The Alchemy of Joy

WIP: The Fargos at Frank's and Kim's Place

Joel was reading aloud to me in our Grade Two classroom. His index finger had been tracing each letter and word on the page, a long-standing strategy. The page pushed back against him, a frustrating interference with his purpose. He moved his hand to hold the edge of the book, to keep the page in place. The words rose up and out of him fluently as he continued to read without his finger helping him to decode the shape and sound of every word. He stopped and slowly turned to look at me. His eyes wide, his mouth an "O". His expression said everything,

"I can read! How did that happen?"

I looked back at him and smiled. With years of teaching experience in my pocket, I thought

"No one really knows."

We cannot foresee this apex of integration, the moment everything collides to make a child a reader: the big bang of cognition and autonomy. It's hard to measure.

The reality though is teachers are responsible for assessment and reporting. It is supposed to be evidence of learning but it is also a substantiation of our efforts. It is a kind of measurement of both the student's achievement and the worth of the education process. So, it would be foolish to report,

"Joel gazed in wonder at his teacher the moment he realized he could read."

We can, however, tick off a box that states, "child sees himself as a reader". But that hardly captures the magic: the alchemy of symbols, shapes, sounds, and images that become reading.

I am almost finished reading Soulaika Jaouad's The Book of Alchemy: a creative practice for an inspired life. The book is a hymnal to the power of journalling and our ability to engage with art for the purpose of hope, renewal and joy. Jaouad gets us to look beyond a success/failure framework of creativity. In taking the judgement out of creativity, we begin to develop curiosity and wonder. We are set free from the crippling veil of perfectionism.

In my studio, there is a work in progress, a painting: the Fargos at Frank's and Kim's place. I took a photo of the trucks at a picnic late last summer. The trucks sat neatly in a row, on a cement slab. Their curved chassis tripped a switch of nostalgia for me. The sun low in the west and the changing colours of the season became the lighting and soundscape. It had to be painted.

When I painted the grass, I mixed Hooker's green in a range of values to capture light and shadows. Mixing paint for value continues to be a challenge for me. I gauge colours and shades as I trace my fingers along a value grid fram a painting class. My instructor's voice is clear in my mind, "Distinguish between each shade." I used the palette knife to mix a green of a lighter value. In 'whisps' I brushed it onto the canvas, then stepped away from the painting to take a look. A flood of joy swept through me. It looked like 'real' grass and if I squinted really, really hard, it looked like it was moving in the breeze. I laughed, out loud.

The grass in my painting will not win accolades or rival the grass of paintings in museums. But that isn't the point. I felt joy simply by painting. It's like being a kid again and realizing for the first time that a skill resides within me. There is no checklist, art review, course mark,... just me, a canvas and some paint. Joy does not require measurement, nor substantiation.

On New Year's Eve, I was talking with my good friend, Pam, about the Book of Alchemy. She shared an essay by Kate Bowler who dismisses the tradition of the New Year's resolution. Bowler rejects the "lie that growth only counts if it's measurable, dramatic, or impressive." That made me think of the moment Joel realized he could read. It was dramatic, life-changing, in fact. It was definitely impressive, but only to him and me in the confines of a busy Grade Two classroom. A huge accomplishment in the context of ordinary life.

Bowler and Jaouad believe that we are NOT limitless. When we live in our ordinariness we escape the persistent stare of measuring up. Why is it we are attached to assessments of our lives? Are artists a failure if they don't have an MFA, or commissions for artwork, or a lucrative contract with a Big Five publisher? When we give our lives over to unrealistic criteria, our joy is stolen. By focusing on the small glories in learning and creating, we are released from the unyielding demands of perfectionism, its impossible standards and ever changing targets. We are better able to learn and grow.

I am deeply satisfied by putting paint on canvas or by discovering a reader who enjoys a story I have written. That is the measurement of success. The wonder simply happens as I go along. All of it, the alchemy of joy.

This New Year, I wish you kindness, curiosity, and a gladdened heart.

And freedom from measuring up.

Happy New Year