Why I #critlib

In response to the questions posted by Kevin Seeber for tonight’s #critlib chat:

Why are you a critical librarian?

After two years as an academic librarian (and side gigs and internships in school, public, museum, and music libraries), I still see myself as an aspiring critical librarian. I see #critlib broadly in terms of critical pedagogy, and my positions at small universities have involved more reference than instruction. Though I’m not in the closet, if I don’t see the scope to practice something, I only lay claim to its definition “at heart”.

In my first career in museums, I practiced advocating for visitors, creating opportunities for individual and group reflection on the work, using nonviolent communication techniques to let my colleagues know I took their ideas seriously, and asking a lot of questions.

Why do you identify with these ideas?

I haven’t latched onto critical theory per se. My sweetheart is fully immersed in it, and my eyes glaze over at most of his references. My thinking on social justice is informed by a lifetime of Quaker faith and practice, and periodic deep dives into reading things I’ve long thought I should. #fergusonsyllabus guided my recreational reading for many months.

My first master’s degree in Museum Education steeped me in learning theories: Vygotsky, Dewey, Csikszentmihalyi, and Gardner leap to mind. The writings that inspired me most in library school were by S. R. Ranganathan, Sandy Berman, Jim Elmborg, the Working Together Project in Canada, Char Booth, Mandy Henk and other bloggers from the libraries of the Occupy movement.

Why do you participate in these chats?

They give me a sense of community, whether or not I can travel to conferences. (Free professional development!) Most of the time, they’re about issues I care about, that I’ve studied or witnessed or worked on in libraries or museums. They give me a place to develop a voice on social media, to weigh what I’m willing to say out loud, to notice what others amplify or challenge. In the speed of a one-hour chat, it seems to me that it is the ideas that matter, whether they come from people with tenure or publications, from students on Twitter for the first time, or from a career-shifter like me.

I miss my past involvement in the museum field, giving papers at conferences and serving on boards and committees. I get to do some of that as a volunteer with Quaker education and youth programs. I’m still finding my way in the library field, and #critlib feels like a welcoming door, being held open by good colleagues who work in a spirit that matters to me.

Sestina Challenge and Open-Ended Prompts

I have a fondness for creating within forms, having a pattern or structure to fill in as I choose, something that forces me to examine the harmonies in those choices as ideas or shapes or colors line up.

So I tend to gravitate towards poetry that uses ambitious forms. Not just the shorter and humbler haiku, which can convey computer error messages or be tossed off during a conference session or a boring meeting.

A few days ago, it occurred to me that the structure set up for Rhizo15 would lend itself well to translation into the sestina form. Now, sestinas are HARD to pull off well. The same six ending words shift order, each coming around seven times in 39 lines. That much repetition can easily get boring or clunky, unless the chosen words lend themselves to variation or multiple nuanced meetings.

If you want examples, here are some personal favorites by Elizabeth Bishop and David Lehman, Scott Reid’s clever Sestina in the Computer Age, and 16 more from famous poets.

So here’s one thing about “Daveness”: Dave Cormier has chosen words, for every one of his prompts, that are very open to interpretation. Six weeks of such open-ended prompts could easily supply the six words for line endings. And the many writings and themes that have emerged in our discussions have touched on and circled back to a wide range of meanings. There’s plenty of material here for a sestina, and the form maps well onto a six-week endeavor.

Here’s the order for the ending words. Ariadne Unst also provides a great explanation and tips on composing a sestina. And Josh Mandel has created a handy Sestin-a-matic to plug in your own words and generate the order.

  7. Three lines, using all six words: sometimes ACE, ECA, or (FB)(AD)(EC)

Some of the things I started to ponder: Would I want each stanza to represent a different point of view, or to mimic the contributions of different participants? Would I stick to my own journey in Rhizo15? Would I try to collaborate, or invite others to the same challenge and see what we each came up with? Should I start working on half the lines, based on the prompts Dave had already given?

So when Dave picked up Viplav Baxi’s Week 4 challenge, my first thought was “Oh no, that messes up what the arc of the poem would have been!” Dave (the name) as a prompt would give me much less to work with, than whatever gem Dave (the person) is holding off on sharing until Week 5. So I have to think more broadly, be willing to dance and play and ponder, and find a different word for whatever rings true for me in Week 4.

In any case, here are some of the possible end words from each week’s prompts, as one kind of starting point to use with the sestina structure. (Which of course could discard these words completely, and work instead with anything else that inspires reflection.)

  • Week 1 Subjectives
  • Week 2 Measure? Count?
  • Week 3 Content? People?
  • Week 4 Dave? Host? Role? Party?
  • Week 5 (TBD)
  • Week 6 (TBD)

Some among us have already explored multiple connotations of the formal definitions of these words. They have sparked reflection on many nuances and tangents in our blogs, Google+ and Facebook posts and tweets during Rhizo15. And some lend themselves well to variants (such as prefixes and plurals) if you want to free up the form a little.

There was some temptation to do this all behind a curtain, and unveil it at the end as a singular impressive accomplishment. But I’m too intrigued by the possibilities from the poignant and foolhardy poets among us. And knowing that others might take this on may spur me to follow through on the hard work of trying to do it well. So this challenge is too good not to share. I’d love to hear about others’ impressions and processes, as well as any products this inspires.

Berrypicking and Containers for Information

This post is inspired by Ray Maxwell’s post for #rhizo15, along with recent in-person and virtual library conferences, listserv messages, Twitter conversations, and all the sources linked below, peer-reviewed and otherwise.

Academic librarians are discussing, in many such venues, how to teach the threshold concepts from the new ACRL Framework for Information Literacy. The examples that currently intrigue me the most address the frame of Information Creation as a Process.

I’m inspired by Char Booth’s application of critical pedagogy to collaborating with faculty on an assignment for groups of students at Pomona College to research, critically source, and write new Wikipedia articles.

The Wiki Education Foundation provides materials to support such assignments and recognizes that they help to counter the biases of many volunteer Wikipedia editors:

Studies have shown that Wikipedia’s editor community is predominantly young, white, and male. Information on Wikipedia often describes the world from that perspective.

Wikipedia content quality is weakest when it doesn’t catch the interest of those editors. Articles on female novelists, or places in Africa, are alarmingly underrepresented….

68% of our student editors are women. And many of the articles our students write fill content gaps related to women. That helps Wikipedia provide knowledge relevant to more people, while reflecting a broader range of perspectives.

And this week in the online Library 2.0 conference (archived recording), Sara Gillsepie Swanson described teaching students at Davidson College to follow the threads of scholarly discourse across Twitter hashtags and blogs as well as scholarly databases. Of course this builds on the frame of Scholarship as Conversation as well as Information Creation as a Process.

For example: I began to follow the scholarship of Bonnie Stewart, who is new to me through #Rhizo15, across tweets about her recent talk at #et4online, through her blog post about finishing her dissertation, to an open-access journal article summarizing her research on Twitter use by academics. Serendipitously, I discovered that her scholarly research speaks to issues that have been on my mind as I develop a more visible online presence.

I could think of that chain of sources just as going down a rabbit hole in my Personal Learning Network. Characterizing it that way might keep my own process separate from orienting students to searching scholarly databases for the more traditional peer-reviewed resources they are expected to cite in most of their assignments. But that would be so 20th-century.

Peter Morville, 3-7. Marcia Bates' Berrypicking, Evolving Search (CC BY-NC 2.0)

Peter Morville, 3-7. Marcia Bates’ Berrypicking, Evolving Search (CC BY-NC 2.0)

As I recognize Marcia Bates’ iterative berrypicking model of information seeking, I should also acknowledge that the content which sparks a new thought can be found in many different kinds of containers (such as all of those listed in my first paragraph above).

I want to share with students the ways that 21st-century scholars stay up-to-date on the “good stuff”. Yes, this may sometimes lead students to less conventional sources that they may have to ask whether their professors will accept. It may even suggest new search terms that haven’t made it through traditional journal publishing cycles yet. But not sharing the tools that I use to find (and potentially contribute to) relevant research would be hiding the processes of information creation and scholarly conversation.

Content in Museums: Objects? People? Questions?

Dave Cormier poses these questions as the prompt for Week 3 of #Rhizo15:

So what happens when we peek under the word ‘content’ to see what lives there?
What does it mean for a course to ‘contain’ information?
What choices are being made… what power is being used?


Content is people. Discuss.

When I worked in museums, other organizations often wanted to partner with us because we had “content” by virtue of our collections. We might bring in “outside experts” to help develop or curate exhibitions, and we usually had curators, designers, a developer/writer, a project manager, an educator and an evaluator (me) on the planning teams. We would agree on a theme and several key “take home messages” to communicate to visitors, and these would shape the story line, text, media, and interactive elements. But the “stuff” of our exhibits were the real things, often unique, that were in our collections: art, artifacts, and specimens.

I’m struck by how the stories exhibits tell, or the questions they pose, can shape visitors’ encounter with the real things. (This fascination was what got me interested in studying museums in the first place, and motivated me to spend three years writing a thesis on exhibit labels.)

Michael Spock (son of Dr. Benjamin Spock) directed the Boston Children’s Museum, and then served as Director of Public Programs at the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago from 1986-1994. At both institutions, he worked with teams to create exhibits that were “for somebody rather than about something”. Storylines built on what was familiar, so that a collection of skeletons was organized by the simple vernacular taxonomy of which were cats or dogs, and a hall full of dioramas at right angles was reinstalled as a nature walk, with meandering paths and bridges. One exhibit dared visitors to pull aside a curtain to see the most dangerous animal of all–which revealed a mirror.

For the 1992 exhibit Mining the Museum,the Maryland Historical Society gave artist Fred Wilson free rein to curate any objects he chose from their collections. He used juxtaposition to challenge assumptions. This included retitling paintings, and covering them with a layer that had cutouts to highlight only black people. The most thought-provoking case was labeled “Metalwork, 1793-1880” and contained an ornate silver tea set and a pair of slave shackles.

Our questions can invite people into a particular frame of reference. Of course, visitors and learners make their own meanings of what they see and experience.

In a keynote speech to the American Association of Museums, Sherman Alexie walked out on stage and said, “I’m scared. I’m an Indian, and you guys are museum people.” [Followed by silence, and then laughter.] I took that (pun intended) to mean that he didn’t want us to seize his body as an object for our collections.

Where people are presented as content, we are also challenged to look again at our/their place in the world.

Maybe I don’t have a conclusion here, as my ideas will keep changing over time, and through interaction with others. I think content is assembled and experienced in many different ways, under the influence of people, power, and perspectives.

Counting Blessings, and Learning through Friendship

This time, I am responding to some of the questions Dave Cormier posed for Week 2 of #Rhizo15:

What can we measure that isn’t learning?
Think about all the other facets of the human experience… can we do better?
Is there a better way of looking at it?

One of my friends–and teachers–is a day laborer from Mexico. I learn a lot when I stop to talk to him on the way to the college where I work. What started with friendly greetings and an opportunity to practice my rusty Spanish has grown into near-daily inspiration.

These are some of the blessings he counted for me this morning:
– It is a beautiful day. No matter the weather, it is brightened by smiles and conversation.
– I am waiting to see if there will be work. God takes care of me.
– I have nothing. When I do have something, and somebody needs it, there it is.

Here are some of the blessings I count in that friendship:
– I measure my friend’s gratitude for the simple things in life as greater than my own. His sense of possibility is an example that helps to shift my own perspective.
– His patience with my intermediate Spanish enables connection and sharing of ideas, as well as development of my language skills.
– My effort to find the words to express myself, within a limited vocabulary, increases my empathy for others who have limitations to communication.
– Same as #1 in my friend’s list.

Communities That Keep Each Other Accountable

Much of the learning that shapes who I am takes place in the context of communities that hold each other accountable for how we put our values into practice. A shared public mission undergirded my graduate studies, with cohorts that questioned how to make museums and libraries relevant and engaging to lifelong learners, and how to embody the ethics of our professions. Those of us who have taught or studied together keep crossing paths in our professional lives.

Accountability happens even more in my Quaker community, where I have learned by osmosis and experience to trust in continuing revelation, and to listen to and encourage others’ emerging ministry. That tribe is always available, and calls me to participate in shared discernment and play. Walking an unpredictable path together can be tender, and is so much more alive when I keep showing up and let myself be teachable.

So I think about learning across a much longer time span than a single course or a degree program. Museums and libraries offer a wide range of information and experiences, and our users walk in with prior experience and walk out with more beads to string on a necklace.1 Experiences from many contexts build on each other. The ideas that pique my own interest often come from serendipitous collisions across breadth, which may or may not be followed up with more research into depth.

My engagement so far in #rhizo15 has mostly been conversational (responding to others’ blog posts and tweets and Facebook comments). Because it is not taking place within the boundaries of a learning management system, I don’t think of it as a MOOC. As I would have expected, I ponder what we are discussing in the context of my work, and many threads from #rhizo15 wove into my experience of a library conference on Friday. What I would not have expected is that I look at my other networks in terms of how what we are doing is also rhizomatic learning. #rhizo15 is prompting me to reach out much more: to respond to other tweets with questions or links, to notice what kinds of contributions strangers make to Facebook threads. Last night I picked up the phone when a faraway friend texted me.

At first, it seemed to me that any accountability within the #rhizo15 community came from the early pieces that were seminal for me: the gentle guidelines of the collaborative open learning recipe, and wise observations like the need for a flock to chase each other in Keith’s “commandments” post. And of course it was apparent that old-timers were picking up on and newcomers were being invited into interactions, friendships, and conversations that had developed in #rhizo14.

Now I see that the commitment to engage as much as we choose to within a six-week time frame also creates the voluntary accountability of responding quickly and perhaps repeatedly to what we want to keep alive (even if it means sleeping less to do so). From what others have shared, about collaborative projects and other connected learning, and also from Rebecca’s post about the #rhizo14 community supporting her during cancer treatment, I can see that the roots of this community spread and keep responding to life beyond the six-week boundary.

1 Hanson, Signe. “Exhibitions as Educators; or, The Mundane and Magnificent Art of Stringing Beads.” Journal of Museum Education 17, no. 3 (Fall 1992), 8-9. Also reprinted in Hirsch, Joanne S., and Lois H. Silverman. 2000. Transforming Practice: Selections from the Journal of Museum Education, 1992-1999. Washington, D.C.: Museum Education Roundtable.

Learning Subjectives, Self-Definition, and Listening

This post is a response to one of the questions Dave Cormier posted about “learning subjectives” (did he coin this?) for Week 1 of #Rhizo15:

What can we get done with subjectives that can’t be done with objectives?

The phrase “learning subjectives” immediately propels me into polarities: “subjectives” would not be objectives. As such, they would not quantifiably measurable, nor outcome-driven, and performance would not be keyed to them. Instead, they might be personal, not bound by chronos time, open to serendipity and to idiosyncratic or flexible intentions.

I have often defined myself in terms of how I differed from the norm: left-handed, vegetarian for half my life, atypical in religion. And yet in recent years, my eyes have been opened to how much I live within privilege: white, never truly hungry, educated in thought-provoking seminars. Being shaped by these characteristics affords me many choices, but also carries assumptions that I may still be too blind to question.

My own pursuit of “learning subjectives” takes place against the backdrop of long-held perceptions of “the way things are”. I am delighted by opportunities for creative or radical “aha” moments to happen within the bounds of traditional education. In the absence of clear opportunities to foster such experiences, I will seek out and hold up examples of alternative approaches that inspire me. Some of this seeking grows out of reactions to the norm, wanting something different, and not always knowing where to find it other than in polarity to what dissatisfies me.

I think I really have more to learn from others whose circumstances and questions are different from my own. My own subjectivity needs a healthy dose of listening. Conversation, anyone?