Kelly Savino on sun 20 dec 09
Last weekend at girl scout camp, my dozen sixth grade girls -- the skinny o=
ne, the chubby one, the athletic one, the fraidy cat, the daredevil, the hi=
ker, the couch potato, and the rest -- all took a turn on the high, imposin=
g climbing wall.
Their sisters cheered them on, they faltered and rallied, their moms yelled=
useless advice, but the one voice that carried to their ears was the colle=
ge kid counselor (her camp name is "fizzypop") who held the other end of th=
eir safety line, and stood behind them, with her own harness anchored to te=
rra firma. Before the girls headed up the wall she put one hand on either s=
ide of their helmet, and talked quietly, right into their eyes. "What's you=
r goal? Is it a realistic goal? OK, I'll help you get there."
On the wall, when she said, "You can do this," they believed her. She said,=
"I will NOT let you fall." They believed her. And when they started to los=
e nerve, looked down and scared themselves, stepped on a spinning foothold =
or felt their arms begin to quiver and shake, when they said they couldn't =
go any farther, she said, "Trust yourself."
That's the hard part, isn't it? But they believed her, they pressed on, and=
every girl made it to the top of the wall -- even our most fearful scout w=
ith the hover-mother rallied on her second attempt and made it. She cried a=
ll the way to the top, she was so afraid... we all cried when she got back =
to the ground.
Our bodies used to be our way of knowing: we made our homes, our food, our =
clothes, our communities with our own hands and arms, our eyes and legs and=
backs. Tribal hunters had to run for days, sometimes, carefully paced and =
tuned into their own energy reserves. Throwing a spear was play for childre=
n and work for adults; birthing babies, planting grain, building boats, wea=
ving hammocks and skinning buffalo: all art forms, a dance between traditio=
n, skill, hands and brain. There were no experts to hire, but some had a sp=
ecial talent, put in the hours or had a special love and pride for what the=
y did, and it raised the bar for everyone.
We were tribes of people for tens of thousands of years. Modern civilizatio=
n is just a few seconds on that clock. And already we've forgotten the conn=
ection between body and mind. We were parked in rows of desks and talked at=
for a dozen years... is it a wonder that so many are sofa-bound, desk-boun=
d, parked in front of TVs and video games and computers, content to just li=
sten?
I feel blessed that we schooled at home and my kids could involve their who=
le bodies in the noisy, messy, wonderful process of learning. They drew let=
ters with fingertips in corn meal on cookie sheets long before they could h=
old the pencil, or wrote their words a foot tall on the driveway in sidewal=
k chalk, using sweeping arms and squatting legs so that each letter was its=
own dance, and the synapses were firing in all directions. We remember tha=
t stuff, deep down. When I count down a column to add my scrabble scores I =
still see the colored domino dots I painted in my numbers book in kindergar=
ten.
It matters that we can shoot an arrow, build a shed, plant kale, do a back =
flip, even if it has no real productive purpose in the wider culture. Look =
at our Olympics: what earthly purpose does it serve, to be able to ski, ska=
te, dive, dance like that? But it matters, it does... and the gold medalis=
ts aren't home hunched over keyboards wondering if they are irrelevent.
Pots for me are about "look what I can do with my body". Look what I have t=
rained my eye, my hands, my biceps and fingers to do! See what I made, this=
casserole, this glaze, this kiln! And I have done this for so many hours a=
nd years, have trained myself with so many teachers and voices, that I have=
a pride in mastery, and my students may never catch up to where I am... so=
my skill is valued by those who want to learn.
Technology shows us now what parts of the brain light up, and for how long,=
with different stimulus... and we see how badly we have failed kids in sch=
ools. We were disheartened to find that after a certain very short period o=
f sit-and-listen, young brains just shut down and stop recieving informatio=
n... even if we think it's fascinating, even if the kids have learned to lo=
ok attentive and alert. Nobody's home. Activities like brain gym, challenge=
s that are real and physical, wake it all back up again. Savvy teachers shi=
ft directions in a careful cadence in the course of a class, applying motio=
n and hands-on activities between more passive kinds of learning.
My dozen girl scouts will often gather spontaneously along a table or a kit=
chen island and pound out an intricate, memorized rhythm with their hands: =
table slaps, pats, claps and elbow thumps in a beat that will ring in your =
head when you wake late at night, and follow you for days like a familiar t=
une. My co-leader rolled eyes and clapped hands over her ears for the racke=
t, but the folklorist in me was hooked and I asked them to teach me. In a =
weekend of trying, and then with Molly's tutoring once home, I finally got =
it.
And I discovered an interesting thing: in mid-day, when my morning coffee i=
s fading and I wander in circles of ADD-rabbit chasing, unable to maintain =
my train of thought -- I invite Molly to do a rhythm with me. We laugh, and=
goof, and falter at first, and repeat until it's automatic and without mis=
take... and when I walk away, I am somehow recentered, re-energized and on =
track. My brain has been completely rewired by the activity of my hands. I =
showed it to my private student who is a gym teacher and he's taking it int=
o his classroom -- he struggles to make educators see that what he teaches =
matters, as well.
Minds weren't meant to just simmer away in the absence of action, muscle me=
mory, large and small motor skills. Research says kids who play music do be=
tter in math; kids who can throw a baseball, dance ballet, master martial a=
rts, learn to "trust themselves" -- and it carries over to everything they =
do. Girls who learn to take on a challenge at the rock wall will take on tr=
igonometry, or welding. Girls who are proud and confident about REAL skills=
and accomplishments are less likely to end up pregnant, anorexic or otherw=
ise pulled off course.
In the studio if I am creatively stuck and repeating old successes, it is b=
ecause I am over thinking, over cautious, doubting myself, worried about ma=
rketability or unkind crit or other things that have no business in my crea=
tive process. The battle cry of the Artist's Way book is, "Leap, and the ne=
t will appear"... but lately we've working without a net, around here, and =
it's hard to ignore the practical voice of caution.
What I need, as an artist, a mom, a teacher, a human being, is faith that I=
still have some kind of a safety line... that a calm, knowing voice behind=
me is saying, "You can do this. Trust yourself. I will not let you fall." =
On a good day, I can hear it....
Yours
Kelly in Ohio
I know I've offered this before, but --
Ralph Waldo Emerson said,
"An education in things is not. We all are involved in the condemnation of =
words, the age of words. It was complained that an education to things was =
not given. We are students of words: we are shut up in schools, and college=
s, and recitation-rooms, for ten or fifteen years, and come out at last wit=
h a bag of wind, a memory of words, and do not know a thing.
We cannot use our hands, or our legs, or our eyes, or our arms. We do not k=
now an edible root in the woods, we cannot tell our course by the stars, no=
r the hour of the day by the sun. It is well if we can swim and skate. We a=
re afraid of a horse, of a cow, of a dog, of a snake, of a spider. The Roma=
n rule was, to teach a boy nothing that he could not learn standing.
The old English rule was, 'All summer in the field, and all winter in the s=
tudy.' And it seems as if a man should learn to plant, or to fish, or to hu=
nt, that he might secure his subsistence at all events, and not be painful =
to his friends and fellow men. The lessons of science should be experimenta=
l also. The sight of the planet through a telescope, is worth all the cours=
e on astronomy: the shock of the electric spark in the elbow, out-values al=
l the theories; the taste of the nitrous oxide, the firing of an artificial=
volcano, are better than volumes of chemistry.
http://www.primalpotter.com (website)
http://primalmommy.wordpress.com (blog)
Arnold Howard on mon 21 dec 09
From: "Kelly Savino"
> Minds weren't meant to just simmer away in the absence of
> action, muscle memory, large and small motor skills.
> Research says kids who play music do better in math; kids
> who can throw a baseball, dance ballet, master martial
> arts, learn to "trust themselves" -- and it carries over
> to everything they do.
-------------
There is tremendous power in combining mental focus with
intricate physical activity. I learned that when I was
taking karate lessons at age 17. At the time I couldn't stop
thinking about a former girlfriend--except when I was in
karate class. Workouts were rigorous and lasted three hours
per evening (two classes back to back). I always came away
from the workouts feeling mentally refreshed. The
possibility of getting beaten up during sparring forced me
to concentrate.
Sincerely,
Arnold Howard
Paragon Industries, L.P., Mesquite, Texas USA
ahoward@paragonweb.com / www.paragonweb.com
Victoria E. Hamilton on mon 21 dec 09
On December 20,Kelly Savino wrote:
Last weekend at girl scout camp, my dozen sixth grade girls -- the skinny
one, the chubby one, the athletic one, the fraidy cat, the daredevil, the
hiker, the couch potato, and the rest -- all took a turn on the high,
imposing climbing wall.
(Snip)
What I need, as an artist, a mom, a teacher, a human being, is faith that I
still have some kind of a safety line... that a calm, knowing voice behind
me is saying, "You can do this. Trust yourself. I will not let you fall." O=
n
a good day, I can hear it....
Yours
Kelly in Ohio
________________________________________
Kelly, thank you.
I was the chubby one learning to climb.
I thank my girl scout leader, and I am forever grateful to my grampa, my
best buddy, for teaching me about tools and how to use them - hand tools,
not electric/power - and for chuckling while I messed up, letting me know
that it was alright and that I'd get it; for taking me fishing and
"covering" for me at the corner store while I stole a pickle from the pickl=
e
barrel. They were a nickel for a pickle and our playful partnership is
something I'll always treasure. I think I really knew that he'd paid for
all those pickles - found out later that he did.
He was a bricklayer and a confident one - could build that cupboard for the
fruit and vegetables my grandma put up and tinker with the old 1948 ford.
What I learned from him gave me the confidence to build a Lotus 7 (albeit
from a kit sold by Colin Chapman in England) when I was 19. I learned
patience (a very hard lesson) as I saved many $$$$ for that Coventry Climax
engine.
Thanks again Kelly.
Vicki Hamilton
Seattle, WA
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