Wide-Awakeness

On a midmorning in late September, I sit alone in the backyard, noticing what there is to be noticed:

Prickling on my cheeks and arms,

the sun warms my skin.

A lone cricket calls to another,

                 cree-cree, cree-cree, cree-cree.

In the distance a squirrel chatters angrily,

                 scra-a-a-aw, scritch scratch scritch.

A sudden whoosh of wind brings

                 rustling of leaves and a jingle-jangle chorus of chimes.

Freshly cut grass, I inhale deeply,

                 enjoying a few moments of tranquility.

We learn about the world through our senses, yet most of us ignore sensory awareness, often rushing through the present, paying little attention to what is happening in the moment.  Years ago as a classroom teacher conducting writing and poetry workshops, I noticed most students lacked the necessary sensory awareness needed for good writing – poetry or prose.  More important, they weren’t experiencing the wide-awakeness Maxine Greene talks about – they weren’t noticing what there was to be noticed, thereby perceiving little of the world around them. 

Schooling emphasizes the processes of recognition and classification; children are taught to categorize objects and experiences rather than to perceive and explore distinctive qualities.  For instance, this is a maple tree, an oak tree, an apple tree, etc.  Whilst categorizing (labeling) is crucial, it does not allow for exploration of the individuality of objects and events which, in turn, limits what can be known about them (1).  Through perception, we realize that no two maple trees (or oak trees, etc.) are the same.  As Dewey (2) explains, “ recognition is perception arrested before it has a chance to develop freely.  In recognition there is a beginning of an act of perception.  But this beginning is not allowed to serve the development of a full perception of the thing recognized.  It is arrested at the point where it will serve some other purpose, as we recognize a man on the street in order to greet or to avoid him, not so as to see him for the sake of seeing what is there.”  In short, perception ceases when recognition begins (3), thereby inhibiting further exploration of distinctive features and qualities.

Based on my observations, I concluded that my students needed guidance and explicit instruction in how to perceive, how to notice, how to become aware of the aesthetic qualities around them.  As Greene (4) urges, educators must offer “occasions for releasing as many young people as possible to see and to listen, to make and to play.  It remains important to work for wide-awakeness, to help our students focus their attention, to provoke them to greater perceptual acuity.”  As a result, sensory awareness became part of the curriculum in my classroom. 

Flynn Elementary had been built around a secluded, terraced courtyard – a wooded retreat within the inner-city.  It not only contained a variety of trees and shrubbery but also stone sculptures from a time when local artists had been artists-in-residence at the school.  Over the years, students and teachers had contributed assorted bulbs and perennials to the landscape.  I often took my class of fifth-graders to the courtyard during writing/poetry workshop time to develop sensory awareness.  Equipped with notebooks and pencils, we would wander in silence, noticing what there was to be noticed.  The activity would last approximately five to ten minutes and was always guided.  For instance, the focus might be:  Describe the snow.  Is it a crunchy, crusty snow that’s been around for a day or more?  Is it powdery, dry snow that falls apart when you try to form a snowball?  How does it feel and sound under your feet?  What does snow smell like before the first flakes fall?  Describe the scent of wet leaves on the ground in autumn, or the scent of a spring rain after a dry spell.  How does a leaf fall from a tree?  Sometimes we would spend the time quietly observing the movements of an insect, squirrel, or bird.  From an academic perspective, those experiences built background knowledge and rich vocabulary, which we then incorporated into our writing pieces.  From an artistic perspective, the experiences helped the children observe closely and discover the aesthetic qualities around them – in effect, to become wide-awake to the world.

Developing wide-awakeness takes time, quiet time to still the body and mind, and be open to phenomena without judging.  Maxine Greene “cannot stress often enough the importance of taking time and allowing for moments of stillness, of personal encounter, of coming to know” (5).  In the current educational climate, emphasis is placed on efficiency in teaching and learning, on finding “what works” and applying it to all, as though there were a single best, standardized way to educate.  This effort to standardize educational outcomes is based on the assumption that “efficient and effective systems can be designed that will take luck out of the educational process” (6).  The result, especially in urban districts, is highly prescriptive curricula that do not allow for in-depth exploration of subject matter or professional judgment in crafting lessons to fit the particular needs and interests of students.  Our students are forced to move from one activity to another rapidly, acquiring only superficial skills and a cursory understanding of concepts.  At the elementary level, the emphasis on efficiency and raising test scores has often led to the elimination of field trips, recess, and even bathroom breaks.  There is no time in the schedule to allow for “moments of stillness,” to notice what there is to be noticed, to become wide-awake to the world.

“When children are encouraged not simply to perform correctly, to demonstrate sets of skills or competencies, but to perceive and name dimensions of their lived worlds, they are far more likely to pose the questions in which authentic learning begins” (7).  In the race toward efficiency, standardization, and improvement of test scores, I believe we have lost sight of the children and of education itself.  What does that hold for the future? 

(1)  Eisner, E.W. (1998).  The kind of schools we need: Personal essays. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann.

(2)  Dewey, J. (1934).  Art as experience.  NY: Perigee Books (p. 52).

(3) Eisner, E.W. (1998).  The kind of schools we need: Personal essays. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann.

(4)  Greene, M. (2001).  Variations on a blue guitar:  The Lincoln Center Institute lectures on aesthetic education.  NY: Teachers College Press (p. 62).

(5)  Ibid. (p. 60).

(6)  Eisner, E.W. (1998).  The kind of schools we need: Personal essays. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann (p. 83).

(7) Greene, M. (2001).  Variations on a blue guitar:  The Lincoln Center Institute lectures on aesthetic education.  NY: Teachers College Press (p. 62).