STATEMENT OF TEACHING PHILOSOPHY
One can genuinely learn something new only when one has an emotional connection to the subject matter. Students forget what they memorize overnight, absorbing data briefly for a test or presentation, lost after a few hours. Yet they remember what they learn when they are engaged and connected, when they understand who they are in relation to what they are studying.
Therefore, a student must not only be introduced to material, but also to themselves. It is not the job of the teacher to introduce the student to themselves, a practice which leads to problematic, possibly abusive, power dynamics. Rather, an effective teacher offers opportunities within the instruction for each individual student to investigate their own identity—a curricular feat that can only be accomplished, ironically, by building community.
Community is a foundation of Theatre, but the same is true for any classroom in any subject. What teacher doesn’t want to nurture creativity, encourage expression, and celebrate collaboration—even when ages and skill levels are varied, even when not every participant wants to be there, even when impediments to a productive environment seem insurmountable?
The love of learning is innate; human beings are curious by nature. Apathy is an acquired attitude. Every student has a personal history that has shaped their ability and willingness to collaborate. Every group has its own unique set of dynamics and with them, its own set of challenges. Students must be tied together by action, a group effort to achieve a goal, a collective mission. It is in the process of working with others that individuals find out who they are.
In thirty plus years of learning, doing, directing, and teaching Theatre, I have amassed tools, techniques, and philosophy from an array of geniuses. I’ve watched my directors and teachers like a hawk. I have been afforded time and resources to take risks, to fail spectacularly, to tackle challenges, to deal with conflict, to solve problems, to succeed. I’ve sifted through oceans of methodology to absorb what is actually useful. I’ve come away with an understanding of my own habits, tendencies, regionalisms, tensions, defense mechanisms, biases, and super powers. I know how much space I take up and can effectively take up more or less at will. I am almost always clear in my intentions and can hear what’s needed when I’m not. I know who I am in relation to the world. I have learned so many important things about myself only because I was working toward a goal with a group of people. All of it has been useful as an actor, director, and teacher; as an administrator, a colleague, a collaborator; as a husband, a father, a friend; as an ally, an advocate, an activist.
Every student is different, and every student has a unique and wonderful set of skills. I place the onus upon myself to discover that facet in each of them. If I am curious about who they are in this world, what they might have to say, and how they can say it, they will be more interested in how I can help them. If I meet each one of them where they are and if they are aware that their individual needs outweigh my ego, every time, they will reveal more of themselves. If I give them a degree of authority over the learning process, they will become more invested in that process. If I treat them with respect, they will treat me and each other with respect. If I quell their fears of being judged as wrong, by me or their classmates, they will feel freedom to trust their impulses. If I leave strategic voids of leadership, students will step into them. If I hand them tools to express themselves within the curriculum, they may surprise themselves and each other. If I empower the potential genius lurking in those around me, we may all learn something valuable.
None of that can happen if I take up too much space, if my voice is so loud that I can’t hear others’ voices, if my vision is so all-encompassing that it can’t be altered and inspired by collaboration, if grades are handed down from on high, immutable and final, if my students are too focused on what hoops they need to jump through to please me, or if my curriculum is so precious it can’t be questioned. Instead, I make every effort to instill in my students a preciousness about their own education. It’s their only one, after all, and it’s valuable. I want my students to be advocates for themselves and for each other. To command their own space. To know their rights and their pathways if their rights aren’t respected. To be practiced in the art of collaboration and skilled at making sure every voice in the room is heard. To ask for help when they don’t understand something. To tell the truth. To trust and be trustworthy. To take care of themselves and each other—on both a physical and emotional level. To be aware of every aspect of the space they inhabit, from the basic elements of the room around them, to the ebb and flow of the greater ensemble, to the strange, fleeting beauty that can be found in the process of making mistakes.