As part of a guided listening lesson, a class of second-graders first had to describe with rich language the music of Rachmaninoff’s “Vocalise” (1). They employed musical terms describing tempo, dynamics, mood, and instrumentation. A few students depicted colorful images that the music evoked for them. Vocalise, Op. 34, No. 14 is a piece originally written in 1912 for accompanied voice. It is a song without text – it contains no words, just one vowel sound of the singer’s choosing. In the recording that I used, Yo-Yo Ma accompanies Bobby McFerrin on cello. The music is expressively slow and mournful – even haunting.
After approximately ten minutes of critical listening and analysis, the students then had to interpret the piece with movement. I draped a white bed sheet over an old coat rack placed between the students and an overhead projector. For this particular activity, the students volunteer to perform their interpretive movement behind the sheet. The class can only see the shadow of the performer cast by the light of the projector. Having a screen enables the observers to focus attention on the movement rather than on the actual body and face of the performer. Likewise, it offers a “protective barrier” for the performer – not seeing his/her classmates helps focus attention on listening and moving to the music. Of course, there are always the children who volunteer then become quite silly behind the screen, leading to uproarious laughter by classmates. Or the children who, despite being obscured by the screen, suddenly become shy and petrified. Sometimes, though, a child stands behind the screen and is so focused on the music and his/her movements that the act is transformed into a work of art – a magical, ephemeral moment that temporarily captivates the viewers. Such an experience happened during this second-grade lesson.
After several silly performers, I was ready to end the activity and move on with the lesson. Sometimes the best plans fail and you have to know when to scrap or save them for another day. Then one child raised his hand in earnest, wanting to volunteer. My initial reaction was to deny him the opportunity, figuring he would be just as silly as the previous students. However, there was something in his expression that made me acquiesce, stating his would be the last performance. Once everyone had quieted, I turned on the music and the child began to slowly move behind the screen. Within seconds, the shadow we were watching began to move gracefully with the music. As the melody rose and fell, so did the movements of the child. When the dynamic level increased, the movements grew larger. I was amazed at how his movements reflected not only the mood and dynamics of the piece but also the phrasing. He seemed intuitively one with the music. Additionally, the other students seemed in awe as well, sitting spellbound until the end. The performer concluded his improvised dance by “melting” into the floor. There was a hushed moment before the students applauded. The little girl sitting next to me, still staring at the screen, sighed deeply and softly uttered, “That was beautiful.” It was beautiful and this young child (seven or eight years old) next to me was completely moved by the aesthetic experience – which was a beautiful moment in itself. I marveled at the depth of her perception, especially considering her young age.
Aesthetics is a branch of philosophy that deals with perception, sensation, and imagination as they relate to our understanding and ability to make sense of the world. In her work with the Lincoln Center Institute, Maxine Greene argues that aesthetic education must be more than exposure to the arts. We as educators must develop a deep awareness in students so that they can “feel from the inside what the arts are like and how they mean” (2). To engage with a work of art, one must go beyond passive observing and participate imaginatively with the object (ie., the dance, the music, the poem, etc.). Works of art exist in their own space, apart from the ordinary, everyday routine. As such, works of art “can be achieved and made meaningful only when those who attend are willing to leap out of the ordinary and be present, as authentic and incomplete beings, to the works at hand” (3). Based on my student’s reaction to the improvised shadow dance, I suggest that she had actively perceived the aesthetic qualities inherent in the music and movement; that she had removed herself from the ordinary and become present and wide-awake to the work before her; that she had felt from the inside what the dance was like.
That works of art exist apart from the ordinary, everyday reality does not mean they are simply fantasy or fanciful. Encounters with the arts heighten our perception, imagination, and sense of meaning-making, enabling us to become more wide-awake in the world; to break through the “cotton wool” of daily life and imagine possibilities.
I will never know the full effect that particular aesthetic experience had on my young students – the performer or the observers. But I am certain that in the transitory moment of that improvised performance, a shift in perception and imagination occurred and we were all, in varying degrees, transformed by it. “That was beautiful.”
(1) Ma, Y. & McFerrin, B. (1992). Vocalise. On Hush [CD]. New York: Sony Music.
(2) Greene, M. (2001). Variations on a blue guitar: The Lincoln Center Institute
lectures on aesthetic education. New York: Teachers College Press (p. 8).
(3) Ibid. (p. 10).
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