School of Choss
School is going well. I think I'm getting slightly better at laying down the law with "bad behavior." I found out some kids really don't care about getting a D, but they do care if you make them clean the sink and not talk to their friends. One thing you have to watch out for is drawing a line between something that is actually disruptive or disrespectful and something that you just find annoying. Like sometimes kids will laugh really loud and long at some lewd joke and I think it really grinds on my nerves... but I try not to tell them to shut up if they are actually working when they're doing it.
We definitely need a new room, especially if I'm going to pick up another class next semester. My hope is that we'll have so much work coming out of every nook and cranny in the room, that they'll be forced to move us because it will be so obvious that we've outgrown the space. More likely we'll not move and they'll give any new space to something like Aikido or massage therapy.
Sometimes school is really funny. Walking into the building one morning I spotted one here-unnamed teacher playing a guitar in an empty class room.
"Oh, that sounds really good, I didn't know you played," says I.
"yeah man, I love playing. This thing's a piece of shit though." as she looks at the student whose guitar she is playing. "I got a beautiful piece at home--Yamaha. The action is so sweet, as low as it can go without buzzing. I wouldn't trade it for a Taylor."
"Right on."
"you play?"
"yeah, I been playing for a while," I says. She hands me the guitar and I try to repeat the blues licks she just laid down. The student leaves the room momentarily, leaving just the teacher and myself. My chops are louder and less rhythmic than hers, but she sees that I've got the premise.
"Nice man, nice. Do you sing?"
"yeah, but not very good. I'm a potter."
"oh... do you like pot? cause all the potters I know are into pot," she says.
"ha ha... well, not as much as I used to..." and I hand her back the guitar.
"Awesome man. I'm just an old hippie really. I love that shit. I just fuckin' love getting high and playing guitar." She starts to play a quiet and rolling blues cycle.
"..." I says. Awkward pause, I'm formulating an escape route.
"I do a pretty jazzy version of blackbird when I'm high. My voice is shit right now, but when it heals up you should hear me."
"yeah" I says.
"... ...I scat." The student returns.
"cool. Well, I'll see you later!"
Some days of class have been really fun. Through some miraculous combination of proper sleep, good breakfast, proper caffiene intake, good clay supply, and right music we manage to have some days at work where it really doesn't seem like a job at all-- days where we're all just digging in and taking jabs at eachother, laughing and making shit, talking pots (not pot). I'm sure that some of these kids have the pilot flame going strong now. If they don't continue with ceramics, they'll at least be bothered by it for a while. So mission accomplished for some.
One other cool thing is that we were given the oppurtunity to enter a pottery workshop here in town. Our principle agreed to pay for 5 spots in a workshop called Masters of Mata Ortiz, and the workshop organizers agreed to match another 5 spots. Mata Ortiz, faithful readers will recall, is a mexican town of 2000 about 4 hours south of Cruces. Beginning in the 1970's, led by Juan Quezada, Mata Ortiz emerged as a new center of ceramics--a new genre. I guess I don't need to say it, but it's not really easy to make a new genre, especially one with any lasting quality. Any ways, the first person that Juan taught was his brother Nicolas--Nicolas is teaching the workshop. This guy is a master potter, one of the founding fathers of Mata Ortiz. These people are poor as hell, no art school, no anything. They learned everything through trial and error, and Nicolas is well known as one of the most important innovators for the various technologies of mata ortiz pottery. Basically the guy is a bad ass. Last night was the first night of the workshop and he was really cool. Doesn't know a word of english. I'll write more later.
ta.
We definitely need a new room, especially if I'm going to pick up another class next semester. My hope is that we'll have so much work coming out of every nook and cranny in the room, that they'll be forced to move us because it will be so obvious that we've outgrown the space. More likely we'll not move and they'll give any new space to something like Aikido or massage therapy.
Sometimes school is really funny. Walking into the building one morning I spotted one here-unnamed teacher playing a guitar in an empty class room.
"Oh, that sounds really good, I didn't know you played," says I.
"yeah man, I love playing. This thing's a piece of shit though." as she looks at the student whose guitar she is playing. "I got a beautiful piece at home--Yamaha. The action is so sweet, as low as it can go without buzzing. I wouldn't trade it for a Taylor."
"Right on."
"you play?"
"yeah, I been playing for a while," I says. She hands me the guitar and I try to repeat the blues licks she just laid down. The student leaves the room momentarily, leaving just the teacher and myself. My chops are louder and less rhythmic than hers, but she sees that I've got the premise.
"Nice man, nice. Do you sing?"
"yeah, but not very good. I'm a potter."
"oh... do you like pot? cause all the potters I know are into pot," she says.
"ha ha... well, not as much as I used to..." and I hand her back the guitar.
"Awesome man. I'm just an old hippie really. I love that shit. I just fuckin' love getting high and playing guitar." She starts to play a quiet and rolling blues cycle.
"..." I says. Awkward pause, I'm formulating an escape route.
"I do a pretty jazzy version of blackbird when I'm high. My voice is shit right now, but when it heals up you should hear me."
"yeah" I says.
"... ...I scat." The student returns.
"cool. Well, I'll see you later!"
Some days of class have been really fun. Through some miraculous combination of proper sleep, good breakfast, proper caffiene intake, good clay supply, and right music we manage to have some days at work where it really doesn't seem like a job at all-- days where we're all just digging in and taking jabs at eachother, laughing and making shit, talking pots (not pot). I'm sure that some of these kids have the pilot flame going strong now. If they don't continue with ceramics, they'll at least be bothered by it for a while. So mission accomplished for some.
One other cool thing is that we were given the oppurtunity to enter a pottery workshop here in town. Our principle agreed to pay for 5 spots in a workshop called Masters of Mata Ortiz, and the workshop organizers agreed to match another 5 spots. Mata Ortiz, faithful readers will recall, is a mexican town of 2000 about 4 hours south of Cruces. Beginning in the 1970's, led by Juan Quezada, Mata Ortiz emerged as a new center of ceramics--a new genre. I guess I don't need to say it, but it's not really easy to make a new genre, especially one with any lasting quality. Any ways, the first person that Juan taught was his brother Nicolas--Nicolas is teaching the workshop. This guy is a master potter, one of the founding fathers of Mata Ortiz. These people are poor as hell, no art school, no anything. They learned everything through trial and error, and Nicolas is well known as one of the most important innovators for the various technologies of mata ortiz pottery. Basically the guy is a bad ass. Last night was the first night of the workshop and he was really cool. Doesn't know a word of english. I'll write more later.
ta.
posted by j0eb0t-xj9 at 8:34 AM
1 Comments:
The workshop sounds great. You should take his picture before the workshop is over.
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