Drudgery

Last week I starting adding more art to the group time activities since we are creating a Wonderful World book for Kinder graduation. The pages require different art media to match the lyrics and it always turns out quite nice.

I thought the kids would enjoy using Vano starch to affix sunshine-colored tissue paper squares to the manila paper, creating a "bright blessed day." This page is supposed to remind you of sunshine. I had reds, oranges, and yellows - all cut up into squares and ready to be "painted on" to the paper.

To my surprise, the kids were less than enthusiastic about this project. Painting they like - gluing down construction paper - they like. This they approached with fear and trepidation, unsure of what they were supposed to do.

"Just paint the starch over the tissue paper," I said cheerfully, demonstrating on Aracely's paper. "Look what happens when you layer the colors - red over the yellow - what do you get?"

The small group at the table didn't answer. They just peered at Aracely's paper suspiciously and then slowly began gathering bits of tissue paper and stirring the paintbrush around in the cup of starch.

"What is this stuff?" asked Tony, wrinkling his nose. "It stinks."

"It's starch," I replied. "People use it for ironing shirts - to make the collars nice and stiff and for getting rid of wrinkles."

I doubt that any of them had any idea what I was talking about so I had to decide whether it was worth it to launch into a teaching point about starched clothing to kids who will probably never iron a shirt in their lives.

"Is it like glue?" asked Tony, looking up from the starch.

"Yes. It's like glue," I said, taking the path of least resistance. They all nodded with resignation and some satisfaction. Glue, they like. The more of it, the better, in fact.

"Okay." Tony wasn't sure, obviously, but he began carefully placing tissue on his paper and cautiously using the starch, with his nose wrinkled and his face set in a grimace.

"Teacher - like this?" asked Oswaldo, pointing to a lone piece of yellow tissue, held to the paper by a tiny drop of starch.

"Cover the whole thing with the brush, Oswaldo, like this," I said, demonstrating again how to brush the starch over the tissue paper.

None of the small group seemed to like this activity at all and one by one they attempted to leave after placing several pieces of tissue on the paper. None of their papers matched what I envisioned - a colorful array of sun colors that would match bright and beautiful sunshine, making anybody looking at it smile at the whimsy and delight that absolutely MUST accompany a picture like this.

"I done, Teacher, " announced Abraham, getting up from the table. He had applied exactly 3 pieces of tissue to his paper, one of each shade of orange available.

"No, Abraham, like this - " and once again I demonstrated how to add more sheets and to layer the colors and make the paper yell, "SUNshine!"

He reluctantly sat back down.

I started helping Nancy and Oswaldo by putting little piles of tissue by the papers.

"No, Abraham, not like that!" Aracely huffed, stopping the reluctant artist from pouring starch over a small volcano of tissue he had piled on his paper in frustration.

I couldn't believe it. So I let them have it - my best teacher spiel.

"Guys, this is ART! You are supposed to love art! This is your chance to experience color and texture and create something beautiful! You act like this is drudgery!"

"Drudgery," repeats Nancy, who is learning English and always repeats new words to herself when she hears them.

"Yes, Nancy. Y'all are acting like this is pure drudgery."

I bent over to retrieve some fallen tissue pieces and look up in time to see Aracely smacking piles of tissue over her paper after having "dipped" them in the starch. The conglomeration stuck to her hands and when she discovered this, she leaned over to put her hand in Gisela's face, giggling wildly.

Gisela naturally protested and drew back.

"Aracely, what are you doing?" I asked, reaching for her hands in order to peel off some of the tissue.

Nancy sighed. "Drudgery."

"What, Nancy?" I asked, looking and feeling a bit perplexed.

"Yeah. Drudgery. She doing drudgery."

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