Homework 7.2. Dance Like No One's Watching, Even if You're Really Bad at It

I have almost no rhythm. Many people say this, but I can assure you that in my case, it is very true. I'm always the person slightly off-beat when people clap to songs at concerts, looking around at other people's hands and trying to match up my own. My elementary school music tutors used to insist that I had not practiced as much as they had directed, and while this may have (not so) occasionally been absolutely true, I still maintain that I was practicing more than enough to show improvement, which I very rarely did. 

Towards the end of eighth grade, we were asked to choose whether we would continue to take art classes or music classes at the high school level. My middle school orchestra teacher, who had (not discreetly) suffered through three years of my horrible, screechy playing of the violin, hardly glanced at me during our meeting before saying, "You'll just be doing art, right?" I mean yes, lady, but you don't have to say it like that! I've since forgotten that woman's actual name, but I recall that we all called her Mrs. Walrus (behind her back). Serves her right for killing whatever malformed musical spirit I still had left, at the ripe age of thirteen.

In college, I was at a party, (sort of) dancing to the music with friends of mine who happened to be on the dance team. After a while, a very cute young man came over to dance with me, looking at me incredulously for a moment before saying, "You're on the dance team, too?" I shook my head no, and, his suspicions confirmed, he promptly turned on his heel and left me on the dance floor to continue to flounder along to the rest of the song solo.

Has it been hard for me, being totally bereft of any musical talent or even basic rhythm in a world where the musical arts are pervasive, delightful, valuable? Sure. I would love to be able to tap my toes to the beat, or not dread having to sing the "Happy Birthday" song to people. I would love to dance like no one's watching, but in a way that if they were watching, I would look cool and coordinated and graceful. However, at this point in my life, I've simply come to accept that music is not my strong suit, and, for the most part, I am okay with that.

This past semester, however, I signed up for a class called "Inclusive Arts for Children with Disabilities," not realizing that the class used to be taught exclusively to aspiring music teachers, with a heavy focus on music in education. I have a real interest in and passion for working with children with disabilities; I find it to be challenging, rewarding, and often unbelievably heartwarming. Many children with special needs are not afforded the learning opportunities that are readily available to their typically developing peers, and require different teaching and learning strategies within the classroom. As educators, we need to think about rephrasing our lessons through different modalities, providing our students with multiple access points to the learning, and approaching our lessons from multiple perspectives. I know this; I understand this; but, music?

It's been a struggle for me, wrapping my head around the fact that it might just be in my students best interest to someday incorporate some rhythm, some sound, some music into my own teaching practice, and even artistic practice. My very loud little inner voice is screaming, "I am bad at this! I am uncomfortable!" However, what I've come to realize is, that doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that I might be bad at it, or that I might be uncomfortable. What matters is that my student might be good at it, that including it in my lesson might make my student ever more comfortable, that it might give my student an opportunity to really shine.

There can be a tendency, as a teacher, to feel like the spotlight is only on you, that 30 plus little eyes are looking at only you, that you need to "show 'em how it's done." And this might absolutely often be the case, especially regarding attitude, level of respect, and level openness. However, sometimes this sense of ego can get the better of us, and discourage us from trying things that we might be "uncomfortable" with, regardless of how much they might benefit our students. In light of this realization, and the lessons that I have been learning from the wonderful future music educators in my class, I have now made it a personal mission to incorporate more music into my teaching practice, even though I'm well aware that it isn't my forte. After all, we ask our students to do things that they might not be somewhat uncomfortable with all the time; isn't it only fair to ask the same of ourselves, too?

Some ideas for music in the art curriculum:

*Have a materials exploration set to music, where students see how many ways they can manipulate materials in response to a playlist of various songs.

*Have students create a mood painting, and then translate their mood into sounds using various instruments.

*Study album art and the various music that accompanies it; ask students to create their own album art for a song that they create, or a song of their choosing.

*Study the works of Wassily Kandinsky, and ask students to likewise translate a piece of music to shape and color, in keeping with the practice of this artist.

*Help students learn challenging vocabulary by setting it to music; ask students to create these pieces of music themselves! Consider approaching this from a hip-hop perspective.

*Do a listening project, where students listen and record their environment, and subsequently create an artwork that translates this visually.

*Ask students to create a film, animation, or stop motion animation, and subsequently incorporate sound effects and background music.

*Ask students to design their own mystical creature, and subsequently create a soundscape about the sounds the creature might make, and the sounds of its environment.

*Have students study both the visual and musical arts of a culture. Ask them to create a piece that incorporates both of these elements, in keeping with the cultural traditions of the group whom they studied.

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