Fine Arts Education Needs a New Paint Job

As Thomas Merton once said, “Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” This quote holds not only special meaning for myself, but for many other students around the world; it is this meaning which has provoked the subject of fine arts education refinement. Fine arts education is a valuable part of the school curriculum that should not be thrown away as easily as it has been. What many school budget voters do not see about the arts program is that it is much more than simply a creative outlet. In addition to the freedom allowed for creativity, art education offers many benefits in other areas such as academic achievement, social and emotional development, and civic engagement. Fine arts education needs to be a higher priority for the school systems than it has been for the past thirty years. I believe this decline in education to be for the worst because the positives offered outweigh the supposed negatives.

Art education is imperative to the education of students of all ages. This education offers benefits, it is proven, in math, reading, cognitive ability, critical thinking, and verbal skill (Smith, Why arts education is crucial, and Who’s doing it best). I’ve discovered, through experience, that there are many more students interested in the arts, both musical and physical, than those who are not. Art education can also improve motivation, concentration, confidence and teamwork. I speak once more from experience; as a shy person, creating art has given me confidence, winning awards has provided motivation, and setting up for an art gallery requires teamwork. The arts are a vital part of school curriculum and often show stunning results with their occasionally eccentric methods. For example, using the arts as a learning tool by incorporating their methods into other core classes (writing and performing a play about, say, slavery), creating a school environment rich in arts and culture (perhaps Mozart in the hallways every day) and hands-on arts instruction.

This cause is very dear to me, as it was to the woman who originally inspired me. Linda Johansen was my introduction to ceramics teacher during my sophomore year of high school- as well as a fellow artist, a second mother, a devoted teacher, and an inspiration. Mrs. Johansen taught with such a passion and love of art that even those not interested in her subject could not deny this claim. Fondly called Mrs. Jo by her students, Linda is the kind of woman who was meant to be a teacher. Despite the fact that I took her class with impure intentions, it quickly grew to be my favorite class. Before that year, I never considered myself an artistic person- any previous artwork of any medium looked as if it had been done by a five year old. Shortly after starting Mrs. Johansen’s class, I realized that the old sayings, ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder’, and, ‘Art is subjective’ really do ring true. Yes, my early creations were less than ideal, but with practice and these sayings in mind, ceramics became my new passion; it was too late, I was hooked- only, I had no intentions of letting go.

After that one class, I went back for more; my junior year I took the second year ceramics course for half a year, and the second half of the year I used my free period for a continued study with Mrs. Johansen, and senior year I took jewelry one and two as well as an AP course in ceramics. I lived and breathed art that final year as I helped prepare for shows, galleries, and fund raisers. Thanks to this wonderful woman, I finally realized what I wanted to do with my adult life. Originally, I only had a creative mind- in other words; I was plenty capable of seeing what I wanted my end product to look like, but incapable of making it happen. I had grown to realize that I had to make the change I wanted to see. With this thought in mind, I realized that I want to be an art therapist; in other terms, a therapist who asks their patients to use art in order to express what they find difficult to say.

What Mrs. Johansen taught, what I have realized in college Human Behavior, and what the research has reinforced is that all art forms come as a part of each individual’s cultural heritage. The arts are what make us human and, therefore, unique from each other (The Importance of Fine Arts Education). Is it not common belief that the more sciences and math are practiced, the better one does in those subjects? Research shows that the same holds true with art; Random exposure to art forms does not create an artist or an understanding of past cultures (The Importance of Fine Arts Education). For many, the classes made available in school are the only exposure to the arts some students get. I was fortunate enough that the schools in my hometown offered such extensive art courses, meanwhile I know plenty of schools that don’t; to me, this is unfathomable and unacceptable. Personally, art was so helpful to me that I want to share that feeling with others. Research shows that the children of wealthy, well-to-do parents get this exposure to art whether or not it is offered by the school, while low-income families generally do not get this exposure. A 2005 report by the RAND Corporation, a nonprofit institution for policy decision making about visual arts demonstrates that the pleasures and stimulation provided by the art experience do more than affect someone individually, they, in fact, connect people more deeply to the world and open up new ways of seeing it (Smith).

The subject of visual arts specifically, is a topic of mass appreciation in my hometown, as shown when the entire community comes together for our Spring Showcase and during the winter when we have our fundraisers. The No Child Left Behind Act, an education act promoting annual testing, has since raised the pressure on increasing test scores, thus reducing the amount of times spent on the arts. It is true that this 2001 act limits time on everything else except for reading and math, even other core curricula (No Child Left Behind). In my opinion, this is the result of tight budgets and lists of state mandates that proclaim the arts as lovely but not essential. My high school art teacher thought it was important that we, as art lovers and as the next generation, have a say in what we learn and what our children will one day learn. It is this belief that had her alerting us to every budget vote and arts-related decision made by the head of the art department. I was one of dozens of students who, as I passed the art director in the halls, was inquiring about the latest budget cuts or the status of teacher lay-offs. Linda Johansen had created a special variety of students who cared, who were informed, and who wanted to be the change that the community saw. Being a devoted art student, I was always the first one to sign up to volunteer on course selection day. The art students realized that it was the day that we had to try our hardest to show what we could do and entice future high school students to join our ranks. I would spend the entire school day, tour group after tour group, imploring the future freshmen to give these classes the same chance that I did, insisting that they would not be disappointed and could actually make a difference if they let this class, and its teacher, help them. A 2005 report from a school in Illinois showed no opposition from principals and district superintendents to arts education (Smith). However, this was not what the state curriculum showed. Basically every state offers, to a degree, some arts instruction, yet in the 2007-08 survey, only 45% of elementary schools and 33% of middle schools provided education in all required art forms (Smith). According to the New York City Department of Education, only 34% of high schools offered classes in excess to the ones necessary for the minimum graduation requirement (Smith).

The fine arts are an area which needs some reform. The arts, both musical and physical, act as not only a refuge to some students, but as a guide and aid to others. It acts as a category for academically challenged students to excel in, and holds a direct link to parental interest. In-school courses and after school programs of the arts are not only desired by many students, but are beneficial as well.

 

 

 

 

 

Works Cited

“Art Education: Why Have Art Education?” Art Education: Why Have Art Education? N.p., n.d. Web. 17 Mar. 2014.

“Katy Independent School District.” The Importance of Fine Arts Education. N.p., n.d. Web. 20 Mar. 2014.

“No Child Left Behind.” Education Week. N.p., 2014. Web. 20 Mar. 2014.

“Why Arts Education Is Crucial, and Who’s Doing It Best.” Edutopia. N.p., n.d. Web. 19 Mar. 2014.

Someone Like You

“You knew how the time flies. Only yesterday was the time of our lives, We were born and raised in a summer haze,” Adele spoke loud and slowly, trying to hide the shaking tremors that seemed to plague her insides. As she continued talking, keeping her voice loud so that it could be heard all the way in the back of the church, Adele wondered what had happened that had brought her to this point in her life, where she was standing in front of dozens of people all wearing black, all sitting silently in this church.

It had been four years since Adele and her lover had been together.

“Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead,” her boyfriend had said to her on that last day.  At first the breakup had gone as all others had, she was angry with him and would do anything to prove that she could stand on her own. But after the post breakup fury had worn away, she found herself talking with him, her Kevin, again. Though they never talked about their relationship or the love Adele still possessed for him, they reconnected as good friends. They both lived their own lives in separate states, they kept in touch through e-mail. When Adele found out that he was engaged to another girl, she was heartbroken, after all, she still loved him, but her e-mails never gave away those emotions; ‘I heard that you’re settled down, that you found a girl and you’re getting married now? I heard your dreams came true. I guess she gave you things I didn’t give to you…’

Kevin was nice about it and asked Adele to come back to their hometown for the wedding. Not wanting to pass up the opportunity to see her love, she got on the first plane home.

On the day of the wedding, Adele curled her hair and put lipstick on her lips; she wore a brand new purple dress and slipped her feet into silver heels. Adele quietly and unnoticeably slipped inside the large church just after the ‘I Do’s had been said. Adele knew that it would be hard to see him after all these years, and she was right; all she wanted to do was run into his arms and never let him go again. But she couldn’t do that; his arms were already wrapped tightly around his bride as they walked down the aisle.

While everyone was standing outside and cheering as the new couple got into their limousine, Adele stood on top of the church stairs, all alone, “Never mind, I’ll find someone like you.” She whispered.

At the reception she wandered through the crowd of people feeling as if she were the only one there. The bride’s friends gave Adele the cold shoulder and none of the men she spoke to were anything like the one she wanted to replace. As the groom started speaking into the microphone, Adele stopped chatting with the faceless person in front of her and focused on every word he said, “We were both born and raised in a summer haze. When I looked back, I was surprised at what I considered to be my “glory days”, but once I met my lovely bride I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. And these days that we will spend together, well those will be my true glory days.”

Adele sat in silence for the rest of his toast, wishing that every wonderfully kind thing he was saying about his bride was instead being said about her. Sometime much later in the night, she accidentally bumped into somebody.

“Oh, excuse me. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see-,” The man turned around and whatever apologies Adele was making stopped, she was facing her ex-boyfriend.

“Hey, Del,” Her insides melted at her long-lost nickname, “You enjoying the night?”

Stupidly, her mouth opened but no sound came out, she blushed bright red and nodded vigorously instead.

“Good, that’s good,” he nodded and turned a little red in the awkward silence.

They both opened their mouths and went to talk at the same time. They stopped and laughed.

“Go ahead, Del.”

“No, it’s fine. You first, Kev.”

“Oh, well, I was just going to ask how you’ve been. Sure we speak over e-mail, but this is the first time that I’ve seen you face to face since…”

Since we broke up, Adele finished the sentence he had left hanging in her mind.

“I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t fight it. I had hoped you’d see my face and be reminded that for me it isn’t over-“

“Hey, honey!” the very cheery bride finds her way over to Adele and Kevin. She drapes her arms around him like one drapes laundry to dry.

“Sweetie, this is my old friend, Adele.”

She knew then, that Kevin would only see her that way; as just an old friend. Adele hated the way she had bared her soul to him, and lain out her feelings for him to crush again. And she hated the way Kevin looked at his bride.

The bride smiled politely and then leaned close to whisper in Kevin’s ear, “Is this ‘the mistake’?”

Adele was furious! Was ‘the mistake’ what Kevin had been calling her? Or just what his new girl calls her?

“To answer your question, Kev, I am great living on my own, in a big city. Nothing compares, no worries or cares,” her gaze settles on the bride, “Regrets and mistakes, they’re memories made.” A meaningless smile and a quick wave had her able to leave the bride and groom. On her way walking back to her parent’s house, Adele let silent tears slip down her cheeks.

Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste? She asked herself.

Six years had gone by quickly and uneventfully, Adele went through each day as if it were just like every other day. Kevin spent each day loving his wife and eventually the two children he had with her. Adele was busy, but not too busy to notice that Kevin hadn’t been emailing her as often. At least twice now she had emailed him in a panic, asking if he was okay. But there was no response. Yes, maybe it was a little too obvious that she still had feelings for him, what other reason would she have for booking a plane flight home without good reason? But she just had to make sure he was okay, and it’s a good thing she did, otherwise she never would have got to say–.

Adele knocked on her parent’s door, one hand gripping the handle to her suitcase and the other stuffed in her pocket to keep warm from this cold winter day. Her parents welcomed her inside warmly and brought Adele’s suitcase up to her old room.

“Where is Kevin? He hasn’t been answering my emails and I’m a little worried about him,” She said shyly. The look her parents gave her made Adele feel like she was being pitied for still having a crush on the man she couldn’t have, but then she felt worried when her parent’s reply was, “Sweet pea, why don’t you go over to Kevin’s house and talk to his wife?”

It was then, during that sentence and those concerned and sad looks she received, that Adele realized that something was horribly, terribly wrong.

Knock- knock. The pale face of Kevin’s wife appeared from behind the white wooden door, only she wasn’t as happy as she was at the wedding. Her face now seemed older, and was stained with tears and her eyes were red as if she hadn’t been getting any sleep.

“What’s wrong with Kevin?” Adele demanded. His unhappy looking bride choked on a sob and then invited Adele in to talk. She wondered how she could say what she needed to say to Adele. Yes, Adele still loved her husband, but that didn’t matter anymore, it only mattered what time there was left.

Her heeled black leather boots clicked against the white floor tiles and the sound bounced off the plain white walls. All was silent in this hall, which wasn’t shocking considering what time it was. But the thoughts and emotions were running wild and loud inside of Adele, how long did she have? What would she do? But, this wasn’t about her; this was about Kevin, the man she still loved, and the end that he was facing from cancer. The only question that Adele could ask herself was: Why did she let him get away? Adele almost couldn’t bear it, tears flowed steadily down her cheeks and the sounds of the constant beeping from the many monitors roared inside her ears. Adele grabbed Kevin’s sleeping hand and held it tight.

“There are so many things I need to tell you, so many things I should have done differently,” She whispered. Not even a minute later his eyes fluttered open and his hand squeezed hers weakly.

“Hey, Del. I wish you didn’t come, you shouldn’t have to see me like this,” he said, his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.

“You know how I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited,” she joked, a weak laugh coming from Kevin before she laid her hand against his cheek, “but I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t fight it. There were so many times when I hoped you’d see my face and that you’d be reminded that for me it isn’t over, it never was.” Kevin smiled at her and for that one night, Adele felt like she never had lost him.

On that gray fall afternoon, Adele straightened her hair and put on lipstick; she put on the black dress that she had bought and slipped on black heels. She slipped through the large church doors and walked down the aisle, silently passing all the solemn faces that filled the benches. Adele sat on the second bench and stared blankly at all of the flowers in the front of the church as well as the picture of Kevin that was placed amongst them. When the priest asked if anyone wanted to say something, Adele stood up and stood in front of a church full of people all grieving for the same person she was and all wearing black like she was. Adele cleared her throat and tried to hold back the tears she was fighting, “You knew how the time flies; only yesterday was the time of your life. You were born and raised in a summer haze, bound by the surprise of your glory days. I wished nothing but the best for you, don’t forget us, I beg. I remember you said, ‘Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead’.”

Was It Just a Dream?

In the back of his mind, Charles was only vaguely aware of what his friend, Dave, was saying. Staring out his living room window, Charles’ mind was somewhere else. He rubbed his sore neck and started trying to remember what had or hadn’t happened last night. Honestly, he couldn’t be sure.

            “Tell me,” Charles interrupts, “Have you ever wanted someone so much it hurts? And your lips keep trying to speak, but it’s useless. You just can’t seem to find the words.”

Dave opens his mouth to reply, but then closes it. He really didn’t have any idea what Charles was talking about because he considered himself to be far more popular with the ladies. “Man, what are you talking about?”

            “I had this dream once. I’m not even sure it was a dream or if it really happened. I can’t shake the feeling that it was real.”

            Dave leaned back in his chair, getting comfortable to listen to his friend. This is going to be good, he thinks to himself

*   *   *  *

            I remembered walking along the boardwalk late one night. The wood was dark and damp from the waves and salt air that came up from the beach below. The salt air and smells of popcorn and other foods being sold all mingled in my nose as I wandered ahead slowly, not knowing or caring where I ended up. I shouldered past strangers while not really noticing the fireworks exploding up in the sky. Amidst all of the loud booming and excited shrieks, something made me tear my eyes from the ground. I felt this sudden urge; it was nothing like I had ever felt before. And I was glad that I looked up! She was the purest beauty, but not the common kind. She was sitting on a bench ten feet in front of me, looking rigid and tense but staring right at me. And once she saw me, her pose relaxed, as if she had been waiting specifically for me. For the first time that night, I noticed the fireworks, or rather, their reflection in her black-as-night eyes. Wavy auburn hair fell over her shoulder and she gave me the most seductive but friendly smile I have ever seen. She stood up and reached her hand out for mine.

            The blonde haired boy who I had waited for slipped his hand into mine, shuddering at my touch, which was just a bit warmer than freezing.

            “Hey, my name is Charles,” he introduced himself. I smiled shyly and waited until the next firework exploded, carefully moving my lips during the explosion so he would think I told him mine. Shyly, he nodded, not wanting to admit that he hadn’t heard my name. We started walking, and I didn’t care where we were going. They were right about him, about Charles; he was handsome and nice, but innocent. And I really wasn’t very sure how this night would end. My footsteps started to slow, my legs were harder to move, all making me feel like I couldn’t breathe and like my flesh was bubbling and being seared from the inside. I looked straight ahead for the first time and my eyes zeroed in on what was causing my pain. The dark, wooden crucifix contrasted against the white church and made me feel very small for the first time in forever.

 Each step closer, I felt like fire was consuming my body. I couldn’t believe that just one human boy could make me forget everything I exist by- perhaps they were wrong about him. How could he make me completely block out my surroundings to the point that I didn’t even realize a church was nearby? I abruptly stopped and yanked Charles’ arm in the other direction. I led him down onto the beach and into the surf. The cool, salt water made my toes go cold again,  it made the fire inside me disappear. Even though I wasn’t looking at him, I could feel the look of question Charles was giving. So quickly, I turned around and splashed water at him. The little droplets of salt water left dark spots on his shirt and his eyes crinkled when he smiled back at me. He took my hand again as we started walking in the direction opposite of the church. My feet splashed in the water as he told me more about himself and I tried to be as vague as possible.

            Charles was a few steps behind me as I grasped the door handle. Upon entering, my smile fell, I had forgotten about the mirrors in the house. I slunk along the wall until I was across the room and into the kitchen, I then raised my voice a little and asked, “Can you dim the lights?”

            “Sure,” Charles said, very eager to obey my every command. The lights in the house were now very low, but to me it still looked like day. Wine glass in hand, I came out of the kitchen and turned on the stereo. The song that came on was something country; I twirled around and started dancing like a child. This was a rare moment when I could show who I was and not have to worry about the repercussions. Charles swayed closer to me until we were only a breath apart- before the song changed to heavy metal and it startled him. Charles sent his hand flying and it collided with my wine glass, sending the red liquid splattering over my dress.

            “Oh God! I am so sorry! Here, wait one second and I’ll get you a towel.” Charles rushed through my house and looked for the bathroom, but all I did was smile and silently laugh at what he didn’t understand. I dragged my finger over the red stain and then licked it.

            I had spilt wine on her dress and all she did was smile. I wasn’t sure why though since I had completely ruined her dress!

            “Um, I couldn’t find any towels.” I announced while walking back into the living room.

            “It is okay,” she chirps from somewhere in the house. She comes out of a room and is now wearing jeans and a black t-shirt and holding an oversized blanket.

            “What are we doing?” I asked her. But she didn’t reply, she grabbed my hand and led me outside. We climbed into the bed of my truck and lay down, watching the stars shining brightly overhead. She laid her head against my shoulder and breathed out what seemed like a sigh of relief. And it was all perfect; I held it in my mind. We slept under a blanket, all tangled up in skin. Not knowing in that moment that we’d never speak again. On that night, we owned the night. She sat up suddenly and then kissed me, I wrapped my arm around her waist and held her closer, willing that kiss to never end. She pulled back before leaning towards me and kissing my neck. It was weird, I didn’t feel her breath on my skin, and then I felt this strange feeling of contentment wash over me.

*   *   *  *

            “And then? What happened next, bro?” Dave asked slightly more enthusiastic than he was before his friend had started telling his dream.

            “And then, nothing. I guess I blacked out. But I woke up in my bed, in my room as if I hadn’t even gone out last night.”

Dave laughed a little, “Well, did you go out last night, man? Are you sure you didn’t just dream the entire thing? You know, maybe you fell asleep watching one of those weird movies that totally messes with your head.” Charles shrugged, but in his mind he was thinking that it was too nice and too real to be a dream. A part of him deep inside knew that she was real, and that he wanted to find her.

            Later that day, Charles left his friend to go in search of his dream girl. It seemed like a mission that could never be completed, like a fool’s errand, but Charles decided that he would risk being a fool if it meant knowing whether she was real or not. He spent the day hiking through the forest, making inquiries about the strange girl and her house, but no one knew what, or who, he was searching for. Just around the time of sunset, Charles was walking through the woods when he decided to go back to his truck and go home. But then he felt a strange pull, and he followed it, or rather let it pull him. He couldn’t escape that grasp, the same one which he had felt in his dream. The tree line broke and Charles found himself looking at the house from his dreams, her house. He ran over to the house and called out, but no one was home. In fact, the house looked like it had been decades since someone had lived there.

            Details from his dream started re-playing themselves in his mind. Her lack of breath, her cold fingers, the odd way that she acted, it was all so surreal. He closed his eyes and pretended that he was still lying in his truck, with her holding on to him. He imagined that in the very late night she woke up startled. Frantically, she had tossed aside the blanket and then effortlessly and impossibly had moved him without waking him. Charles imagined that she had brought him to his home, though he never once told her where that was, and put him in his bed. He imagined her lips brushing his ear, whispering something that seemed like a goodbye and maybe even an apology, telling him to forget.

“Hilary.” His eyes snapped open, “Your name was Hilary. And I still remember you.” His mind raced with all the possibilities that he could see her again, before he paused and thought about it, “When the sun starts sinking down, I wonder where you are. Will you look at those same stars again?” Charles turned away from the dark, dead house and walked back to his truck. He now knew her name, as though it had been whispered to him, even though he never heard her say it. He knew that her house was real, but was she real? Could he dream a dream about a girl who doesn’t exist but a house and a name that does? But it was perfect; I never will forget, Charles thought.