Imagination is the most exciting, and the most powerful tool I have when teaching children. It’s the foundation for learning, and for wanting to learn. The best learning that takes place in my classroom is rooted in imagination; from reading aloud to linking Einstein and Mozart… well, this blog post says it best. It captures the essence of why imagination is important. And, it is!
My grandmother, Nan, has been my hero since I was a little girl. I spent Sunday afternoons with her, and it was delightful. No, it was more than that. Nan filled me with stories, taffy pulls, and dressing-up. She drove me and my sister in to Kresge’s, the five-and-dime, to spend a whole nickle on anything we wanted. Sundays with Nan were the best.
Nan lived in an apartment. When you entered, the first thing hanging on the wall was a Picasso, “Girl Before a Mirror”. I remember thinking how funny the painting looked and having many conversations with Nan. While this became familiar to me in her apartment, so did other art. Gilbert Gaul’s “Leaving Home” was my favorite, opening my eyes to art that tells a story with the scene and characters. This painting was was about history and the Civil War. I’ve been a history buff ever since.
I recently came face-to-face with a Picasso at the Currier Museum of Art in Manchester, NH. Nan came flooding over me.
“Woman Seated in a Chair”, 1941
The Currier interpreted the painting:
Picasso executed this painting during World War II while living in a small apartment in German-occupied Paris. While the distortion of form and space through simplified shapes reflect Picasso’s earlier Cubist period, the bright color and emotional charge is the continuing influence of Expressionist art.
Emotionally charged, indeed. This was real. I crept close and looked at brush strokes. The white circles on the woman’s dress are thick, raised paint. I thought about Picasso painting this, perhaps looking out his window at the Germans in the streets of Paris and feeling angry.
And, I thought about Nan. She was only five years older than Picasso. How did she come to like Picasso art? After all, his painting greeted everyone who entered her home. But, Nan’s life was far from modern. She grew up in rural West Virginia, in the oldest two-story log house west of the Appalachian mountains. She was more akin to Laura Ingalls Wilder than to Pablo Picasso. She had a hard life, outliving her brothers and sisters, two husbands, and her children. By the time I came along, all she had were her grandchildren. Yet, she was ever happy and strong.
I teach art to my preschool class in a way that admires and respects the art of well-known artists. Learning from greatness is a good beginning. Young children are enthusiastic sponges when it comes to art, and I introduce many styles of painting. Real is best, therefore children paint with authentic watercolor paints squeezed from tubes onto a palette. Each April we host an Art Show for the community. Children paint in the style of Picasso, Kandinsky, Monet, van Gogh, Matisse, Carle, and others.
I often think of the power of art and how that transcends to others. Art had an influence on Nan, Nan had an influence on me, and now I have an influence on children. Thank you, Picasso.
Jennie
I’m going to the Art Museum tomorrow, always an experience that fills me. In anticipation I am sharing a favorite blog post from a few years ago.
Major pieces of art? Masterpieces? Introducing this to preschoolers? It is not easy to explain to people how and why art can make a difference with young children. A picture is worth a thousand words, and this picture was just sent to me.
Juliet the fourth grader is beaming at seeing Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. I have a story to tell. It’s about teaching art in many ways, and about Juliet’s pathway to art. As I say in my classroom, “It Happened Like This”…
When Juliet was a three-year-old in my class, she was thoughtful. She played, loved stories and books, developed friendships, and drew pictures. The next year things changed, or perhaps she just grew in her interests. She drew pictures all the time, perfecting people figures and experimenting with color. Children’s art adorns the classroom walls with the exception of a Starry Night poster, yet Juliet did not seem to focus on that piece of art. Well, that’s what I thought.
And then Juliet met Milly, the master quilter. Milly joined our class to quilt a magnificent Peace Quilt (which is now a permanent display at the National Liberty Museum in Philadelphia). In the process of designing and creating the quilt, Juliet was a captive audience. Making this quilt was a big deal, from sketching all the parts to selecting fabrics for each element. She drew an exact replica of the quilt, which is my blog photo, down to every triangle in precise direction and color.
In the spring we studied France and the old masters, in preparation for our annual Art Show displayed for the entire community. Juliet was in her element. She was struck by Starry Night and using real paints from tubes on pallets. She practiced brush strokes and mixing colors. She loved simply looking at art, especially Usborne’s Children’s Book of Art. As we worked on perfecting our pieces of art, we often played classical music. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons became a favorite, and children would often ask for a specific piece. “What would you like to hear today? Winter, Spring , Summer or Fall?”, I’d ask. Music and art go hand-in-hand. Together, the results are impressive. For our Art Show, Juliet drew the Mona Lisa. It was the central piece in our exhibit.
When Juliet moved on to kindergarten her art continued to flourish. She visited my class periodically, once to show me a winning polar bear she had drawn. When her little sister joined my class Juliet visited more often, frequently admiring our Starry Night poster. Now as a fourth grader, her trip to New York to see the beloved painting seems to be the pinnacle of the journey she started as a preschooler. Perhaps, though, it is only the beginning for her.
Art makes a difference.
Jennie
Did you know that Maya Angelou wrote a children’s book? She did, back in 1994. I have been reading her book to my preschoolers long before I really knew of her.
Embed from Getty Images
I was always drawn to her quote in the introduction of the book:
To all the children, for they are the hope of humankind.
Yes! This statement was so profound, so direct, and so right. It crawled under my skin and made me think. Hard. Every time I read the book, I read the quote.
My Painted House, My Friendly Chicken and Me
The story of a child in South Africa, her family, and her best friend, a chicken. Maya tells a tale that is engaging to children and full of interesting facts. She manages to weave words that are as powerful as they are simple:
All children are hope for their families, and many Ndebele girls are named Hope. If you like, you can call yourself Hope, too. In secret, of course.
Many years after finding and reading this book, I stumbled across Maya Angelou’s powerful words. She says things with few, well chosen words that make a difference. She is an ember that lights a fire. These are her words that made a difference for me:
I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.
Jennie
Noah and his big sister Emma
When Emma was in my preschool class we took a field trip to the Shriner’s Circus. That was back in the day when going on a field trip did not require volunteers to carry seat belt cutters, undergo certification, pounds of paperwork and an Act of Congress. I dearly miss sharing new experiences with children that comes from a going on a field trip. And the trip to the Shriner’s Circus had an unexpected moment that triggered a new pathway in my classroom. It happened like this…
Before the circus performance the lights went out and a big American flag was lowered. I had no idea that would happen, but no worries, I knew exactly what to do- stand tall and proud, put my hand over my heart, and sing our National Anthem. Everybody knows that… so I thought. I looked around and saw parents chatting away and children playing. I was horrified! I frantically dashed to each child, pulling off their ball caps and putting their little hands over their hearts. I’m sure I looked like a crazy person. Yes I was, because this was awful.
It never occurred to me that people wouldn’t know what to do when singing “The Star Spangled Banner”. My doesn’t-everybody-know-that frame of mind switched gears. This was a teaching moment looking at me right in the face. Emma to the rescue! She was the child who knew what to do and showed pride, even at the tender age of four.
Back at school, Emma showed the other children how to sing and how to stand. It was a start, but not nearly enough. I asked the children, “What is a star spangled banner?” No one knew. How can they learn to sing with pride if they have no idea what they’re singing for? They needed the backstory, and that is where my teaching took off: emergent curriculum at it’s best.
Emma’s Dad came to school to help the children learn about the American flag. We learned about Francis Scott Key watching the flag during battle to see who was winning. We began to sing other patriotic songs. To this day, “God Bless America” and “This Land is Your Land” are classroom favorites. Some years ago Milly and the children made a God Bless America quilt that hangs in the Boston Fisher House. Thank you, Emma, for starting the ball of Patriotism rolling, many years ago.
Noah was the shy one. He had difficulty saying goodby to Mom and Dad when he arrived at school. All the hugs and reassurances in the world did little to help Noah. To make matters worse, he was not alone. Another little boy had the same struggle, and the two of them together often ignited many tears.
One day I pulled out my Autoharp. After all, music and singing are a universal pathway to the heart. In the words of Hans Christian Anderson, “where words fail, music speaks”. I needed words, as I was failing Noah. No, I needed music. And, it worked! The tears turned to sniffles, and then they stopped. Noah was fascinated with a real musical instrument. We sang and sang, and then we sang some more. The Autoharp became part of our daily routine. Noah was also curious how the strings actually worked. We discovered high and low sounds, and then we learned about vibration. A tuning fork and a dish of water became a favorite science experiment, especially with Noah.
Thus began my immersion in music. I brought real instruments into the classroom. I brought in my old record player and record albums. That was a huge hit, and today it still remains a classroom favorite. When we painted seriously, preparing for our annual Art Show, we listened to classical music for inspiration. It was wonderful, and still is to this day. Thank you, Noah, for bringing music into my classroom. I’m so glad it has become a part of your life.
Yes, there is a story behind each child. And, they always come back to visit. Noah now brings his music and instruments into the classroom. Emma has been both a volunteer and works in the summer. Those early beginnings have come full circle.
Jennie
“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must felt with the heart.” -Helen Keller-
It happened like this… Children were gathered to hear a story. I was ready to read-aloud two new books. I was excited, and the children were, too. I clutched the books to my chest, hugging them close and smiling a big, wide smile. I said, “I got a Christmas present and I want to share it with you.”
pause, giving children a chance to understand that the present I am sharing is the books.
“What is my favorite thing in the whole, wide, world?” I said those words with gusto. Maybe passion. Yes, it was passion. And the children answered.
Aaryan said, “We are!”
Oh, my. Yes, Aaryan, you are right. Children are my favorite thing in the whole, wide, world. The words of a child, indeed!
Jennie
Thank you to Linda over at El Space–The Blog of L. Marie for the two books.
Reading should belong to everyone, but often we only think of how books relate to us. Steve McCurry is working to bridge that gap and show how much reading can connect disparate people. McCurry, one of the leaders in modern photography, has published a series of images called “On Reading”. He compiled the series from his […]
I am honored that author Jane Yolen read my blog post about going owling, sticky buns, and most importantly about her award winning book, Owl Moon.
Jane Yolen replied,
“In the end of course, fame and fortune don’t matter. It’s the child remembering your story with great fondness that is important. Only that.”
Yes, Jane. You are absolutely right. Your book did just that. I will continue to be a champion of giving children rich experiences through literature, so that they remember how it made them feel, and in turn become lifelong learners who grow kindness and goodness. Books open the world, especially great books like Owl Moon.
With thanks and gratitude,
Jennie
Another Christmas, and another delivery of sticky buns. Every year I feel like a child hoping that Santa Claus will come, except that Santa is actually “the sticky bun mom”. This is perhaps the longest tradition in my family, and it started decades ago in my classroom. Two young girls, Michelle and Nicole, adored being in my preschool class, especially listening to “Jennie Stories”. They were sisters, and their mother made sticky buns. But, that is only where the story begins. It happened like this…
For each year as a treat, the sticky bun mom joined the class to make sticky buns with the children. Cooking is one of the best activities with young children, as it is hands-on and full of science and math. Oh, we cooked up a storm in the classroom. And we painted, and we read stories. Stories became popular, particularly fairy tales. The more I read-aloud, the more the children wanted. I knew I had to do something to address this drive, this passion, that children had for stories and reading.
I did my first play performance with children. After reading Rapunzel by Paul O. Zelinsky, it was obvious that the children craved more. Acting out the story was just the thing to do. Michelle played the part of Rapunzel, using a loosely knitted long shawl as her hair. The play was a huge success for many reasons; it gave children confidence and language skills, and it expanded upon a book they loved.
I realized books were far more important than just the story. They opened a big door to so much more.
It was autumn that year. We were learning about nocturnal animals. I read Owl Moon by Jane Yolen. Again, a book was incredibly beloved by the children. This beautifully written story has illustrations done in pen and ink outlines, and watercolors. We spent minutes, hours, talking about the illustrations; they became an important part of the story. They brought the beautiful words to life. I knew just what to do.
Yes! The children could bring the book to life! They can create a mural!
We decided to create an authentic Owl Moon mural, just like the book. Oh, was it magnificent! We drew the outlines of trees and people and owls with real pens, then water-colored the figures. I remember the big sky was a blue wash. But, the children weren’t quite satisfied with the owl. They were right- it was missing something. We scoured the playground for items to make the wings. Nicole found pine cones, and we picked the ends off to create the owl wings. Perfect! The mural proudly hung in the hallway, but still it wasn’t enough, as Owl Moon had captured their hearts and was a powerful teaching tool. Each child made a paper bag owl to decorate the classroom. Unlike many preschool projects, every owl was unique. Children were proud.
I am so in-tune with young children; I can sense if they need more.
If Jane Yolen’s book Owl Moon started the interest in owls, then why not duplicate what happened in the story, “going owling”? We did! What an adventure on the playground at night, surrounded by dark and woods, calling for owls. It was thrilling. Parents and children gathered with spotlights to call into the woods. Yes, an owl called back.
Fast forward to today. When the sticky bun mom, and Michelle and Nicole, arrived at my house with the annual Christmas delivery of sticky buns, we talked about memories; “Jennie stories”, and also going owling. Yes, owling. They remembered! They talked about the paper bag owls we had made that year. Those hung as decorations in their home until this very year. Michelle and Nicole described to me in detail each of their paper bag owls, with the same excitement as the day they made them, many decades ago. Wow!
No, they did not remember the book, but they remembered the words and the story. They remembered how those words made them feel. They certainly remembered going owling.
Isn’t that what a good book does?
Jennie
Alicia was my first experience in real Christmas giving, the kind that involved the whole family and money. One hundred dollars- a fortune for a preschool teacher back in the late 80’s. It was a Christmas gift that changed my family. They didn’t know Alicia, although I often talked about the children in my preschool class.
Alicia came into my class with issues; she had spent much of her first year of life in a baby seat. Her mother had special needs and never knew that holding a baby, talking with a child, and letting a baby play on the floor were important to a child’s growth. Never mind reading-aloud or playing with toys- those activities were far away from Alicia’s world.
Her mom had a big heart. She really wanted to do what was best for her child. I spent as much time helping her as I did loving and teaching Alicia. I remember one of our first times together. My class was learning about the Olympics (it must have been an Olympic year), making medals and ribbons, torches, and doing some Olympic running and jumping events. Mom was so proud to tell me that she participated in the Special Olympics when she was a girl. She actually met Eunice Kennedy Shriver, the founder, and brought old photos to school to show all the children.
Alicia loved school. She was growing and learning. Her classmates helped her to do little things, like put on her coat or find her shoes. Christmas was rolling around and children were talking about Santa Claus and what they hoped he would bring. Alicia wanted a doll and a baby carriage. I often told parents on the sly what their children wanted. I felt like Santa’s Helper.
I told Alicia’s mother about the doll and the carriage. She was uncomfortable and she had to tell me that there was little money for Christmas, and Alicia’s dreams were out of the question. That was that. And, please don’t encourage those ideas. I understood; I was having a hard time that year figuring out Christmas for our children. My husband was in between jobs, and my small paycheck had to go for necessities.
My head absolutely understood, but my heart kept creeping in, like a tiny mouse finding his way out of the cold. That night at dinner I called a meeting with the family. Family dinners were an important time together every evening. I told them about Alicia’s Christmas, or lack of Santa Claus. Our children were in elementary school, barely out of the believing years themselves.
“If you give up most of your Santa Clause toys this year, then Alicia can have a Christmas. You will still get toys, but it won’t be much.”
I never imagined asking my own young children to do such a thing. And, I never imagined that they would say “yes.” To make this fun, we all went shopping together for the doll and carriage. We decided to invite Alicia and her mom over on Christmas day, then we would surprise her with the toys. My children thought we should tell Alicia that Santa dropped off the toys at our house by mistake. Everyone loved that idea. It was all arranged.
On Christmas morning, my children were delighted with their slightly sparse gifts. It wasn’t so bad. They knew that the best was yet to come, and it did! Alicia and her mom arrived. We drank cocoa and ate cookies together. On a cue, perhaps it was a wink or a nod, we told Alicia that Santa Clause had mistakenly delivered her toys to our house.
Then we watched Alicia open the doll. She had no words, and neither did we. She lovingly stroked her hair and hugged her. She rocked her back and forth. My children fought back tears. Somehow they understood, this is as good as it gets. I’m sure I told them a million times that it is better to give than to receive. At last they knew. That act of giving was fundamental in shaping their character. Their hearts grew at least three times. And Alicia? She thrived in my classroom and got some extra TLC from Jennie. She saw me recently, threw her arms around me, and had the same smile she wore when she opened her doll.
Jennie
 | Jennie on 12 Years! |
| Jennie on 12 Years! |
| Jennie on My Winter Olympic Memories… |
| Jennie on 12 Years! |
 | Dan Antion on 12 Years! |
| Jennie on 12 Years! |
| Jennie on 12 Years! |
| Jennie on My Winter Olympic Memories… |
| Jennie on 12 Years! |
| Dan Antion on 12 Years! |
A Teacher's Reflections 