I learned it from my kids

I can hear it now.  “McAbee’s gone soft!”

At least once a year I hear a student complain that I’m being too easy on the younger class of students in the Sculpture Studio.  Early in my teaching career I would dismiss these groundless claims but after a few years of repeated complaints, I decided I needed to take a moment and see if I had really changed.  It turned out that the reason they were saying that had more to do with their biased memories of how mean I was to them.  The pressure always seems worse when you’re in the class.  I’ve taken the time to explain this to a few students over the years and most have reluctantly agreed.  

After 24 years of teaching college classes, I do understand that I’ve changed how I teach.  I was probably a lot more strict with my students early on.  I know I held them to a very high standard and I could give you a list of names of currently successful arts professionals who benefited from those high expectations.  When I changed schools, I kept my high standards as much as possible but did have to make some exceptions because I was in a different environment teaching a different demographic.  

Since then, our degrees have changed and I’ve added a lot of classes.  We’ve also been through a pandemic and adjusted to a generation of students who relied on Individual Education Plans in high school and had a COVID adjusted educational experience.  So yeah, I’ve definitely had to adjust my tactics over the years.  My expectations remain high, though and the quality of education I deliver is also high.

I remember (and I think I’ve mentioned it in a post in the past) coming back from quarantine and having a conversation with a friend about how much students needed hugs.  I genuinely believed that their lack of physical contact and any real sign of affection had negatively impacted their mental and emotional health.  I decided that I was going to fix that by offering hugs to all my students when they returned.  I chickened out.  But there’s this other thing I didn’t chicken out on and I wanted to tell you about it.

My “teaching face” is that I’m an emotionless art machine.  I tell my students that they need to work all the time and that we can separate ourselves from our emotions and from things that might be going on in our lives.  I have often said that we can check our worries and anxieties at the studio door.  As a teacher, I know that I must practice this daily.  When you have a job to do, no one cares what’s going on in your life.  You still need to show up and be excellent.  Always trying to practice what I preach, after I held my dad’s hand for the last time ever, I drove home, got a couple of hours of sleep and was back at school early the next morning for class.  That’s exactly what he would have told me to do.  

It really doesn’t matter what kind of morning I’ve had or how I’m feeling when it comes to being an effective teacher.  I need to be able to give my all to my students if I’m expecting my students to do the same.  Two Augusts ago my art persona was in jeopardy.  My son started attending the school where I teach and every now and then he would come by my office or the studio.  I loved it and always wanted him to feel welcome.  I figure it was a bit of a comfort for him as he got used to life away from home.  The thing is, Blue has always been really great at this one thing:  telling you he loves you when he leaves.  I’ve always respected and admired him for this.  On that very first visit there were students around who only knew me as an emotionless machine.  When it was obvious Blue was about to leave, I had a moment of tension when I realized that in every other situation he would say “Bye, I love you” as he left.  I wondered if he would still say it with people around.  He did.  So much respect.  

My graduate mentor was very similar.  He was all business, all work, all the time.  He had no interest in your little feelings, he only wanted you to make great work.  The first time I saw him interact with his adorable toddler daughter, my world stopped spinning.  Who was this human man who was baby-talking with this adorable child?  Surely this couldn’t be the same professor who had just shouted in a wonderful British accent at an entire class of slacker students…possibly even cursing at us.

As Blue walked away, I rightly responded, “Bye, I love you too”.  I could feel the confusion in the air as students tried to process how my body had been snatched and had been replaced by some alien who clearly didn’t know who I was.  

Slowly and quietly, Blue and Violet (because she had learned the same habits from Blue) were teaching me that it was important to tell people you love them.  

This academic year I started to wonder if my students knew I loved them.  (You can find a recent post about this topic.)  When it became clear to me that some students did not know that, I decided to take a cue from Blue and tell them.  When I would finally gather my belongings at the end of a long day and walk through the studio, there would be a number of students working.  I announced I was leaving and said “Bye, I love y’all!”.

The response was interesting.  That first time, only a couple of close students were brave enough to say “Love you too!”.  Quickly, though, others followed suit.  After a few months of this happening regularly, I’m sure there are still some who just listen and don’t respond as I leave, but I smile knowing they still have to hear that they are loved.  

Soft you say?  Dude.  Anything but.  Pick a student and ask them if my classes or projects are easy.  They’ll tell you I yelled at them and demanded that they put in double digit hours in the studio outside of class time.  They'll tell you I told them to quit their job and break up with their person.  They’ll tell you this is their hardest class.  They’ll tell you I’m mean.  And I’m ok with all of that as long as they also tell you that they are certain that I love them.

Looking back on the former years of teaching, I wonder if those students knew I loved them.  I was really tough on people like Scherini, Sarah Gregory, Logan, and Molly at Winthrop and Ali, Emily, Armir in the early Lander days.  I was tough on them precisely because I love them.  It’s easy to not care.  Loving is hard. Surely they knew.  Right?  Surely.  

the origin story

A random photo because posts without photos look weird

When the internet was really becoming a thing back in the late 1990s, my job as a graphic designer was following right along with technology.  There were no computers in the art department when I was hired and for a couple of years, I worked on a black and white laptop to show my bosses just how much faster some of my daily tasks could be completed with drawing software.  If you don’t remember the sound of a dial up modem, you will have trouble understanding what a huge step forward this technology was for a graphic artist.

Quickly, desktop computers replaced the laptop and I taught myself CorelDraw software, the PC equivalent of Illustrator back then.  In the span of a few years, my 8 hour days had changed from standing at a drafting table and making giant enlargements of logos and designs on sheets of paper, to sitting in front of a computer and clicking a mouse all day.  Connectivity also changed and instead of getting photocopies of art from customers and walking that large drawing over to the digitizing office, the internet now allowed me to receive and send art by email, all without moving from my chair.  

These were the days when Facebook required a school email to sign up.  Though I never even considered Facebook, I noticed that MySpace existed and looking at that, I noticed that not only were people posting photos and music on their pages, but some would also post links to their blogs.  A blog?  What’s a blog?  Apparently this was short for a “web log” and that was just a tech word for writing down your thoughts and posting them for people to see.  Sometimes there were great stories from regular people and this was intriguing to me.  I often didn’t know the people in real life, but I learned so much about them from their blogs.  I loved seeing their photos and I loved reading their stories.  

Remember that I was chained to this large desktop computer for 8 hours each day.  I understood the importance of looking busy at work, so as the computer allowed me to complete my work with more efficiency, I realized that staring at the screen for work looked just like staring at the screen for fun.  I was able to get a lot of my work finished and then spend some time reading blogs.  I didn’t really watch reality TV but I think this was also the same time when that took off in popularity.  The lives and interests of regular people was becoming entertainment.

After being a spectator in the blog world for a while, I wondered if I was the type of person someone would enjoy reading about in a blog.  I guess my experience with the world of the internet has always allowed me to see it as a tool and to see myself as an active contributor instead of just a passive consumer.  If I started a blog, I doubted anyone would read it, but perhaps it could still be a useful tool for me.  I have long been a proponent of keeping a sketchbook and writing about my thoughts and experiences.  I wondered if a blog could be a type of digital sketchbook.  

In the summer of 2007, I got a Blogger account and with a great deal of trepidation, I posted my first blog entry.  I am certain that no one saw it.  I didn’t tell anyone I had a blog for years.  Eventually, a few close friends and my aunt Laura Jean found it and they became my audience of about 3.  Every time my aunt LJ got a new computer or device, she would have me create a shortcut for her to find my blog.  If I posted something she didn’t like, we would talk about it during my visits.  Occasionally I’d get a comment on a post but these were rare, even years later.  

Over the years, my approach to blogging has changed a few times.  I’ve probably been a couple of different people over the last 19 years.  I mean, I had to learn how to be a parent of humans, I made a significant career change, I turned 40 and then 50.  The world has also changed significantly during that time.  Everyone started doing everything internet related on their phones, they left their blogs to start posting on Vine, Instagram, Twitter and TikTok and people with zero discernable talent or personality became celebrities (and politicians).  With all the digital noise in the world, I don’t get the impression that many people still have regular old blogs.  

Lucky for me, I didn’t care if you read it when I started it.  Because it was a tool first and foremost for me, I’ve been happy that it has remained an effective place to store thoughts and be able to retrieve them.  Just like an old sketchbook or journal, I have the ability to go back through those old posts and remember who I was then.  Some of those old McAbees seem like distant memories, if not almost strangers.  

If you’re reading this, you may be one of the elite few who have decided to read my ramblings over the last few years.  If you scroll back far enough, you’ll probably find that I wrote something I no longer believe.  Something that is glaringly obvious to me as I flip through an old sketchbook or scroll through the blog is that change is constant.  I’m thankful that I’ve been a malleable human so far.  I hope I’ll continue to be open to change and growth.  Maybe you’ll read about it if I keep the blog for another 19 years.