Empower

When I began learning about and teaching art I was graced with the opportunity to spend an amazing amount of time with students who were in Special Education classes or schools completely devoted to students with disabilities. One of those places was Schreiber Pediatric Center in Lancaster, PA. I was somewhat family with Schreiber because of a friend that I had in High School. She had a brother who she dearly loved and cared for along with the rest of the family, but that also had Downs Syndrome. When I went over to house as a 16 year old I would hear bits and pieces about the center and the therapies he went through. It seemed very reasonable to me then when as a freshman in college we were given an assignment to create a lesson that we could teach to any student ranging from age K-6 with limited or refined mobility at Schreiber.

However, I was no longer just a 16 year old observer. I realized that my role of student teacher opened up a whole new perspective on the center. Many questions that I had never considered before raced into my head and into the students around me, "how will we be able to accommodate tools?", "Will we have enough time for each student to actually complete the craft?", and "How do we create a lesson for a student that we don't even know?". There was so much stress, and yet when the craft night came I remember standing behind my table, wringing my hands with the other students in anxiety. Then, this line of children come rushing through the door with huge smiles on their faces, wearing oversized t-shirts already covered in paint, eager to make. At the end of the night I realized that I had gone about planning my lesson all wrong. I was so concerned about accommodating for what the students could NOT do, that I forgot to even consider what the students COULD do.

I agree with Dr. Carrie Sandahl in her video "The American with Disabilities Act and the Arts: A celebration of Inclusion. (Or Unreasonable Accommodations)." (2011) when she said that inclusion actually excludes so many of our students. When I was student teaching at the Elementary level I asked if I could be placed in a school where I would be able to teach Special Education art classes. I was granted this wish and was able to teach an Autistic Support class and a Learning Support class. I was excited to challenge myself to connect with these students and give them something meaningful to experience in their day. What I didn't expect was that my most meaningful experience wouldn't be in one of the classes focused just on these students but in a General classroom full of 6th grade students. In this class of 25 - 30 "able" students there was one girl who was deaf. When she came into class she had an interpreter with her to make instructions easier. In the beginning of class the interpreter would sign out what my cooperating teacher said and then she would watch the demonstration for the rest of instruction. The interpreter was very clear to all staff that she was NOT an aide. Her job was simply to translate, not help the student complete her work in any way. However, the interpreter spent so much time with the student during the over the years that I can only imagine that she would have been the best teacher.

During my first interaction with the student who was deaf we were learning about organic vs. geometric shapes and cutting them out of paper. I saw that the student had her head down at her table and wasn't working. I went over and gently tapped the table to get her attention and she lifted her head after feeling the vibration. I asked what was wrong and the student said, "I can't do it." I looked at her a bit confused. I knew that her IEP said that she was deaf, but it didn't say anything about fine motor issues. I picked up the crayon in front of her and just said one word, "Try". The student looked a bit frustrated but she took the crayon and drew a heart on the paper. She assumed that this was sufficient effort and then put her head back down. I tapped the table again, she picked her head and I held my hand up showing her 4, meaning she had to draw at least 4 shapes. She grumbled a bit but picked up her crayon anyway and the rest of the project without prompting. I saw her later getting help from someone at the table with gluing, and then again lifting up her Mattise collage and showing someone else. At the end of class the interpreter stuck around and came up to me personally. She said to me, "I just want to tell you that you did a fantastic job. Most teachers don't take the time to prompt her and just let her sit with her head down. They want to avoid any large distractions, or so they say. She thinks she can't do anything anymore. Today she said she actually felt like part of the class" The compliment and realization deeply moved me. I felt proud because I had empowered a student and enabled her not only to learn but to feel like a part of the larger community. Yet, I felt sad because I realized that she was in 6th grade and had only internalized that invisibility was the best option.

I also agree with the ideas put forth by Sami Schalk in "Metaphorically speaking: Ableist Metaphors in Feminist writing" (2013). The language surrounding disabilities has become every day language used to describe a difference in behavior by using words like "paralyzed", "deaf", "blind", "crazy", etc. in a way context that is almost synonymous with loss, lack, problems, or negation. This realization made me consider the vocabulary we use to describe students who join a homeroom's class from the autistic support classes. When we describe this, teachers normally say that these students are "pushed into" the class. The vocabulary sounds like it isn't by anyone's desire or excitement to learn that they are joining the class but by sheer force.


When I graduated college, I thought that I wanted to focus on Art in Special Education. However, after a year in an Emotional Support setting and two years in an alternative program for at risk youth I found myself exhausted. I found that to fully immerse myself in the community every day drained my brain and my emotions. When I started my job teaching in a public school to mostly "Regular Ed" classes I was relieved to reenergize. This year is my third year in and finally experienced the joy I originally felt teaching these special students. Every day, we had two students join us from the Autistic support class. One was semi verbal but very physically abled, while the other was mostly non verbal with many fine motor issues. This was the first time the students were introduced to the class and I made sure that two other students sat with them so that they weren't excluded. However, I went along my normal lessons with the rest of the class and did completely different projects with these two students. We made crazy sculptures from air dry clay and bendy straws, wrapped found objects in yarn and painted with tempera cakes. I would place them on the counter at the end of the class and the rest of the kids would walk by the projects and poke and prod and whisper to each other. I was worried at first until I walked closer to the kids and they suddenly turned to me and asked, "Why don't we get to do this?" and suddenly I had 25 kids nodding and looking at me with what I realized was a very legitimate question. Why was I teaching two completely different projects every day?

So, the following Friday I decided that the class would be devoted to making puppets. I always thought that my "regular ed" students would find these projects boring and elementary but they tore right into it. They suddenly transformed from their 6th grade selves into a younger and more free version. Then I asked one of the students to show their puppet to one of the autistic support students who was non verbal. I thought her puppet was unique because it had a tongue under the flap. When she walked over to him, she open and closed the mouth a few times and the student just lit up, laughed and immediately stuck out his tongue and pointed. Suddenly the tension that I didn't realize existed between my two groups of students broke and the class became one. More of the students came over and showed their puppets and soon the Autistic support student were walking around to each of the tables showing off their own creations. The students were giving them thumbs up and nodding their heads. It was an empowering moment for everyone.  This moment reminded me of the video, "Because Who Is Perfect? Get Closer" where mannequins were created to reflect the bodies of people who do not fit the idealized physical form. It struck me not when they were created, but when the clothes were put onto the pieces. The viewers were not only struck by the difference in the body height or shape, but by the way that the clothes fit tightly or uncomfortably. I feel that moment inspired the view to have compassion and understanding of the discomfort and the unease that they must experience in just the smallest, every day act of putting on clothes. I feel that the most empowering thing that art can do is encourage compassion, empathy and acceptance.

The American with Disabilities Act and the Arts: A Celebration of Inclusion. [Or Unreasonable Accommodations]. 2011. Illinois Arts Alliance. Dr. Carrie Sandahl .http://vimeo.com/24992332

Schalk, Sami (2013) titled Metaphorically speaking: Ableist metaphors in feminist writing in Disability Studies Quarterly, 33(4) retrieved from http://dsq-sds.org/article/view/3874/3410

Because who is perfect? Get Closer. 2013, 4:28 min. at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E8umFV69fNg