New pink erasers. The smell of crayons. Full bottles of
Elmers glue. Yes, school is in again. This fall, however, is different from the
others. I am not gearing up to teach art to kids, as I have every fall for the last
seven years. I wanted to explain, because my blog has included a lot of kids’
art over the years.
I had no plans to stop teaching art at the private school
where I taught part-time for seven years. Teaching became part of my identity,
and I loved watching my students discover their creative sides.
In July, my boss told me that he needed someone to run a new
art program during after-care at school. It would be for two hours each day,
after school. He did not want to hire someone else to do afternoons, while I
kept my Wednesday teaching schedule. I suggested various compromises, but he wanted
one teacher rather than two.
It was a hard decision, but ultimately, I chose to step
away. The school is twenty miles away, and I felt it would be a lot for me to
create new lessons, drive to school, set up, teach for two hours, clean up, and
repeat the next day. My youngest just started a new school and isn’t old enough
to drive, so the school pick up time would conflict with my teaching after
school. It’s just a different schedule than what worked so well for my family,
and so I am stepping back. I will miss my students so much, but I will keep in
touch with some of the families. I hope the kids will remember me and know that
their teacher cared.
I liked being part of a team of teachers, working together
toward a common goal. Earlier in my career, I painted murals, usually alone. While
I like solitude, one needs balance. It felt so good to be part of a group, to
make a difference with kids.
When you are a teacher, especially of little kids, you become part of their world. It’s a sacred bond. In addition to creating art projects, I put Band-Aids on ouchies. I comforted crying kids who felt left out. I gave teenagers life advice about believing in themselves. It was so much more than a job. So, I am mourning this loss. Each day I feel both happy and sad emotions. My family and friends have made sure I laugh each day, but it’s a struggle to make sense of all this. I’m choosing to write about this here on my blog because we bond when we share our true feelings, when someone tells us their stories. I’m not looking for pity, but I’m also not ashamed to admit how hard this loss is.
Obviously, there are much
bigger problems in the world than where I work. I’m lucky that I have a choice
about where I work, because many people do not. But when you give your heart to
your job and your students, and when that changes without warning, it’s
difficult to accept.
My current plan is to work another part-time job, but not in
a classroom. Because I have a degree in art but not a teaching credential, it
limits where I can teach. I’m not ready to start teaching somewhere new,
because I’m still mourning the loss of this position, and I miss these
kids. But in the future, I may be back in the classroom again and blogging
about kids’ art. I have a few ideas about what’s next, but I want to make a
thoughtful choice, not a quick decision, so I’m mulling things over first…
I had two special moments recently, when I was plein air painting around town. A little girl came up to me with her mom and I explained to her what I was doing. She was too shy to talk to me, but I enjoyed our time together. Here is the Craftsman house I was painting.
I told her I thought the house looked like it was hidden
behind trees and that it reminded me of a fairy tale because the house felt
mysterious, like a secret. Later, once she was home, across the street, she
waved at me from her living room window, again and again.
Upon seeing my canvas, the older one smiled and said, “Oh, it’s the same tree right there!” It boosted me to talk with them. These moments reinforced how much I love being around kids.
This blog will continue, as I post about my own art
adventures, doing plein air painting around San Diego. I want to do more public
art, so there may be posts about that, too. There are still stories to tell and
color to bring to the world, even if student art will not be the focus for now.
1970s Schwinn Stingray Fastback |
The Rady Shell at Jacob's Park, downtown San Diego |
Thank you for reading and for your positive feedback all
these years, as I took my first tentative steps as a teacher and grew to love
what I did. You’ll see me here again before too long, bringing stories of art
and creativity. Until then, thanks for being here. Be safe and find some joy.