MY BUSINESS IS TO CREATE

Life has been so busy lately that I feel like I've been swallowed up in everything that's been going on. At work there is constant grading, lesson planning, collaborating, preparing for the day, the hour, the minute. Students who need this and want that, students who's attitudes keep me in a constant agitated state for the entire hour they inhabit my room. My nerves are starting to become a little fried and I think that Christmas break can't get here fast enough.

I get so overwhelmed sometimes that I just shut everything out. I quit producing, I quit writing, I quit working out. I lack the motivation to hop out of bed in the morning bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready to take on the day. Very often I drink around three cups of coffee just to feel like I can even handle the day.

Today after school instead of grading the last of the two point perspective houses that I've been putting off or creating a rubric for the optical illusions the kids are starting to finish, I grabbed a large lump of clay and squished it around in my hands.

You guys, there is just something about creating that makes me feel alive. I spend all my energy day in and day out teaching other people how to be creative and most of those people don't even care. Art is really looked down upon in society. "But I'll never use it," they say. "This isn't even relevant to what I want to do with my life." "Do I really have to do this?"

It's exhausting to answer those questions over and over again that yes, this is important. Yes you have to do this. You're in this class, so while you're here do the work. Art helps you creatively problem solve. It helps improve your hand-eye coordination. It teaches you how to express yourself in a way that you never could before. In essence, everything you produce in an art room is a reflection of who you are as a person.

But high schoolers really don't care about that kind of stuff, as a general rule.

So anyway, back to this clay that's in my hands. It's been so long since I just got to make something that I wanted to make with no teenagers around to distract my attention. I mean, I did make a coffee mug as an example of the relief technique, but it took me a while to get through it because wouldn't you know it, these students actually need someone to pay attention to them? Who would have thought.

I used my fingers and the palms of my hands to wedge the clay and form it into a log shape. Then I used the slab roller to flatten the log into a nice sheet. The room was so quiet; the only sound was the creaking of the heavy slab roller, back and forth over the clay.

Breathe in, breathe out.

It reminded me of what it was like to hang out in the print making lab at the university late, late at night when I was the only person in there. My life is very loud, the world is a pretty noisy place, and when I'm working by myself sometimes I like to keep the radio off. I like to hear myself think. I'm pretty sure this is a trait I learned from my mother.

After I finished using the slab roller I had two flat sheets of clay. One of them I used to cut a circular base for a vase and the other was the wall of the vase itself. I cut it into a rectangular shape and then placed a doily over top. I don't know if you know this, but doilies are super handy where clay is involved. They are great for adding texture to the surfaces of projects. Usually you use a rolling pin and imprint the clay with the doily design, but this time I didn't do that.

This particular design had quiet a few large gaps in it, so I decided to mark them with a dental tool and then cut them out. While this was happening, my favorite janitor came in to clean my room. We talked and laughed as I worked the clay with my hands.

I stood the rectangle shaped clay that I just cut holes in upright and wrapped it around the circular base, forming the shape of the vase. The clay was a little too moist, which made it kind of a battle to stand upright. With the help of a heat gun and good conversation I was able to make it work.

In some areas the clay got a little dry and cracked, so I came back in with slip on my fingertips to smooth out the design. Slip is just super wet clay and it's used to glue pieces of clay together or to add color or smooth out textures in pieces. It has the consistency of a mud puddle after some of the water has evaporated - you know the ones you step in and feel like you're maybe going to lose your shoe because they kind of suction you in? Mmmmm yes, it's delicious.

The janitor left while I was still smoothing down the outside and making sure that my design was staying intact. Watching this vase come together reminded me that I still know how to create things. It reminded me that I'm still an artist. It symbolized the fact that maybe I do know what I'm talking about after all. And that felt pretty darn good.

In the hustle and bustle of everything going on in life, not just mine but also the people around me, things just get messy. I get a little lost and I forget where I'm going or why I'm going or how I'm going to get there. But I tell you what, I was made to be an artist. It's where I belong. It's where I'm most comfortable.

I wasn't cut out to be a traditional teacher. I don't even know what that looks like. And if I was cut out for that, then somebody sowed me together wrong because all I know how to be is who I am and that is a Creator of Things. Maybe I just have a different approach to life, and maybe that's not so bad. And maybe also I just need to give myself time to create things more so that I'm motivated to do the things that maybe I don't want to do.

I miss being a student for the sheer fact that I miss having time set aside for the specific purpose of creating. I need that back. I need to have time for myself to create so that I can remember what it feels like. So that I can be better at teaching other people what it feels like to create and why creating is important. Because dudes, creating is so important.

ON BEING NON TRADITIONAL

Sometimes I like to think I don't fit the "traditional" mold for teaching. I try to think back and remember how my teachers were when I was in high school and what about them made me like them. What did they teach me while I was there? How did they relate to me?

And I realized something. I realized that my favorite teachers weren't the ones who did the traditional crap. The teachers that made an impact on my life were the ones who shared real parts of themselves with me and taught from a passionate place. My favorite teachers were people who turned out to be more of a mentor and less of a lecturer. A friend, if you will, while still maintaining good boundaries.

Take my German teacher, for instance. Frau would share stories of her life, she invited us over to her house, she involved us in her thoughts. She was never overly organized and probably the least professional (in only the best ways) and she did her best to lift us up and make us feel smart.

I had an English teacher that I also really enjoyed, and he treated us in a similar fashion. He was a little more organized and professional on the business end of things, but he taught us in a fun and relevant way. He used youtube videos and humor all the time.

My history teacher junior year was a young teacher, like me, in maybe her second or third year. She was knowledgeable about her subject, but she kept history interesting. We would start out the day with "On this day in history" and if there wasn't anything good she'd pick a student's birthday during the summer or a school year break that we wouldn't get to and read that one instead. It was always a fun environment to be in, and when kids are able to have fun and still learn then that is when you've hit the magic mark.

So sometimes I get a little worried that maybe I share too much or I'm not professional enough and I don't conduct myself in necessarily the right manner, but then I realize that's completely stupid. I have to be myself or i'm not going to be good at what I do. My art teacher in high school was very strict, she kept her classroom quiet, she marked you down for talking, she made sure that you did the assignments to her specific outlines - no deviating.

And I hated it.

I hated her.

My goal is to create a learning environment where students are free to express themselves. Where they feel like their teacher not only knows what she's talking about, but allows her students to learn from her in a non-stuffy environment. I want my classes to be fun and entertaining as well as educational. You do your best work in a place where you feel comfortable, and if you can't be comfortable in an art classroom then something is gravely wrong with the world.

You don't have to be good at drawing or painting to be an artist, you just have to be willing to open up the creative side of your brain and let it spill all over your page. And that is what I want for my students. A comfortable environment with a passionate teacher and an end goal to become the most creative they can be.

So far, I think I have a real good start on that.

i made it big, yo

I interviewed for the full time teaching position the Monday before the school year was over. There were two positions open, one full time and one part time, and there were only two applicants. I knew for sure I would get a spot, I just didn't know which one they would offer me. I mean, I had a pretty good idea that I would get the full time position. That's the one I really wanted. But there was just enough uncertainty that made me nervous.

The only "interviews" I've ever been to were ones where I had already got the job and just needed to walk through the formalities. My first real 'adult' interview was for the library position, and I was so nervous I just tugged on my shirt sleeves the whole time and tried to steady my voice before I answered each question.

So I walked into this teaching interview, portfolio in hand, nervous and excited.

I sat before a panel of three people. My principal, one of the assistant principals, and a head administrator from the district office. My nerves were in a ball on top of my stomach and I felt like all my brain parts had been discombobulated and rearranged in my skull.

They asked their questions, starting with the most hated question in the history of the universe "So, Natalie, tell me a little bit about yourself..."

And then the classroom questions started pouring in. How would students describe you? How would you like your co-workers to describe you? What is your basic education philosophy? What things would you change in the art room, what would you keep the same? My brain was in hyperdrive trying to remember the right words and put sentences in the correct order while still remaining outwardly calm and taking the time to organize my thoughts before I opened my mouth.

I left the 20 minute interview unsure of which way they would go. On one hand, I had been working at the school for a year. I knew the art program, the staff, the students, how the school ran. But on the other hand I lacked serious experience in the teaching department. I taught at the university as a TA for Art 100 and I did my student teaching, but other than that I come up short. How do you get experience though, if no one will give you a chance? So I crossed my fingers and said my prayers and tried not to worry too much.

My principal told me they would have their decision by early the next week. I knew I would be gone, so I asked him to email me. Those first couple of days in Honduras, every time I would connect to the wifi I would obsessively check my email like a fourteen year old girl waiting to see if her crush actually responded.

Finally I got an email from my principal asking me to call him, since he had tried calling me and my number wasn't working. My heart sank a little as I wondered whether or not being out of the country had slimmed my chances for the full time position, but I emailed back telling him where I was and that I could call him once I returned home. He said that wasn't a problem and I finished out my week in Honduras curious about what the results were.

Monday afternoon I was texting TheBoy about my day, telling him that I still needed to call my principal about my job. A little while later he responds "did you call yet??" My heart started beating wildly in my chest, oh no I haven't! I don't want to! It's too scary! Inwardly I recoiled, both wanting desperately to find out and also to live in ignorant bliss at the same time.

So I picked up the phone. And I dialed the number. And I got his voicemail without the phone having rung first. I hung up, unsure of whether or not to call back. Sometimes when I call my mother and I get her voicemail right away something wonky happened with the connection and so I decided to redial the number and try again. Same thing, voicemail with no rings. This time I left a message for him to call me whenever since I was back in the country now.

And then I put my phone on Pandora and played it through the speakers while I hopped in the shower.

By the time I had soaped up and slathered on my face wash, my Chris Tomlin jam sesh was cut short. I peaked my head out of the shower and saw my principal's number calling my phone. I shut off the water, grabbed my towel and only dried off the part of my face that would touch my phone as I pressed the button to connect.

"Hello, this is Natalie," I said. The voice on the other line greeted me excitedly, he asked me about my trip, what did I do, how long was I gone, who did I go with, etc. And then he says what I have been dying to hear.

"We've decided to offer you the full time position..."

Before he can say anything else a little "yaaaay" escaped my lips and all of a sudden I wanted to laugh and cry and scream and hug someone all at the same time while standing in the middle of my steamy bathroom dripping with water and soap and wrapped in a towel.

And that is how I became the new full time art teacher at the ripe old age of twenty two.

We Got Spirit Yes We Do

Can someone please explain to me how it's already October? And where the heck did the year go? But dudes, seriously. I got back from a weekend trip to Seattle to see TheKeeper and his lovely girly-friend and it was October first. I kind of scratched my head and looked around the room and thought wow, how did I get here?

Not necessarily how did I get to my room, per se. I mean, I remember the long drive home and the crawling into bed exhausted. Just how did I get here? To this time? To October of my last semester of college? To age 22? I blinked and everything changed. One minute I'm living in a dorm in Moscow at the ripe old age of 18 and now I'm back home about to graduate. It really blows my mind sometimes if I sit and think about it.

Anyway, enjoy some pictures from spirit week at the high school I'm student teaching at. There are some pretty rad outfits.

redneck day (nothing really out of the ordinary for Idaho, but still fun)

twin day (my mentor teacher and I were crazy art teachers!)

decade day (subtle 80s)

zombie apocalypse 

We followed up spirit week with everybody's favorite pep assembly! Pep assemblies are honestly my absolute favorite part of high school. I remember my senior year being over dramatically sad that I had just attended my last pep assembly.

The atmosphere! The stupid games! The class pride and school pride. The shouting. The noise. I'm not usually one for incredibly noisy and loud things crammed with people, but there's just something about wearing your school colors and standing next to your best friends in a crowded gym screaming "SENIOR POWER!" at the top of your lungs. I just, I mean, I have no words.

And this pep assembly lived up to my highest expectations. Even though I am now a faculty member and I didn't get to cup my hands around my mouth and yell sen-ior pow-er over and over again until my vocal chords failed me, I still had an unbelievably good time. I think I beamed like an idiot through the entire thing. It was probably one of the best days of school so far. I mean, honestly.