This semester is the first for the new Honors Acting class curriculum. The “H” means more rigor, which assumes more work and more difficulty. While I try to be immune to the assumptions, it got me good this time around.
The course is meant to be project-based with a series of performances pieces done individually by each student and collectively among the group. On the first day, I peppered them with all of the assignment details for the course and dove in to a philosophic discussion around the question: “Why do you make art?” The resulting conversation was everything it was expected to be, but the group stalled when it came time to wrap their heads around the two memorized performance projects assigned for completion before the third week of class.
Something had to give.
Over the next few days, I worked with two students who were preparing for upcoming events. One was our Poetry Out Loud school champion and she wanted to prepare for the regional contest. The other was a die-hard theatre kid trying to make sense of what she wanted to get out of an upcoming regional theatre audition. In those sessions, I was reminded how much revisiting basic techniques helps sort out the challenges of rehearsal. I think I had an idea of how to adjust the class. I knew it would work for the self-proclaimed “theatre kids” in the room, but what about the others?
I’m fortunate to have a crop of students who take the introductory Acting class for required graduation credit, but who then fall in love with the work and stick with it. As one of those kids walked in the door on a Monday morning, I lobbed the question: “What do you need in here?” He was caught off-guard, but thought for a moment then answered honestly that he wasn’t sure how to answer at the moment, but would let me know when he could. (I’ve come to expect that kind of reflective answer from him, which is probably why the question popped up as he walked in the room). About a week later, he stopped by the classroom during lunch with an answer for me. It was simple:
“Application. How do I put to use what I’ve learned?”
In the Acting class, yes, but he was curious to answer the question more globally. The information planted through three and a half years of high school had finally germinated- and with graduation just months away - he was bursting with ideas, but wasn’t confident about how to cultivate the ideas that had grown. I knew what I had to do.
The next class meeting, I cancelled half of the assignments that were previously given. One in particular was a memorized monologue due in a week that students were solely responsible for finding, rehearsing, and performing. It was meant to be a challenge to them and an assessment for me. But I knew what I needed to learn about them from those moments outside of the traditional classroom setting. So now, the plan was to bring more of that outside work in and to coach them every step of the way.
It is embarrassingly obvious when spelled out like this. However, I see now that the desire for the class appear so rigorously worthy of the fancy new “Honors” designation led my focus away from giving what the students need. It’s interesting how often the traditional idea of “sage on the stage” still permeates education even in the most non-traditional of settings like an advanced-level Acting class. I know what to do - how to craft and guide that kind of class - but that means nothing if I’m not also following the students’ lead.