The stairwell of the Brooklyn Museum of Art. My eldest son Joe has found a window that gives his cell phone access to a signal. And I've found a striking double image: Joe and his shadow.
You see differently after you've been worked over by works of art. Shapes and colors become more vivid. Images more suggestive. Thoughts more graphic.
It was a family trip to hear Joe's brother Tom play his senior recital at the New School University in Manhattan. We stayed in Brooklyn, and spent a long afternoon exploring this museum, looking into artistic mirrors, surveying our souls.
Here's Tim, for instance, taking a picture of himself in front of an ornate concave mirror. And Maren picturing an Egyptian artifact.And I, of course, am making images of the children who are, in part, images of myself.
We walked from painting to painting, exhibit to exhibit, and I found myself the eager parent, anxious to teach my children everything I know, and equally anxious to see things through their eyes.
And that brings me to teaching.
I have a lot to teach. Even a slow learner picks up a few things over 58 years. But what thrills me, still, about walking into a classroom, is what will come back. At the end of a class (or a stroll through the Brooklyn Museum with my children), I'm never the same person who walked in.
1 comment:
Oh man, I'm such a fricking cry baby. I read stuff like this and, in spite of intellectually stimulating images coupla thousand miles away from my eyes, yet right here in front of me; words inspiring new and innovative ideas of my own, even words about a few children, a few I've barely met, I hardly know; echoing feelings, reverberating, bouncing from inside the very small and limited space inside the nipple located right outside my heart,throwing images/memories distances of feet and inches into my abdomen, then up to my head, back down to the corner of one little toe; tears of joy well and spill into the void, of memories, some not even memories yet.
I walk into class rooms, pen and paper in hand. People just like me, alone, even in a crowd, dripping, yearning for more; eyes wide apart, nose pointed straight with pure intent, feet moving, shuffle, some stride; pass into oblivion of unknown tomorrow's today; solutions slamming in from around unknown corners of another's experience.
PHEWW...I have to do it, no direction known, like a complete unknown, rolling around, uphill and dell, bringing........receiving....
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