Volume 2 - Fall 1993-- Edited for the Web
General Education in Art
Patricia M. Amburgy
"What is the single most important question you would like to answer in your lifetime?"
The question requires some reflection, of course, so I pause to give students time to think about it before they write something down. Then I ask,
Can science or modern technology help you answer this question?" (1)
Finally I ask,
"If you could change one thing about the world, what would it be?"
After everyone has finished writing, we discuss the questions in class. In answer to the first one, the single most important question they would like to answer, students respond with questions such as these:
Is there life after death?
What is love?
Why is there prejudice in the world?
Why are there wars?
Does God exist?
Why was I born?
What is the purpose of human life?
These are real examples of questions that have come from students, not something I made up with my friends in the philosophy department. Furthermore, they are real examples of questions that have come, not only from graduate students and upper division undergraduates, but from first-year students--seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds. They are the kind of questions almost everyone asks in life, whether young or old, rich or poor, a professional philosopher, a professional educator, or a professional anything else. They are what we might call "big questions" in life.
Can science or modern technology help you answer this
question?
There is usually a good deal of debate about this in my classes. Although most students
agree that science and technology can tell us something about, say, the nature of love or
reasons for war, they conclude that for the most part these are not the kind of questions
science and technology normally address. I ask if there are other fields of knowledge that
might also help us answer such questions. Yes, the students say. Philosophy, literature,
religion, history, music--and art. Can art help us answer such questions? Of course it
can. Even in classes where the students are not art education majors, they readily agree
that art can give us insight into the deepest, most fundamental issues in life. In classes
where the students are majors in art education, they not only agree with it; they go on to
suggest examples of works of art that show us the face of God, the beauty of love, or the
purpose —and sometimes the lack of purpose —in present life.
I have several reasons for describing all of this. One is to suggest a working definition for general education as a whole and, by extension, general education in art. General education is usually described in several ways. In contrast to other kinds of schooling, general education is said to be broad in scope; it entails acquiring knowledge in more than one area of study or specialization. The purpose of general education is not vocational training. Rather than being directed toward the preparation of doctors, lawyers, mechanics, beauticians, artists, aestheticians, and so on, general education is directed toward what is (OF what should be) common to all people, regardless of their status or their future vocation in life. We should notice that these common aspects of life also differ from so-called "personal service courses" in school curricula such as drivers' education or consumer awareness.
The definition I would suggest for general education is based on such conventional distinctions: In contrast to other kinds of schooling, the purpose of general education is to develop knowledge and skills that go beyond preparation for work or immediate personal interests. The purpose of general education in art, like the purpose of general education in any other subject, is to help us answer "big questions" in life.
General vs. Technical Content
A second reason for describing how I sometimes introduce the topic of general education in my classes is to suggest that in art, as in other fields of knowledge, there are both general and technical kinds of content. After the students in my classes discuss whether science or modern technology can help them answer "big questions" in life, and they suggest other fields of knowledge that might also be helpful in answering such questions, I ask what they see as the difference between science or modern technology and fields such as philosophy, literature, or art. They usually reply that science and technology are concerned with the means to achieve certain ends, or how to reach certain goals. They say fields such as philosophy, literature, and art, on the other hand, have to do with what we should achieve in life and why it is worth achieving. In contrast to the sciences, the arts and humanities are concerned with ends rather than means.
I ask whether everything in philosophy, literature, and art is concerned with ends. Are there technical aspects of these subjects, too, just as, conversely, there are broader, more general aspects of science? After discussing a number of examples, the students usually agree that there are. They conclude that to the extent we can distinguish between general and technical content in various fields of knowledge, the arts and humanities as well as the sciences, the focus of general education should be ends rather than means, "big questions" in life rather than technical knowledge and skills. An emphasis on technical content may be appropriate for vocational education, but not for general education.
What are some examples of technical content in art? One is an emphasis on elements and principles of design in school curricula, rather than the meaning of works of art. Taken in themselves, elements such as line, shape, and color, or principles such as balance, rhythm, and symmetry do not tell us much about meaning, at least not the kind of meaning in art that addresses "big questions." An emphasis on formal elements and principles may be appropriate for vocational education in art —and even here, a formalist aesthetic has been increasingly challenged in recent years but, plainly, it is not an appropriate emphasis for general education.
Elements and principles of design may be an obvious example of technical content because formalism has been widely criticized by artists, art historians, aestheticians, and others who are concerned with contemporary theory and practice in art. However, there are other examples of technical content that may not be as obvious to us because they are rooted in formalist conceptions of education as well as in formalist conceptions of art. As applied to education, a "formalist" perspective refers to an emphasis on teaching students how to do something--how to think critically, for example, or how to solve problems--rather than focusing on the substantive content of what is being presented as problematic or what it is, exactly, that students are taught to think critically about. One example of this type of formalism in art education is an emphasis on teaching technical processes in making art--how to throw a pot, how to mix colors, or how to develop photographs, for example -- rather than emphasizing themes or ideas in art production. Another, equally pertinent example of such formalism in art education is an emphasis on teaching so-called "methods of inquiry" in art history, art criticism, and aesthetics.
Part of the problem with an emphasis on teaching students how to do historical research, how to criticize works of art, or how to analyze philosophical issues is that an emphasis on methods of inquiry is more appropriate for the education of art historians, art critics, or aestheticians, than it is for general education in art. But even if we assumed there was nothing wrong with teaching vocational skills in public schools, there would still be a problem with methods of inquiry as a form of vocational preparation. What educators usually conceive as methods of inquiry is not, in fact, what professionals actually do in their work. Understood from a formalist perspective, "methods" refers to procedures or, at best, to a set of generic skills. In practice, however, what professionals do in their work actually involves more than mere procedures, and what they produce is not, in fact, generic history, generic criticism, or generic philosophy. What they produce may be feminist history or Marxist criticism or analytic philosophy. But whatever it is, the nature of inquiry as actually practiced by professionals has as much to do with what they inquire into, including what they count as evidence and what they see as problematic or worthy of study in the first place, as it does with how they inquire into things. To the extent the what is omitted in educators' conception of methods, the kind of content they have in mind is not, truthfully speaking, a very useful form of vocational preparation. It would be more accurate to describe such "methods" as pseudo-vocational skills.
Aside from the point that methods of inquiry are more akin to vocational training than to general education, and they are not even very good vocational training at that, the crux of the problem with an emphasis on how to do historical research, how to criticize art, or how to analyze philosophical issues is that the substantive content of art education--the what — becomes a secondary education. Understood from a formalist perspective, teacups are as good as cathedrals for teaching generic methods of art history. Magazine advertisements are as good as modern paintings for teaching generic methods of criticism. Seashell lamps and rubber alligators are as good as postmodern sculpture for teaching generic methods of aesthetics. From a formalist perspective there is no reason, in principle, for choosing one object over any other as content for art education.
More importantly, there is also no reason for choosing the ideas, interpretations, or issues that are taught in reference to various objects. From the perspective of teaching generic methods of inquiry, the evolution of style in teacups is as important as the religious content of twelfth-century art. The arrangement of lines, shapes, and colors in advertisements is as important as the depiction of women in modern painting. The aesthetic value of seashell lamps and rubber alligators is as important as the issue of censorship in contemporary art. From a formalist perspective, the evolution of style in works of fine art is as important as class divisions in the design of household artifacts. The arrangement of lines, shapes, and colors in paintings is as important as the way people of color are depicted in ads. The aesthetic value of photographs is as important as issues of truth and social stereotypes in tourists' souvenirs.
The question is not whether we should choose among the wide range of content that is available in art, because in effect, if not in intention, we always do make a choice. Every time we design a curriculum, plan a course, order materials or decide what to do on Monday morning, we are in effect choosing something. The question is not whether to choose, but why we should choose to teach one thing, as opposed to something else in public schools.
If the kind of schooling we have in mind is supposed to be general education in art, I would suggest we should choose content that addresses "big questions" in life. This criterion is just that--a criterion, not a categorical rule. It does not automatically rule out categories of objects such as everyday art, commercial art, or tourist art. Nor, for that matter, does it automatically rule out histories of style, formal criticism, or modernist issues in aesthetics. But to say the criterion is not a rule does not diminish the point that it is, indeed, a criterion. Not just anything and everything will count. With respect to, say, the evolution of style in teacups, or the arrangement of lines, shapes, and colors in paintings, I would want to ask whether this really tells us much about "big questions" in life. If the answer is no, I would want to ask what, then, is the purpose of teaching such content in public schools.
Transformation vs. Reproduction of Social Divisions
One of the most important issues in contemporary art education is the role of public schooling in either changing or reproducing inequalities of class, race, gender, and ethnicity in American society. In the past, debates in art education have often focused on the kinds of objects we should teach. We have asked, should popular art as well as fine art be included in school curricula? Should the work of women and people of color be included? Should schooling include art from nonwestern as well as western societies? The issues have often been framed in terms of these types of questions, as though including a variety of objects in school curricula would, in itself, be enough to insure that schooling is more democratic.
Certainly, such questions are a step in the right direction. But just as important as the range of objects we teach, is what we teach students about popular art, the work of women and artists of color, or, for that matter, the work of white male European artists. However good our intentions may be, teaching students about the evolution of style or the lines, shapes, and colors in various kinds of objects is not a way to promote social change. Nor is teaching students how to do historical research, how to criticize art, or how to analyze issues in aesthetics. I am not suggesting that such content is overly racist, overtly sexist, or even overtly class-biased. On the contrary, I would suggest that elements and principles of design, so-called "methods of inquiry," and other forms of technical content in art tell students nothing at all about social issues.
This brings me to the third reason for describing how I sometimes introduce the topic of general education in my classes. When we choose to teach technical content in public schools, what we do, in effect, is to withhold the kind of knowledge that can help students answer "big questions" in life. Withholding such knowledge is an act of omission, rather than a case of overtly prejudicial schooling. But precisely because it is an act of omission, withholding such knowledge helps perpetuate existing divisions of class, race, gender, and ethnicity in American society in a way that is extremely effective. Without answers to "big questions" in life, there are no answers to the third question I ask my students:
If you could change one thing about the world, what would it be?
Endnotes
(1) I am grateful to Judith Mogilka for these questions and many other insights about the nature of education. [return]
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