After the group critique, I acted immediately on the feedback. I utilised my eager-to-please students as camera holders so I could take some equipment for a walk. Gathering materials around the art room I found some synthetic mohair in a slightly shimmery grey, a thick charcoal stick, a couple of soft graphite sticks, and a Berol thick marker.
Lassoed with the yarn, the 6B graphite stick was first for a stroll, happily dragging behind me as I paced the classroom. The students giggled, and watched on hesitantly and expectantly - the line was faint. The process left me feeling slightly deflated at the vagueness of the traces left behind.
Softer graphite was next. This would work, I was sure but alas, after the initial pacing and expectations a line just as vague as the first was left. The process felt a little easier though, less exposing.
The third walk was accompanied by a thick chunk of charcoal, who also accompanied me on a fourth walk after being worn down on the paper to see if the rough edge would make a difference. Still, the paper resisted the instruments and the traces were light and tentative.
Action was required. This activity needed an outcome; the students were watching, starting to feel disappointed by the repetitive act that left them without a conclusion. The noose was cast around a thick black marker, the pace was slowed and the angle of the instrument was adjusted slightly; this time it would work and I would make sure of it.
A sigh of satisfaction was heard, the students were lifted at the sight of the black line following their teacher as she paced up the three sheets of paper once more. They giggled about the marks on the floor and the lack of shoes. They were satisfied that the goal had been achieved and a line had been drawn.
In one final stand, I bunched the instruments together, hoping their collective might would give a product that would fill me with a similar satisfaction that the students had voiced. It did not appear during the act, or in the moments immediately after. But something changed when the work was lifted from its horizontal position on the floor and hung on the classroom wall; vertically from floor to ceiling, lines dropping to the ground in a slightly wobbly fashion. Here there was some gratification. The long strip of paper required a ladder to handle it, it felt unwieldy and I liked that. As it hung on the wall behind the door, but on the facing wall of the classroom, various students inquired as to what it was. They discussed it when I gave no indication: a road, a tree trunk, a path. Regardless, they almost always offered something that took them somewhere, indicating movement, or growth; direction.
