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Ready … set … act?
Alix Scheetz, Guest Contributor
Growing up, I was always very competitive. Whether it was play or sport, I needed to be the best. The foundation of this childhood ideology was that, for some odd reason, I felt like I had to win to have fun. Naturally, as many children realize, I was not the best at everything I did. Unfortunately, this knowledge led me to feel as if I had to take everything in life seriously because, for me, it was.
Coming into junior high, it was only natural that I, a dancer, would want to take a drama class — I loved the spotlight, and I loved to perform! Drama was my opportunity to shine, right? But as I soon came to realize, I wasn’t nearly as funny as the other kids — I was taking myself way too seriously.
It wasn’t until I began to learn about the tenets of improv that I truly started to understand how to express myself freely with confidence. I began to realize that, in life, sometimes the gut feeling is the best one. I began to trust my instincts, and slowly but surely, I understood that life is nothing more than a collection of experiences that are no more “serious” than my own.
I am so grateful for how drama education has shaped my understanding of the world. Through acts of fearless intuition, I was able to comprehend that there’s a difference between taking life seriously and fully committing to an activity out of passion and joy. Drama has helped me understand that I love art because of the way it makes me feel, not because I love the way I affect others. I began to learn from my mistakes instead of beating myself up for them.
Art is smart
Joel Viehweger, Guest Contributor
I pull up the hood of my Led Zeppelin sweatshirt, carefully obscuring the headphones that still play quietly in my ears. Nothing, not even Ms. Partridge’s very important math problem, can keep me from solving the sonic mystery of a Jimi Hendrix guitar solo. Ms. Partridge asks the class another question that I don’t hear. Hands peek up above a canopy of messy hair and baseball caps. Mine is not one of them. What do I have to say anyway? I would just get it wrong.
I was not a smart student, or at least I didn’t see myself as one. I didn’t have an interest or a good grasp of the “serious” academic disciplines, but I loved music and I was getting pretty good at the guitar for a 13 year old. My identity was crystalizing around music, but music class at my middle school, full of good intentions but light on content, had trivialized my interest and my ability. Here music was reserved for leisure, not for serious study.
That changed in the tenth grade, after I transferred to a new high school and enrolled in the performing arts program. I became part of a community that took music seriously. Harmony and practice routine became topics of serious concern that were approached with an academic intensity that was both foreign and affirming. A serious arts education enabled me to take myself seriously. It legitimized my interests and allowed me to choose an identity as someone who was intelligent. It gave me permission to see my knowledge as valuable and to imagine a future of lifelong learning that didn’t require me to change who I already was.
Through arts education, I became smart.
