E-books: this is between me, my son and Maurice Sendak

I bought myself an e-reader for Christmas this year. I thought it would revolutionize the way I read and buy books, but I basically use it to surf the Internet, check Facebook and play stupid games.  I’ve written before about my awkward conversion from analogue to digital as it applied to music. However, this transition is beyond uncomfortable—I am ready to just abandon e-books for the familiar, heathen wilds of books with paper pages.

Why is the written word harder? First, CDs are basically just diminutive imitations of vinyl records. If you’ve compromised once, it’s much easier to compromise again. Secondly, I have retrospect; I know about unexpected consequences. I gave up CDs and gained more room, but I lost record stores. In the case of beloved Governor’s Awards in the arts recipient Ear X-tacy, we all lost. Given this failure of progress,  I can give at least four good reasons why e-books and I are doomed to part ways: Poor Richard’s; The Wild Fig; The Morris Book Shop; and  Joseph-Beth Booksellers. These are just the places I like to go to. I know there are more—Carmichael’s, The Black Swan, etc. We can take a poll right now.

Another reason this is not going to work is that I get tired of sifting through all the dross and detritus in the ether. E-books are a “dime a dozen” and occasionally they cost even less than that. I don’t want to hurt any feelings, but it is easier and less costly to publish or self-publish and distribute an e-book. The benefit of this democratization of text is cool stories like the cult-to-mainstream success of books like “John Dies at the End.”  The drawback is all the junk you have to wade through to find something good. I don’t have time for that, as the next paragraph will indicate. It’s easier just to go to a bookstore, strike up a conversation with a patron or clerk and see what’s good and why. It’s not fool proof; there are certainly ink and paper duds printed everyday. However, if you’re bent on making e-books work and you love a digital life, there’s always quality-control help from communities like Goodreads and LibraryThing (which Heidi can tell you more about).

Lastly—most importantly—I am not going to be reconstructed for the very same reason it was easier to “change my tune” with music. I have a one-year-old. The late Maurice Sendak was a curmudgeon about many things, but he was scathing when it came to e-books.  I can’t reprint his  quote here due to all the cursing—but you get the idea—and I agree with him when it comes to kids’ books. Obviously my son can’t read, but one of his favorite things in the world is a board book about baby animals, and each example includes a piece of felt, fur or feather you can rub to learn about texture.  You can’t “pat the bunny” on a Nook; you can’t lift the flaps to help Spot find his Easter eggs and you can’t hone fine-motor and manipulation skills pulling stacks of Kindles off of a bottom shelf until mom gives in and reads one to you.

I’m not trying to change anyone’s mind. I just wanted to share a personal struggle with a change in the world of literary art. Whatever you decide about e-books, just read! Kentucky is certainly ripe with opportunities to find a good book. I haven’t bought or borrowed a real book since December. This is a shameful streak, which I intend to break the second I get paid.  How do you feel about e-books?

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Confessions of a wannabe life-long learner

I like to read articles about arts education…in my free time. I’m not talking about any ol’ feel good magazine article or newspaper opinion piece. I’m talking about research reports you have to find on databases like JSTOR and ERIC or download from organizations like the Arts Education Partnership. You know—the 30 plus page ones. I was even borderline giddy as I waited in line at Joseph-Beth Booksellers to purchase Dr. James Catterall’s book “Doing Well and Doing Good by Doing Art” (which I highly recommend).

I’m fascinated by the impact the arts can have on a student’s education. It’s the reason I choose my career path. I had plenty of other opportunities in college—math, social work, history… the list is really quite long.

On March 30, the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) released a new research report on arts education. The research team, led by Dr. Catterall, looked at four different longitudinal studies to compare student involvement in the arts with academic and social outcomes. Amazingly (but not to us), the researchers found a high correlation between student involvement in the arts and higher test scores, higher levels of education and an increased likelihood to give back to the community.

The Arts and Achievement in At-Risk Youth cover

This is just what you need for writing grants, filling out final reports and creating annual reports for your art education programming.

However, in my opinion, that isn’t the best part of the report. The best part is that students who are the MOST at risk in our schools—students from low-income homes and low-educational backgrounds— often perform as well as their peers when they are involved in the arts. In other words, the whole “achievement gap” issue disappears when you add the arts. WOW!

Click here for a direct link to the study. It’s only 24 pages counting all of the colorful graphs.

Also, if you are like me and want to know more about how the arts can help students, the Arts Education Partnership recently made their ArtsEdSearch site live. It’s a website where arts education research has been collected and summarized by age and type of arts engagement. I can’t even describe how amazing it is; it makes my heart melt just thinking about it.

Rachel Allen, arts education director

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The Shane Design

Three years ago,  the offices of the Governor and First Lady asked us to decorate the picnic tables at the Governor’s Derby Celebration. Being the arts council, a group of people who strive for perfection and who value creativity,  we took the project to extreme measures by turning the tables into horses. We also wanted to include the entire Commonwealth, so we found a way to let school children of all ages participate statewide. Every year at the beginning April, we mail about 30 blank canvases to Kentucky schools that respond to our open call. They design their own “blankets,” which we  drape over “horses” at the celebration.

The canvases  slowly return to us  around the end of April, and we unroll them on tables around the office. It’s like Christmas for us, so everyone sneaks away from their work to see the new designs as they arrive. We muse about how each class  came up with the concepts, how they divided the tasks and what art techniques they honed while completing the blanket. We always wonder what Derby means to Kentucky kids who, in some cases, are quite far away from Louisville.

This year’s designs were phenomenal (as always). Some pay tribute to the Derby and equine culture, others focus on the beauty of springtime in Kentucky and some depict pride in both school and community. There was one from Knox County Middle School in Barbourville, Ky., that stood out among the rest. The orange, green and rust colored blanket featured a repeated motif that wasn’t a commonly recognized symbol.

The “Shane Design”

Attached to the back of the canvas was a note from the teacher, Ms. Mayla McKeehan, that read:

“Enclosed is our entry for the Governor’s Derby Celebration. I wanted to explain that this canvas has been painted to memorialize our student Shane Smith, who was killed on April 12, 2012, while crossing US25E, here in Knox County. The design was traced from his original doodle on his reading class folder. He made the drawing in my classroom the day before he was killed. In an effort to remember him and work through our grief, we created this canvas as the ‘Shane Design’. This work was created by the following students and staff of Knox County Middle School: Starr Brown, Austin Cooper, Marybeth Frederick, Cylee Cross, Chris Milwee, April Skaggs, Mrs. Sheila Baker and Ms. Mayla McKeehan.”

We were floored. Each student in Ms. Mckeehan’s class traced, painted or drew Shane’s design to achieve the look of the blanket. It is impossibile not to refelct on someone’s life when you are doing exactly what they did the day before they passed away. It’s as close as you can get to “walking in someone else’s shoes” without being literal. As artists and creative people, we know about the power of the arts in the healing process, and we know kids get something out of the projects we initiate.  What we didn’t realize was that this project, which began as a merely aesthetic one, could actually provide the means to help a community deal with loss and connect people across distances. These blankets are more than “just for looks.”

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Derby day is one of those amazing occasions when all Kentuckians (even those living in other states) feel connected with one another. All of us experience a pang of emotion when the chorus of “My Old Kentucky Home” rings out with “Weep no more my lady…” Our hearts go out to Shane’s family, friends and classmates. Although this is a time of celebration, we will not forget that there are some of us (fellow Kentuckians) out there aching. In the spirit of being a Kentuckian on Derby, I would encourage you to visit Shane’s blanket draped over one of the horses on the Old Capitol lawn on the morning of May 05, 2012.

Sarah Schmitt, arts access director

Visit Shane’s blanket on Facebook and share your thoughts in the comments. 

Categories: Arts Education, Visual Arts | Tags: , , , , , | 2 Comments

What do kids get from reciting poetry anyway?

Here’s  one final thought for National Poetry Month. When I was in fourth grade, my teacher was Mrs. Flannery. Some days I loved her; some days I hated her. She challenged me; she expected great things from all of her students and she was sensitive to kids who had no academic opportunities outside of her class. She could also be mean (according to the solipsist sensibilities of a fourth grader), her breath smelled like cough drops and she gave us hours of homework every night. But the cruelest thing she did was make us recite poetry on Fridays.

We had one week to memorize a poem she chose from her personal literary canon then accurately recite it in front of the entire class. The first poem given to us was “Trees” by Joyce Kilmer. The rhyming verse was helpful in remembering each line, and most students who even tried were able to recite it with proficiency. The room sizzled with suppressed snickers every time one of us said “against the earth’s sweet flowing breast” and “upon whose bosom snow has lain.” The mood was much more somber when we learned about the deaths of Joyce Kilmer and fellow World War I poet Wilfred Owen. “Dulce Et Decorum Est,” which we thankfully did not have to recite, may have traumatized a few of us.

Through the school year we spent Friday afternoons listening to each other soar or struggle with poems. Some were funny; we each recited Shel Silverstein’s “Sick,” which spoke directly to us as kids with perpetual spring fever. Some were exciting; we especially got into the galloping action of “Paul Revere’s Ride” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Others were boring; hearing Robert Frost’s “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowing Evening” 30 times consecutively should be prohibited by the Geneva Convention.

This was not mere memorization and regurgitation. I know these poems, and I can recite significant portions of them to this day. I appreciate them for different reasons. I even have educated opinions about them, and I can tell you about their authors. Mrs. Flannery gave me more than A’s and B pluses. She made me well-rounded and reflective. She also gave me pride and helped me overcome nagging fears.

When I think of nine-year-old-me, I imagine the self-conscious fat kid with a gap in her front teeth, standing to recite a century-old poem (usually fairly well) and sitting down with a red face flushed with embarrassment. This kid is the same 17-year-old who effortlessly stood in front of a room of peers and superiors at the Governor’s School for the Arts commencement and eloquently read her own poetry.

If you’re not impressed with the intangible benefits of poetry recitation, I can certainly understand. It’s true that these same ends can be achieved through music, sports, debate and other worthy pursuits. But before you pass final judgment, I encourage you to cheer for Kentucky’s Poetry Out Loud state champion, Curtlyn Kramer, as she participates in the national championship, May 13 – 15, in Washington, D.C. This competition comes with scholarships, prestige for her community and monetary awards for her school. This “kid reciting poetry” will be vying for glory and reward equal to athletes, academic teams and young musicians. Those types of benefits are irrefutable.

Sarah Schmitt, arts access director

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What’s going on in Kentucky? by Lynnell Edwards

I was privileged to be part of two Kentucky-centric panels at the annual conference of the Associated Writing Programs (AWP) this year in Chicago, which, with almost 10,000 in attendance, is undoubtedly the largest gathering of writers, editors, promoters and lovers of literary writing in the United States, if not the world.  So it was a surprise when out of this carnival of ages and faces, of academics and independents, of the conventional and the frankly unconventional, a member of the audience at our reading for the Kentucky Women Writer’s Conference asked: “With four panels—and counting—focused on or showcasing Kentucky writers, Kentucky is the single most best-represented state at the conference. What’s going on in Kentucky?”

What’s going on indeed.

I don’t remember that there was a single, extended answer from our panel—someone joked about the water (or maybe it was the bourbon)—but there was consensus that at least some of it had to do with our ability to support one another, for the established to mentor the emerging, and for the urban and the rural to find points of engagement and admiration. The Kentucky literary community is a big tent, a literary front porch that welcomes all.

Now a month past that question a more expansive response begins to take shape, though the brief space here allows just a few notes toward a full discussion of “what’s going on in Kentucky.”

First, a strong community depends in large part on the willingness of its members to work for common good. Among Kentucky’s most highly published contemporary writers are also some of the state’s best literary citizens. They run reading series, put on festivals and operate literary presses and journals that take chances on new writers; they visit schools and offer writing workshops for teens; they send out newsletters and share opportunities; they fund prizes and raise money for literary causes.

But it’s not clear that all this literary citizenry is necessarily peculiar to Kentucky; perhaps it’s just a particular convergence right now of literary folk who are also enthusiastic organizers.

A second reason, perhaps, gets more precisely at the question of a writer and her region. We are a conflicted history of a conflicted people. Kentucky is eternally a state of contradictions: are we north or south? And if we’re part of the Bible belt, then why are our top industries gambling and distilled spirits? We have a bounty of natural resources and beauty that we are systematically destroying. We are abundant in our literary wealth, yet continued and historically poor support for education and a powerful current of anti-intellectualism keep our graduation and literacy rates low.

As difficult as this condition makes it to get anything done in Frankfort,  I do think there is a particular kind of passion and violence in Kentucky’s conflicted history, in our complete disregard for the rules that can impart a fearlessness in its writers, however they make their claim to Kentucky. Hunter S. Thompson exhibited this kind of fearlessness when he reinvented journalism as did Robert Penn Warren of the prior generation when he reinvented literary criticism; the late poet Aleda Shirley in her final book “Dark Familiar” stared down mortality with a fearless eye; James Baker Hall brought the all-seeing camera’s eye to his fearless composition on the page. And now, Nikky Finney writing devastatingly beautiful poems about Condoleeza Rice in her National Book Award-winning collection “Head Off and Split”; Wendell Berry—not because he’s the most radical writer on the environment around (he’s not)—but because he fearlessly reaches into philosophy, religion, science, natural history and political science to create a far-reaching, widely accessible polemic about what we’re doing to our Earth and why. All of them fearless Kentucky writers. What’s going on in Kentucky?  Don’t be afraid to ask.

Lynnell Major Edwards is the author of three collections of poetry, most recently “Covet” (October, 2011), and also “The Farmer’s Daughter” (2003) and “The Highwayman’s Wife” (2007), all from Red Hen Press. Her short fiction and book reviews have appeared most recently in Connecticut Review, American Book Review, Pleiades, New Madrid, and others. She lives in Louisville, Ky. where she is on the board of directors for Louisville Literary Arts, a non-profit literary arts organization that sponsors the monthly InKY reading series and The Writer’s Block Festival. She is also associate professor of English at Spalding University. She also teaches creative writing workshops at the Carnegie Center for Literacy and is available for readings and workshops in a variety of settings. http://lynnelledwards.wordpress.com/

Categories: Literary Arts | Tags: , , , , , | 5 Comments

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