Artists I admire: Sarah Bellantoni

Last Saturday I attended a production of Our Country's Good by Timberlake Wertenbaker at The Chapin School on Manhattan's Upper East Side. I worked with students at this private, all-girls school last year around this time, when my former student and now colleague Sarah Bellantoni asked me to work with her to create an ethnodrama with her students. The experience of making that play was one of the highlights of 2015 for me, so I was excited to see this year's production.

Through my work with Sarah last year, I learned just how great a teacher and director she has become. As I've said before, I love to learn from my former students, as it reinforces the idea that the transfer of knowledge can never be a one-way street. Sarah exhibited great generosity of spirit throughout our collaboration, patiently helping me to remember the nuances required when working with high school students, particularly young women. And collaborating at a high school where the entire drama department shares such high standards for their artistic and pedagogical work rejuvenated my own excitement about teaching.

As I sat in the audience last Saturday and experienced Sarah's production, I was amazed at the skill of these young actresses after less than 20 rehearsals. They navigated various accents with relative ease, and most of them played across gender, which they are accustomed to, but which for me illustrated a dexterity that some professional actors would struggle to find. And they understood the stakes of the play and played those stakes with full commitment. I walked out of the theatre feeling #grateful for the timeliness of Sarah's choice to direct this play. I needed to see this play right now, at a moment when so much noise keeps me from hearing any bit of truth. Because of Sarah's specific and thoughtful direction, I got some much needed truth last Saturday afternoon.

I sat with Sarah over dinner this past week, and we talked about her production and her students and her survival stories, as there are always survival stories whenever artists do something challenging and brave. Listening to Sarah talk about the accomplishments of each of her students illustrated how connected and committed she is as an artist and teacher, and her students and colleagues reap the benefits as a result.

For teaching me a thing or two (or ten!) about what it means to be an artist and a teacher, for having an amazing sense of humor and some of the best one-liners I've ever heard, and for showing endless amounts of compassion while still facilitating greatness in her students, Sarah Bellantoni is the artist I admire for this week.

Thinking about classroom inclusivity

In the shadow of the protests last semester regarding campus climate issues, I've been thinking about ways that I could deepen my practice around inclusivity in my classrooms. For a number of years I've included an "Open Door Policy" statement on my syllabi, encouraging students to speak to me if issues come up in the classroom, particularly if those issues are the result of something that I've said or done.

Given all the media coverage of student demands coupled with stories I've heard of student experiences in classrooms, I expanded the statement this semester and re-titled it "Open Door Policy & Shared Responsibility." The additions I've made ask students to engage in conversations with each other if something occurs that upsets them, and I continue to encourage students to speak to me if something happens that has upset them. I'm also explaining in my first class meetings that I believe that there's a difference between an unsafe and an uncomfortable classroom environment. I often feel uncomfortable when I'm in a learning situation because I'm being challenged to consider new ideas, new perspectives, new ways of doing things. In my mind uncomfortable does not equal unsafe. It could be argued that this distinction is based on a person's perspective, and I certainly agree with that. However, if a person doesn't communicate their perspective, we have no way of knowing that there's an issue. By including this statement, I'm trying to create space where students feel comfortable sharing their perspectives.

The revised statement also acknowledges that mistakes, misunderstandings, and miscommunications occur, which gets at something a colleague of mine brought up when I asked him to review this statement: the difference between intention and impact. My intention might not have been to offend anyone with my comment, but the impact of my comment may be entirely different from my intent. Again, partially related to the idea that a classroom contains a spectrum of experiences that I don't always have knowledge of as a teacher. I try to stay open and aware to as much as possible, but I'm not infallible. I have to take responsibility for that, but I also hope that students and colleagues can accept that infallibility with some sense of critical generosity.

Below is the statement that appears in my syllabi this semester. If you have thoughts about ways to improve it or have questions about it, please reach out to me. I'm open to continued dialogue about how to strengthen the statement in subsequent semesters. Also, if it resonates for you, please feel free to adopt it or adapt it to fit your needs.

Open Door Policy & Shared Responsibility
As the instructor for this course, it is my intention through my words and actions to create an inclusive learning community for everyone in the class. I encourage all students in the course to work for inclusivity as well, with the understanding that none of us are perfect and sometimes mistakes, misunderstandings, and/or miscommunications can occur. If at any time you have questions or concerns about the classroom environment, please feel free to address these issues with me. I would suggest setting up a time to speak with me during my office hours, and if my available times conflict with your other obligations, please email me with other possible times that might work for you. In the spirit of shared responsibility for our learning environment, I would also encourage you to help each other toward being more inclusive by remaining open to sharing and receiving feedback with peers in this area.

Leaning too far forward

I've trained with Jonathan Angelilli for over a decade, and with his help and support I've gone from having chronic low back pain and minimal core strength to running four marathons, enjoying spin class, and even doing pull ups. Jonathan has found any number of ways to help me understand the connection between the body and the mind, and that understanding has changed the way I feel about myself and the importance of physical activity in my life. And not just to be “physically fit.”

Case in point:

Over the last six weeks, my weekly training sessions with Jonathan have included about 30 minutes of boxing, a physical activity I never thought I'd do. I'm not actually in a ring sparring, but I'm learning punches and combinations that make for a very good workout.

We've been working on a right cross, and throwing that punch benefits from a pivot on the right back foot, a "putting out the cigarette" motion. I can throw the punch, but the pivot gives me trouble. The reason? Not enough weight on my back foot: I tend to lean into the punch, too far forward, and then I’m off balance and more susceptible to getting knocked down. My weight isn't centered on both feet, making the cross less effective because there’s less strength behind it. I'm getting better with each session, but more importantly, I'm starting to make connections beyond the act of throwing the punch.

Leaning too far forward when I try to throw the punch functions as a larger metaphor for many things in my life. Over the last two years I've worked to embrace the concept of "less is more," that sometimes what feels like less effort actually yields better results or greater progress in the end. I saw this play out first in my running, where fewer training runs translated into a less painful marathon. I've also seen it in weight training, where less visible struggle (scrunching up my face, grunting, "performing" my exertion) yields smoother and more efficient repetitions.

I've also started to notice a difference in my teaching and art making. Less time pounding away in a rehearsal translates into more focused creation with stronger choices based on instinct rather than on overthinking. When singing, if I relax and allow my jaw to drop rather than tightening up all the muscles in my face and “winding up,” the note comes out with a much clearer tone. If the assessment techniques in my teaching are more efficient, I have more energy in the actual class itself to engage with students.

I came of age as an artist and a teacher, really as a human being, thinking that “more effort” always equaled “better results,” and I’ve come to question whether that’s always the case. That said, I do understand that my hard work has brought me lots of success. Yet as I grow older and hopefully wiser, I'm learning that my "hard work" can sometimes be like throwing spaghetti at the wall and hoping something sticks. That's what the leaning forward represents for me. Sometimes the lean forward is an overcompensation, an unnecessary effort that repels rather than draws in. The leaning forward takes me off balance, opens me up to get knocked on my ass. By maintaining balance on both feet, my right hook has more power because my right foot pivots and throws more weight behind the punch. Maybe if I stay centered with my “weight” equally distributed and concentrate my effort when I make art or when I teach, I can strike a stronger metaphorical blow, have greater impact, deepen an audience's understanding.

Less effort can be different effort; it is by no means lazy. Throw some hip into it. It feels really good. Especially when there's balance.