Joshua Tree Sunrise June, 2009
I believe in the kingdom come
then all the colours will bleed into one
bleed into one
but yes, I'm still running
you broke the bonds and you loosed the chains
carried the cross of my shame
of my shame
you know I believe it
but I still haven't found what I'm looking for
still haven't found what I'm looking for.
from Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For . . . The Joshua Tree by U2
Music can change the world because it can change people. Bono
..........................
The photo above was the result of an "accidental" trip we took to Joshua Tree, California. I have a fascination with deserts and I'd never seen one, so I convinced Jay that we should take a side-trip on our first day and spend the night at Joshua Tree.
The drive was spectacular. Mountains unlike those in Kentucky. Rows of white windmills constantly in motion. Dry, humidless heat. And the most bizarre vegetation I've ever seen, the strangest being the branches-reaching-to-heaven Joshua trees. Thousands of them.
The sunrise in the photo was taken from the doorway to our room, Bono's room. Yes, Bono slept here. In the same bed I would be sleeping in. Usually I am not awestruck, starstruck, dumbstruck or otherwise "struck," yet I do have this affinity and fondness for Paul Hewson -- Bono -- of the band U2. Boy, October and War and the The Unforgettable Fire helped transform my relationship with music. For the first time, I connected with music that seemed unpolished and earthy. Inspiring, stripped-down yet dripping with imagery.
The 70s disco queen in me died; the rebel rocker emerged.
. . .
Oprah has a column in her magazine, One Thing I Know for Sure. There's one thing I know for sure. . . Bono is right -- music can change people.
Today's assignment in my humanities class involved listening to 8 selections of music, writing about what was heard, then sketching/painting/drawing images or pictures of what the music created in the mind of the student. Researchers who study the effects of music on human brains usually agree on one thing -- engaging or experimenting with music involves working all areas of the brain at the same time or a sort of right brain/left brain tango. I introduce this concept to students when we're studying core content terminology and, to be honest, most of them think me insane until we read an article about the effects of music. Most of them approach music with the same trepidation with which they participate in the visual arts unit. "I can't draw, Mrs. Schneider. I can't do art." Couple that with "I can't sing or play an instrument, Mrs. Schneider. All I can to is listen to my iPod." Success seems strung together with the ability to sing or play the piano. Yet one thing I know for sure . . . all students encounter music at least once a day!
So on this particular day we started with Palestrina (yesterday we tackled opera in 30 minutes, followed by a quick experiment with Gregorian chant.) Palestrina was followed by early Baroque -- Pachelbel, Bach, Handel, Vivaldi . . . 8 selections in all. I stopped anticipating complaints about four years ago because I already know what will happen. The same happens today -- students start listening, begin writing, then commence with the creating. I participate right along with them. Sometimes I explain during the "catch-up" interludes between selections why I drew what I did with the oil pastels on my own student desk. I sit among them, struggling to choose a color. During one class I guide the tense hands of a student who has some fine motor issues in an effort to coax her into relaxing her fingers. "See. Look how this glides when you stop putting pressure on the pastels." Waves emerge fluidly across the page. She smiles and nods. "What do you see in your mind?" I ask her. "Dancing clouds and music notes," she responds. I smile back and pat her hand. Then I notice some amazing watercolors emerging on the paper at the desk next to mine and give a thumbs-up. More smiles. I notice the dancing clouds student retreating back to her regular pencil and I point to the pastels. "Color," she responds. I nod and she smiles. The boy behind her has charcoal-sketched his way through Haydn's Menuetto. He hasn't worked this hard all semester.
Silence. Bliss. 50 minutes of it. In four classrooms of spring-fevered students! Not one complaint about the "awful Classical music." Not one argument that "I can't do this." Not one student refuses to try. Not one head hits a desk today.
Silence. Bliss. 50 minutes of it. In four classrooms of spring-fevered students! Not one complaint about the "awful Classical music." Not one argument that "I can't do this." Not one student refuses to try. Not one head hits a desk today.
As my kids leave the room throughout the day, the mood is upbeat and refreshing. "Are we doing this again?" someone asks. "Of course" enthusiastically and emphatically emerges from my mouth without hesitation. One piece of Scotch tape attaches each 9 X 12 masterpiece to the whiteboard. 111 masterpieces in progress. Multiply that by 8 mini-masterpieces on each piece of art paper and there are 888 responses to music!
Say what you want about kids today, but one thing I know for sure -- music changes them. The one common denominator among my students is a passion for the music they listen to and love freely, unconditionally. Harness that passion and watch the world change. That's what I'm still looking for. . .
One song at a time.
