. Nurturing Creativity in the Classroom (394-414). Cambridge, N.Y.: Cambridge University Press.
Popham, W. (2004). America’s “failing” schools : How parents and teachers can cope with No Child Left Behind. New York: RoutledgeFalmer.
Robinson, Ken (1999). All Our Futures: Creativity, Culture and Education. National Advisory Committee on Creative and Cultural Education.
Robinson, Ken. “Do schools kill creativity”. TED2006. February, 2006. Monterey, California. TED.com. Retrieved from https://www.ted.com/talks/ken_robinson_says_schools_kill_creativity?language=en
Robinson, Ken. “Changing Educational Paradigms.” At RSA Animate. October, 2010. Uploaded by TED.com. https://www.ted.com/talks/ken_robinson_changing_education_paradigms
Robinson, K., & Aronica, Lou. (2016). Creative schools : The grassroots revolution that’s transforming education. New York, New York: Penguin Books.
Sawyer, R. K. (2016). Learning for Creativity. In Beghetto, R., & Kaufman, James C. (Eds.). Nurturing creativity in the classroom (172-190). Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press.
I’m not the perfect parent. I once dropped my son off at school in his Mario costume on Halloween parade day. He was so excited; he loved Mario. Except, it was a week early for the parade and because I was late for work he was the lone cartoon character at school that day. Mistakes were made while I hyperventilated my way through working and raising kids; late arrivals, scheduling snafus, half-assed work and home tasks, and confusion hijacking my otherwise order-seeking personality. Wonderland Playhouse is the only job I’ve had that ignited my passion. Mostly, I have worked as an assistant to men of varying degrees of power. I wrote and spoke with their voice. I even gave up pursuing my passion after work as it left little time for family.
I dreamed about college since I can remember, but attempts made fell short and circumstances got in the way. I graduated early from high school the year my parents divorced and neither could help me apply. Accepted to UCLA when my daughter was four, I couldn’t agree to the sacrifices moving to Westwood would mean for her. Twelve years later I was delighted to attend Long Beach State where I kicked ass in its demanding theater program that kept me on campus from nine o’clock in the morning until after the final curtain fell on most nights. At the end of the semester and with a need to care for my kids I reluctantly returned to work.
In a dialogic response to the statement that one’s heart is filled with pain and suffering, the poet Rumi writes, Stay with it. The wound is where the Light enters you. My wound was this deep, unfulfilled desire that no amount of busyness, meditation, or yoga could heal. It stayed with me, scrambling up with my unworthiness and insufficiency, ensuring I would work a series of good jobs I am grateful for that brought no professional satisfaction, surfacing from time to time to remind me I didn’t know why I felt bad about it, and guaranteeing my inability to heal it would be a personal failure.
Earlier this year my daughter graduated with a master’s degree and my wound split wide open. I found it hard to breathe. Friends didn’t understand my suffering and I couldn’t explain it. The list of reasons to let it go was long, but that didn’t change how I felt. Tortured and exhausted, asking for help and willing to do anything, I was guided to apply to a small liberal arts college near my home. At once terrified I would certainly endure another failure, and unable to remain wounded any longer, I hoped my action would end this one way or another.
On an early June evening, surrounded by cakes at a dessert auction I coordinated, drunk on the smell of sugar, I received the email. The college’s letter said they were impressed by my commitment to my family and my community, stated I was precisely the person they were looking for, and offered me a near-full ride scholarship to complete my degree. I came full stop.
Some wounds are a paradox. They don’t go away because they’re not supposed to. Light illuminates one’s suffering while simultaneously spotlighting the path to healing. Improv can help. Stay with it– collaborate with it. Say, Yes! And . . .. Don’t ever give up.
In Wonderland Playhouse’s infancy, when I had no foggy clue how to build a business, I ran into a family friend at the farmers’ market. Jim had known me since I was 14 and had employed me as choreographer at the arts-focused pilot school where he served as principal when I was barely 20. He is one of the benevolent repeating wizards in my herstory. You know those wizards. They show up at critical moments along your timeline and kick you in the direction of your greatest growth (usually with a wink and a tip of the hat).
Jim invited me to visit him at work, where he was the visual and performing arts coordinator for the Orange County Department of Education. Among the many opportunities he gifted me was a professional introduction to Project HOPE, the OCDE’s school for homeless students that, in turn, offered me a slot in their after-school program. HOPE School kept first through eighth graders in school year-round on a shortened day and provided after-school enrichment until 5 p.m, when the kids were bused to local shelters for the night. Some lived in the shelters; some lived on the streets. Often they were exhausted. During my first week under the watchful eye of the coordinator, two of the youngest students fell asleep on the floor and for reasons I couldn’t explain, I let them sleep. The coordinator agreed with my choice because, I learned, they lived outside and didn’t sleep at night when it was cold. Her words knocked the wind out of me. These were sweet, funny five and seven year-old sisters. My initial shock gave way to sadness as my mind obsessively judged my ignorance. I could not fathom their lives.
HOPE players were normal kids who loved their families, struggled with their friends, and were painfully aware they were different. HOPE School tried to keep these kids together. When they weren’t moving around with their families they lived together, rode the bus together, and attended school and after-school together. They were a tight group. More like 30 siblings than just school chums they scolded each other mercilessly, the elders dominating the youngers to the point of tears, name-calling, and retaliation. It appeared they had little tolerance for each other. This, I would learn, was their most clever masquerade.
I struggled a lot. HOPE players had zero interest in acting or improvisation. Not one of them wanted to play at being someone else. Likewise, storytelling was frustrating as they would tell only one story – the Disney prince and princess story. Most of them enjoyed art so, Yes! And, the Wonderland Playhouse storybook project evolved. We wrote and illustrated books using large format (22×30) newsprint so each player could contribute art to each page. We used markers, fabrics, paint, glue, anything we could find. Each page was created by the kids who showed up that day. For this reason the characters look different from page to page, but the story is fresh and it worked.
Evoking a fresh story from them took some trickery. Together, we developed cards with known story elements: a prince, a princess, a sick grandmother, a biscuit basket, a dragon, etc. As we collaborated, instead of asking them to shout out story elements we drew a card. In this way, The Prince’s Wish, was written. I concealed my delight when the princess card was left in the discard pile. I felt its absence made a more interesting story possible, but the players proved me wrong. As we fleshed out the story they campaigned relentlessly and en masse to write the princess in, because for them it could be no other way. Yes! And, . . .. Improv wins again.
Their heroine surprised me. She was was a plucky activist whose innovative choices spoke volumes about HOPE’s true operating system. Their masquerade concealed a small and inclusive tribe, where some had unskilled behaviors that might unleash the group’s torment, but never its condemnation. Some lied and all knew who they were, but the only reaction was a sort of quiet agreement that struggle was a thing. Some had traits that exhibited in other groups would bring judgment, humiliation, and possibly alienation, but the heart of HOPE was tolerance. Even the biggest troublemaker among them was needed. No one was kicked off their island. They accepted the difficult ones and the difficult days. They didn’t need to study improv, they were masters. Although sometimes sad, tired, or reluctant, they said Yes! And, . . . everyday.
The economic vacuum of 2008 sucked the life out of several Playhouse contracts, including HOPE School. Early on I had been advised not to produce anything for HOPE players to take home (because they had no home to take it to). For me, stories are precious so each week I carefully stored their works in files and dragged them behind me in a wheeled plastic bin that I kept in my car. At the end I printed their stories into colorful books and presented them in a class celebration. The Prince’s Wish was the story they were most proud of. Pride doesn’t begin to describe how they touched me. While I had always felt myself to be tolerant by nature, anything I truly know about inclusion I learned from HOPE school.
Read The Prince’s Wish here: the-princes-wish.
The one thing I feel most deeply about is creative freedom – for everyone. All my passions align with that: health, children, nature, education, dreaming. Because I am a creative I cannot say I am this or that, because it sounds ridiculous. I am complicated and my identities seem endless and forever shifting. Today’s list: daughter, wife, mother, ex-paralegal, Pacific Northwest resident, grade school office manager, writer, storyteller, dancer, actor, yoga teacher, improviser, gardener, empath, psychic, bicycle-riding small town dweller, lover of animals and growing my own food, and devotee of following my own path. My past is littered with lifetimelines filled with identities that are now mere chapters in my herstory. Today is destined to be a chapter one day. I have friends who say they don’t like change. I can’t relate. I thrive on it. Boredom is my Kryptonite.
Now you can see why the final five years of my 30-year paralegal career put me to sleep. Earn and spend, earn and spend – the cycle bored me while my creative self starved and I obsessed over my hunger. I searched for creativity when not working, raising kids, and remodeling my house. I binged on acting, ballet, and writing classes. The most delicious treat I found was improvisation and like potato chips, one bite derailed me. I did something crazy. In 2006, I retired and started a children’s theater. Wonderland Playhouse Improvisation and Storytelling Project evoked kid-told stories and mounted them into full-scale theater productions.
The Project was embraced by the local art center, several after-school programs and the Department of Education. We played in galleries, community centers, parks, and multi-purpose rooms. Wonderland players were a diverse group: kids whose parents searched for options, kids who believed in fairies, kids who didn’t like sports, science fair winners, kids with special needs, gentle kids, shy kids, funny kids, kids who didn’t talk – all of them brilliant and exceptional.
There are few rules and no wrong answers in improv. Every impulse offered is valid. The only answer to every question is, Yes! And, . . .. Improv done well leads to trust, intimacy, and a lot of fun. Players contribute in any way they imagine. For the most part, kids are natural improvisers. Have you ever seen a kid create a whole world while no one is watching? I was driven by a deep knowing that kids’ voices matter and I wanted to hear their stories. Once the kids knew they could not fail, they flew. Their stories were wild and we laughed a lot. Sometimes adults didn’t understand what we did, but that didn’t stop us. The players thrived and so did I. Storytelling together broke us all free.
We mounted story after story until the ’08 market downturn caused evaporation of the Playhouse contracts. Then, I took the theater home to my backyard and we continued for another year. Leading the players was entertaining, exhilarating, challenging, and humbling. They surprised and delighted me everyday. I look forward to exploring all the ways creative freedom shows up in this blog. I will write more about Wonderland and how its players inspired me to write courageously. StarWalker and the Fairy Queen is my first book. There’s a preview on my website.
Alyson Budde 