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Chapter 3

Experiential Pedagogies in Research Education: Drawing on Engagement With Artworks

Liora Bresler

Research education is a crucial stage in the development of scholars. On reading that the music

we listen to during our high school and college years is the music that most resonates with us

throughout our lifespan, dance educator Sue Stinson (Stinson, 2010) suggests analogously that

the theory we encounter during a doctoral program will continue to resonate throughout our

professional lives. I believe that this lingering resonance is equally true for the experiences and

mindsets we gain in our doctoral programs.

Undertaking doctoral research requires going beyond customary school contents and

expectations, with their emphasis on the known and the accountable. Students move from their

long-established role of acquiring a defined body of knowledge and set of skills to initiating

innovative projects. Intellectual innovation is based on fresh perception and the related ability to

reconceptualize. More than the completion of a specific project, research education aims to

cultivate a lifelong commitment to continuously develop and expand. The long and unpredictable

research journey needs to be supported by deep-seated intrinsic motivation to persist when the

solution is not evident. The commitment to be responsive to what is encountered during data

collection requires the ability to identify emergent directions and relevant contexts for the

inquiry.

In qualitative research, the researcher is the main instrument and researchers’ values are

embedded in the research endeavor. Most fundamental (and most difficult) to human sciences

inquiry is the aspiration to transcend habitual responses by acknowledging them, and in the

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process, create some distance from them. It is this distance that enables fresh perception and

deepened understanding. In this chapter, I discuss the cultivation of these qualities in a

qualitative research course, and in doing so, I suggest that an engaged experience of artworks

parallels the experience in qualitative research. Art is an example of a creation of a distilled lived

experience. Inquiry drawing on processes of appreciation is a useful way to cultivate skills and

mindset for qualitative inquiry. In the following discussion, I present students’ writing as

concrete examples manifesting their processes of observation, interpretation, conceptualization,

and identification of directions for further inquiry.

Just as a fish is the last to discover water, I had to step out of my arts milieu1 to discover the

compelling tools and mindsets that the arts have given me. These mindsets, as I discuss

elsewhere (Bresler, 2006a) include attention to form, dynamics, texture, and other nonverbal

qualities of lived experience; an improvisatory style; and an embodied stance. Most basic,

perhaps, is the ability to connect in a dialogical relationship essential to the arts and the research

enterprises. As a performing pianist, the experience involves a three-pronged connection among

performer, material, and audience. It is this three-pronged thrust that characterizes the conduct of

research, where the anticipated audience intensifies the observations. The assignments I present

are meant to cultivate such three-pronged connections.

Why experiences? These habits of mind call for more than intellectual comprehension. Elusive

ways of thinking and being that do not lend themselves to textbook knowledge and prescriptions,

these mindsets need to be cultivated through scaffolded experiences. Just as qualitative research

aims to capture lived experience, qualitative mindsets need to be cultivated through experiential

learning. Experiential learning theory is based on the demonstrated value of active, personal, and

direct experiences (in contrast to reading about, see Kolb, 1984).2 In the spirit of experiential

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learning, my qualitative research courses draw on the ways in which the arts provide rich and

powerful occasions for perception, conceptualization, and engagement for both audiences and

artists, highlighting their potential to cultivate the processes of qualitative research––

observations, inquiry, and interpretations. I ask students/researchers [QUERY: Does this refer to

either students or researchers? Or does it signify that they are both students and researchers? If

the latter, typical usage would be student–researchers.] to attend to data that include diverse

forms of representation: visual, aural, kinesthetic, just as they do in their qualitative research of

real-life phenomena. I expect them to acquire knowledge from nontextual sources and to develop

the ability to perceive, interpret, and evaluate complex interactions and patterns in a diversity of

forms of human expression. These are the very abilities that researchers will need as practicing

researchers in the social sciences.

Earlier in my teaching, course assignments called for each student to work on their own

individual research projects.3 I found that for many students, while producing well-articulated

papers using the vocabulary and sometimes theories acquired in their graduate courses, such

projects manifested more of a surface-level judgment intelligently supported by fieldwork

observations rather than the wish to genuinely understand people and situations. Consequently, I

changed the course assignment toward smaller tasks, aiming to create learning situations that

cultivate more specific skills and mindsets. I expect students, as part of their research journey, to

explore and traverse their own intellectual and emotional landscapes, the research conducted

“outside” through fieldwork and readings as well as the search and research conducted “inside,”

within themselves. It is this sense of active participation that lies at the heart of engagement with

the arts, of research, and, fundamentally I believe, of all transformative learning, which I hope to

cultivate in myself and in my students.

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This active participation involves a distinctive mindset that I regard as crucial for engaged, fresh

perception and scholarly interpretation, a mindset juxtaposing connection with detachment.

Sharing important qualities with aesthetic attitude (Bullough, 1912/1953), I suggest that this

mindset can be cultivated through intensified engagement with artworks. This chapter discusses

a specific pedagogy I use in my research courses to develop and nurture this mindset, a museum

activity that targets the skills of observation, identification of relevant contexts for inquiry, and

generation of directions for further inquiry. This activity takes one class session (3 hours) of the

15 sessions/45 hours of the course, in addition to the students’ prior museum visit that is

typically part of students’ homework.

The use of the arts in qualitative research is part of the larger movement of arts-based inquiry

(e.g., Barone & Eisner, 2006; Bresler, 2006b; Cahnmann & Siegesmund, 2008; Irwin & de

Cosson, 2004; Knowles & Cole, 2007; Sullivan, 2005). My own orientation highlights parallel

processes rather than products. I acknowledge the different purposes, expectations, and criteria

held for works of art and for qualitative research and the distinct communities of practice of the

two worlds.

In the following section I discuss the seemingly paradoxical notion of the detached connection

mindset. I then reflect on teaching experientially within an arts-based inquiry mode. Next, I

provide an overview of the course and the specific artwork assignment, and present excerpts of

papers by four students/researchers that manifest the processes of thinking and experiences

undergone through this assignment. I conclude with a discussion on the dialogical interactions

based on these experiences that deepen researchers’ perceptions and understanding and the

processes of becoming and growing.

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The Mindset of Connected Detachment

Detachment is typically regarded as the enemy of connection. I suggest here that detachment and

connection are most generative when regarded as complementary. Within a historical

framework, philosophies of science and research methodology trace the importance of

detachment and objectivity to the Enlightenment’s quest to reduce religious dogma in intellectual

arenas. Descartes imported the Galilean concept of detachment from physics into the discipline

of philosophy, later to be adopted as a fundamental axiom in the social sciences (e.g., Lincoln

and Guba, 1985; Spinosa, Flores, & Dreyfus, 1997).

What are the virtues of detachment? Detachment, Spinosa et al. contend, enables us to obtain a

wider view by extracting ourselves from the immediate pressures of the moment and seeing what

is before us in terms of its relationship to other matters.

To understand what is happening, say, in a bustling port or on a battlefield, a port

supervisor or a general who seeks detachment would find high ground from which

to view operations below in their interrelations as a whole. Detachment enables us

to extract ourselves from the passions of the moment so that we can be objective,

that is, think and speak out of the composed mood that characterizes both our

normal life and those moments when we feel ourselves to be thinking most

clearly. (Spinosa et al., 1997, pp. 6–7)

These examples point to the two-sidedness of detachment, detachment from passion and

detachment in order to see all the relevant interconnections. The former facilitates the latter.

These two types, Spinosa et al. maintain, support a third type—detachment from habitual and

practical forms of seeing. I suggest that detachment from habitual seeing is characteristic of the

practice of both artists and qualitative researchers. It entails a process of “making the familiar

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strange,” requiring that we go beyond recognition of the familiar, toward heightened perception

(a point made by Dewey, 1934; for a brilliant elaboration of this point, see Higgins, 20074).

[QUERY: Check date. It is 2008 in the Refs.]

Detachment in social science research has come under fierce attack by those with postmodernist

views. Max Weber’s quotation made famous by anthropologist Clifford Geertz (1973), “man is

an animal suspended by webs of significance he himself has spun,” [QUERY: Please include

page number for quote.] conveys the impossibility of distance in studying any culture. The

rejection of the notion of objectivity (e.g., Lincoln and Guba, 1985; Peshkin, 1988) meant for

many the rejection of the notion of detachment. Empathic understanding (see von Wright, 1971;

van Manen, 1990) came to distinguish the aims and processes of the human sciences from other

forms of research. Detachment and connection were generally regarded as incompatible

opposites.

The animosity regarding detachment and connection went both ways. Within a Cartesian

research culture that has highlighted objectivity and distance, empathic connection, putting

oneself in another’s place, signifies not just a major conceptual shift, but also a violation.

Traditionally, social science tabooed connection to the so-called “subjects” for fear of emotional

entanglement. Avoiding connection was relatively easy to follow in the field of laboratory

psychology given its setting, structures, and key participants––mostly rats and other animals. It

was harder to maintain in disciplines that required prolonged engagement in social settings and

extensive interaction with human participants. Indeed, anthropologists pioneered taking a

reflective stance to research (thus bridging detachment to the aforementioned “suspension within

webs of significance”), incorporating critical examination of the ways that researcher and others

have been mutually shaped in the process of fieldwork. In this process, the dialogical, reflexive

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nature of fieldwork and what it meant for the findings of research became an important

methodological issue (Wasser & Bresler, 1996). Still, the view of detachment and connection as

incompatible persists.

I suggest that the field of research methodology can greatly benefit from moving beyond the

dichotomy of detachment versus connection. The challenge of qualitative research is maintaining

an interested connection to what we study, as well as detachment from our habitual forms of

seeing and judging, upholding the necessary distance involved in disciplined scholarship. In

striving toward this precariously balanced mindset, I find it useful to distinguish between

connection and attachment, which I regard as the “near enemy”5 of connection. Attachment is

invested in a specific outcome, whereas connection is invested in the process of inquiry,

involving a certain amount of equanimity about the outcome.

Experiential Teaching Through Engagement With Art

In his chapter “Experiential Understanding: Most Qualitative Study Is Experiential,” Robert

Stake (2010 [QUERY: Is this reference to the book? If so, please add chapter name and page

numbers to reference.]) argues that the difference between qualitative and quantitative inquiry is

epistemological, one based on a perception of knowledge that is personally constructed versus

knowledge as discovery of what the world is. This distinction, suggests Stake, is somewhat like

the distinction between teacher-centered teaching and child-centered teaching: preparing to teach

in didactic fashion is different from arranging experiential opportunities for the learner.6

Agreeing with Stake about the experiential nature of qualitative research, I regard a course as an

occasion rather than as a tool.7 My courses, then, are designed to be occasions for students to

engage in developing skills of observation, attending to contexts that shape the understanding of

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cases, cultivating curiosities that will generate further questions—all toward deepening skills in

meaning making and interpretation. These habits of attentive, nuanced observing and

conceptualizing need to be facilitated through theories and skills, as well as through experiences.

Why artwork? Artworks are distilled experiences of their creators, aiming to represent lived

experience. In the museum activity in my course, the artworks function as cases, “bounded

systems” (Stake, 2010) that provide rich encounters for meaning making, evoking personal

resonance. Not all engagement with art, of course, is conducive to fresh perception and

interpretation. The typical museum visitor, I remember reading somewhere, spends about 90

seconds with each artwork. Intensified engagement, especially for people who are not regular

museum visitors,8 needs to be scaffolded by guidelines that provide structure as well as open-

ended space for personal journeys of inquiry—perceptions, conceptualizations, and discoveries.

Interpretation is key to artwork and to research. I am particularly fond of Terry Barrett’s

description of interpretation: “Interpretation is articulated response based on wonder and

reflection. Works of art are mere things until we begin to carefully perceive and interpret them—

then they become alive and enliven us as we reflect on, wonder about, and respond to them”

(2003, p. xv). I believe that the interaction between the researcher and their projects is indeed

based on wonder and reflection, becoming alive and enlivening us. My course assignments aim

to foster that wonder and reflection.

Indeed, artistic experiences offer important models for a connection within an analytic state. In

his book Move Closer: An Intimate Philosophy of Art, John Armstrong (2000) identifies five

aspects of the process of perceptual contemplation of an artwork that, I believe, exemplify this

relationship: (1) noticing detail, (2) seeing relations between parts, (3) seizing the whole as the

whole, (4) the lingering caress, and (5) mutual absorption. Although these specific terms were

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generated in the area of art appreciation, these aspects operate when embarking on the

performance of a new musical piece in the process of making sense and coming to know it.

The museum activity in this research class is conducted early in the semester. Targeting the skills

of observation, conceptualization, and generation of further inquiries, it is intended to build a

foundation for subsequent class activities and eventually fieldwork research. On a basic level,

this activity seeks to support students/researchers in forming an intensified relationship with a

case and getting beyond their habitual rapid ways of seeing and hearing, in the same ways they

will need to do with their own research projects. Toward that end, I structure a visit to the local

art museum,9 asking students/researchers to choose two artworks. The choice of paintings,

sculptures, or installations, compared to the ever-moving temporal world of music, drama, and

dance, implies stability of qualities.10 Here is a brief version of the assignment:

1. Choose two artworks, one that appeals to you and one that does not (either one

that evokes aversion or one that leaves you neutral). Stay with each 25–30

minutes. Take field notes to describe in detail what you see, noting time.

2. Identify themes and issues, reflecting on their significance.11

3. What are you curious about? Generate a list of questions to expand your

understanding (5–6 questions each) to

1. The artist

2. The curator

3. A person of your choice

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Reflect on what it is that you would like to learn and how their perspectives will

enhance your understanding of the artwork and your issue.

4. Identify relevant contexts.

The assignment of two artworks, one that they find appealing, that is, that they connect with

easily, and another one that they don’t, is meant to facilitate two types of journeys. The

requirement to spend 25–30 minutes with each artwork, beyond habit and often their comfort

zone, parallels the prolonged engagement (Lincoln & Guba, 1985) in both fieldwork and data

analysis. This assignment, as I explain, is not meant to demonstrate knowledge in art history but

rather is centered on perception. Perception and description lead to the more conceptual activities

of deepened interpretation and openness to emerging themes and issues. Students identify their

wonderments and come up with queries and directions to further their understanding and

knowledge.12

What promotes dialogic, empathic engagement and aesthetic connection? The arts cultivate

empathy or, as Candace Stout terms it, “a disposition for sympathetic awareness” (Stout, 1999, p.

33). In her paper “The Art of Opening Dialogues,” Stout (2003) suggests that of all the

disciplines in the curriculum, the arts have the capacity to evoke sympathetic awareness,

awakening a dialogue. Inherent in each painting, poem, and piano sonata, she writes, there is

what Rader calls a “living presence that calls to the beholder: Welcome to my world. When we

attend to this artwork, we reach out to this living presence, and they to us, and we enter a

dialogue about life” (Rader, 1973, in Stout, 1999, p. 33 [QUERY: Are italics in original?]). The

living presence inherent in a work of art intensifies perceptions and heightens experience. I draw

on this notion of living presence to cultivate habits of mind that involve students/researchers in a

dynamic, personal dialogue. Ultimately, living presence provides the kernel of the public-

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directed act of communication through which researchers reach toward their audience (Bresler,

2006b).

In the spirit of expanding inquiry, I ask students to generate a list of questions addressed to

various people situated differently in relation to the artwork: for example, the artist; the person

who first bought the work; the curator in the museum; another museum visitor of different age,

gender, ethnicity. The exercise serves as a prologue to a subsequent exercise in the course where

students practice the craft and art of interviewing. The identification of relevant contextual

information is aimed to expand horizons beyond the concrete, bounded case: What else would

they need to know to better understand and relate with the artwork? Where will they search for

this information? This calls for imagination beyond the given.

Noting time is useful. In observing their unfolding engagement with the artwork and aiming to

cultivate appreciation for prolonged engagement, I ask students/researchers to record how long

they stayed with each artwork, reflecting on how the first 10 minutes were different from the last

10 minutes. I am often amazed by the commitment, concentration, and depth of insight that

students bring to the assignment. Some students stay beyond the allotted time. The journey with

the nonappealing artwork, a journey whose thrust is on opening inquiry rather than closing

evaluation, can illuminate how we form relationships with phenomena that trigger negative

emotions. Given that negative responses to phenomena are part of qualitative research, an

inquisitive observation of this encounter aims to provide students/researchers a space to reflect

upon and become aware of their current perspectives. Most students find that this sustained

engagement increases their awareness and understanding of their values, creating a space to

grow.

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Drawing on the core assumptions of the postmodern paradigm, discussed on the first day of

class, we reflect on the different types of “realities” (Lincoln & Guba, 1985) in what we study:

the measurable “objective reality,” manifested, for example, in the location of the work and its

dimensions; the “perceived reality,” acknowledging the physical and mental position from which

we perceive the artwork; the “constructed realities,” centering on social and cultural values in

what we study and evoking our own in the process of interpretation; and the phenomenological

“created realities,” not measurable, yet ever so powerful. Listening to class members’ sharing

facilitates awareness of multiple perspectives, including those different from one’s own,

considering what multiplicity can mean for expanded understanding. Given the centrality of the

“researcher instrument,” we discuss the values and lenses we bring to observations. We inquire

into the nature of dialogue and whether we are changed in any way by the encounter and by

listening to others. I ask students/researchers to identify emotions triggered in the interaction and

to note any shifts of understandings, cognitive and affective, and to observe when they approach

the event as a connoisseur (Eisner, 1991), that is, as an expert with ready-made categories, and

when they adopt an anthropological stance of an uninformed but interested outsider, with its

open space to see freshly.

Researchers’ abilities to form connections (and, in turn, to invite others’ connections through

communicating their work) is key to a research methodology that aims at verstehen,

understanding (e.g., van Manen, 1990; von Wright, 1971). A preceding necessary connection is

between the researchers’ empirical research and their personal knowledge, “folk theories”

(Bruner, 1996), beliefs, and situated values and perspectives—in Peshkin’s (1988) words,

subjectivities. Students/researchers being aware of their subjectivities, that is, having a space to

discern them instead of being immersed in (and thus blind) to them, opens a space for dialogue

and inquiry rather than closing it. Connection enables responsiveness to what is encountered,

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challenging researchers’ preconceived notions, reconsidering what questions to probe in the face

of emerging issues. Ultimately, I suggest that it is the distanced, spacious aspect of the empathic

connection that distinguishes between a self and the other, that establishes an I-Thou dialogue

(Buber, 1971).

Both detachment and connection comprise the affective, the cognitive, and the embodied.

Acknowledging the interconnections of these three aspects, I select course materials for their

potential to illuminate significant theoretical and practical issues as well as for their experiential

qualities and their communicative power. The course typically starts with fundamental

assumptions of the postmodern paradigm: assumptions about the inherent contextuality and

multiplicity of reality in the social sciences; the inevitable situatedness of the researcher; and the

necessity for new research criteria that these two basic assumptions generate (e.g., Lincoln &

Guba, 1985). We discuss concerns shared by qualitative research and the more traditional

positivist worldview (for example, the concern with the applicability of findings) and the

different responses within these worldviews (generalizability in quantitative versus

transferability in qualitative), given the different assumptions of the two paradigms (objective

truth versus multiple truths). We then discuss and practice the use of research methods

appropriate to qualitative goals, focusing on in-depth observations and semistructured interviews.

Students are asked to do “mini exercises” to practice those techniques in situations that are

relevant to them.

The examples I chose below are taken from the class I taught when I was writing this paper

(chapter) in fall 2009. All members of this group were doctoral students from the Department of

Educational and Organizational Leadership at the College of Education, University of Illinois.

The feelings of apprehension when confronted with an artistic activity, articulated in the excerpt

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below, are common. Though these feelings surface in this context in discussion of artwork,

regarding skills that were not taught in this or other classes, most students express similar

feelings in relation to the actual conduct of research. Michael Babb writes:

I must admit that this assignment caused me great trepidation as I consider myself

not very artistic (don’t I need to be artistic to complete this assignment?);

moreover, my family considers me not very artistic either, often referring to me as

the Neanderthal of the art world (I am okay with the critique, it is fairly

accurate). So, as we walked across the street to the Krannert Art Museum in

order to select and observe a work of art, I was already entering a state of

panic—how was I, the one who knows nothing about art, going to describe,

interpret, and question the works of distinguished artists? Disastrous images were

forming in my mind—surely I would be exposed as an incompetent and asked to

leave the premises. As I entered the facility, I made up my mind (actually with the

help of Ryen) [QUERY: If necessary, please include an editorial identification of

Ryen.] to focus on pictures and paintings; as Ryen indicated, it is easier to

describe something that is more or less one or two dimensional, like a picture,

verses a sculpture or piece of pottery which brings in multi-dimensions as well as

other complexities.

Sean Walsh expresses some of the same initial misgivings, referring to those types of realities

that he felt comfortable with bringing to the assignment and those that he did not:

Beginning with the Krannert Art Museum, I found myself to be very unexcited

about the proposal of viewing art. I have never considered myself a connoisseur

of the arts. Art was very unfamiliar to me, and I therefore did not choose to

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engage in the works. However, for this assignment, I was confident in my ability

to go into the museum and record what was there—the colors, the lighting, size,

and shape—that is to say all of the things that are grounded more in the objective

reality. What I was not prepared for, nor excited about, was having to intertwine

these observations with my own created realities. It was in this space where I

began, on a very elementary level, to catch a glimpse of what it means to truly

observe and create. Art to me previously was all about trying to figure out what

the heck the artist was thinking—a process that bored and irritated me because so

much of it did not make sense.

Choices of Artwork: Resonance and Sampling

Michael writes:

As I made my pass through the first floor of the museum, glancing at a wide array

of paintings and pictures, there was one that leapt off the wall at me: a picture of

a farm field after harvest. Many members of my family have farmed the land for

centuries, and to this day, I have strong connections with rural America. This was

the one! I was immediately drawn to this distinct image of rural America. I had

found one not-so-intimidating work of art; I was feeling a little better… perhaps I

can do this! I set my mind to the task at hand.

Personal resonance varies with each individual researcher. Beth Yacobi elaborates on her process

of choice, grounding it in her background, as well as in the immediate context of the present:

As I walked into the Krannert museum, I had no calculated piece of art that I

would select for an observation piece. I scanned two floors of various pieces of

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art only to be drawn back to one painting that I had seen as I first entered the

museum. I passed by it initially because I thought I needed to look at more art

pieces before making a selection. Perhaps it was the fact that I had a

conversation about my mother prior to entering the museum with the teacher or

that the expressions on the faces in the painting drew me in, but Neroccio

DiLandi’s painting of Madonna and Child drew me back to study it more closely

as it made me think of my mother more deeply. The initial feeling that the painting

gave me was one of loss and recognition. My mother died last winter of cancer,

and I recognized how powerful the mother and child connection is from the events

of that illness.

One theme that came up in the process of choice was “institutional legitimacy,” in this context,

within the arts institution and how this framing as art shaped the seeing. Sean writes:

Something as simple as the black and white photo I chose, a familiar scene to me

from the north woods of Wisconsin, suddenly became unfamiliar to me when I

investigated why I chose the photograph. Why was this photograph of such value

that it would be hanging in a prestigious art museum? Was there something in the

scene, a scene similar to scenes I had seen hundreds of times that I was missing?

Had I allowed that scene to become too familiar and thus was missing out on the

meaning that could be made from it? In the process of asking these questions at

the time, and since then, I have wrestled with not allowing myself to settle on my

initial or created interpretations of realities without challenging them.

The topic of choosing a research project and its focus was one that was highlighted in the course.

We talk about legitimacy––looking at areas for investigation raised in scholarly literature and the

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personal resonance of the research (and sometimes lack of): a raison d’être for conducting

research on various levels, individual and communal.

Contexts for Meaning Making

Immediate contexts for the chosen artworks included titles and information on artists. Michael

writes:

The title of the picture, which depicts a slice of rural America, is Cornfields in

Snow by Michael Johnson, an artist from Barrington (as a short biography on the

artist to the left of the painting describes), who has been taking pictures of rural

America for many years. The label adjacent to the picture provides the title of the

picture, the name of the author, the date the photograph was taken (1977), and

that it is a silver gelatin print. An information card found later in the museum

states that silver gelatin prints are produced from camera-taken negatives;

however, there is no indication of the process or the materials used to produce the

picture.

Just as they function in artwork, titles are significant in their role of synthesizing and succinctly

conveying meanings. In the quest to trace emergent directions of their project, I later build on

this museum assignment and ask students to keep “weekly titles” for their field notes, illustrating

the evolution of their thinking.

Physical contexts for the chosen artworks included the museum itself, the room, and the

neighboring pictures. Michael writes:

Before I describe the picture, I want to address contextual aspects of the

environment surrounding the work (I am approaching the description task by

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starting with a wide view and then narrowing my focus—an outside-in approach).

First, the picture is located on a wall roughly in the center of the museum; I think

it was the center, as I walked the building from end-to-end, and then back to

picture… it seemed like the center. The wall is painted white (perhaps off-white?)

and contains a total of four pictures; all are fairly close to the same size. In

addition to Cornfields in Snow, there are pictures of German lumber (yes, the

title tells us this is German lumber), California rocks, and another that I failed to

note and now cannot remember it (I am not sure why I did not write it down). The

room that holds the picture is not really a room; it is more of a two-walled

corridor that opens to a larger room of the museum at one end, a smaller room at

the other end. The larger room contains works of art that are video/audio based

and constantly producing loud noise—it was very distracting, and I found it odd

the curator placed these two types of art in close proximity (beautiful pictures

adjacent to high volume videos). The floors are made of wood, probably a hard

oak, and are beautifully finished. Also, the area around the picture was alive with

people, including my fellow students as well as other patrons—I found it highly

energizing to see others intently studying the many works of art of this beautiful

museum.

The situated, personal context of observation was an integral part of the assignment. Beth writes:

There was only one other person in the quiet, softly lit room, and I recall being

slightly embarrassed about picking a painting with religious content. I sat down

in front of Di Landi’s painting for twenty-five minutes and studied it closely for

details. Any aspects about the painting were jotted down on my legal pad.

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Historical and social backgrounds were key. Beth discusses the historical context of the church

and its influence on the artist:

In order to understand the painting better, I would have to research the historical

and social background of the church at that time and the impact that it would

have on the artist. To find answers for my questions, I would start with electronic

databases and resources on the Web to find out about the artist, Neroccio Di

Landi, and the technique called “tempera on wood.” Information could be found

also in books on the Italian Renaissance and from art professors, as well as the

curator of the museum. I would want to study other works from Di Landi and

compare them to this one as well as to other pieces like it to identify similarities

or differences to give me clues about the significance of this piece of work. I could

access the catalogs of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Louvre, and the

National Art Gallery to view images of similar pieces of work in order to gather

this information.

Michael addresses political and economic contexts. International relationships and their impact

on trade proved to be relevant:

The year this photograph was taken, 1977, Jimmy Carter was President of the

United States and the country was recovering from the problems of the Nixon

administration. In 1975, the US had signed an agreement with the (then) Soviet

Union to provide grain, corn and other items from the agricultural sector of the

country (members of my family were excited about the prospects of increased

prices that would arise from increased demand). However, relations with the

USSR fell apart during the Carter administration and led to a grain embargo in

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the late 1970s. My vague recollection is the agricultural industry in the 1970s

experienced short periods of rising prices and prosperity and long periods of

falling prices, failure and a market in decline. However, I am not sure my recall

of the industry and conditions is correct.

In the context of the economic and political environment of the 1970s, I would like

to confirm my basic knowledge. In the context of the current time, and looking

through my agrarian lens, I want to know more about the condition of the

agricultural industry: is it healthy or sick? Are farmers leaving the industry? The

nation has continued to enjoy an abundance of food, how has this happened if the

industry has been receding? Has technology positively impacted agricultural

outputs sufficient to offset a decline in participants? How have political factors

impacted the industry? Isn’t it odd that I own a farm and know so little about the

current state of the industry? Also, my view is that rural life is less stressful than

urban and suburban life, it is more wholesome, a better environment to raise a

family––is it? I would like to know if it is a better life as I have thought about

relocating to a more rural environment in the future.

Contexts are important aspects of the course. When reading qualitative works, for example,

Barbara Myerhoff’s classic “Number Our Days” (1978), we discussed in detail the various

contexts she provides––from historical, sociological, economical, and geographical to family and

personal—and the ways in which these contexts enhance our understanding of the case.

Descriptions

Bresler 21

Even with a bounded system like an artwork, the boundaries between description of the setting

and the actual artwork were soft. Michael writes:

Continuing with my outside-in approach, Cornfields in Snow is held in a simple

wood frame that is light in color, perhaps oak, two or three inches wide, and is

beautifully polished—I ran my hand over the surface of the frame and there was

virtually no friction—it was very smooth (it later occurred to me that I should not

have touched the frame). The picture, including frame, is square and

approximately 18 by 18 inches in size (my estimate is based on the recollection of

a picture hanging in my office that is of similar size, and I was told by my

assistant that is 18 by 18—so, the accuracy of the estimate rests with my

assistant). The picture itself is of a farm field after the harvest of a crop of corn.

How do I know it was corn? The descriptive title tells me so; and, a few errant

corn stalks remained on the ground at the time the picture was taken. The picture

is narrowly focused, capturing, at the bottom of the frame, a section of land where

approximately twenty rows of corn had once stood. Also, the picture was taken

from the position of looking down (versus across) the now-empty rows. The corn

rows are distinguishable by the precise mounding of dirt left by the device that

harvests the corn (called a combine), which leaves a perfect trace of where the

corn once stood.

The picture reveals the long length of the cornfield, as the rows seem to extend

into oblivion; it is the trees that sit high atop a hill, and are on the distant

horizon, that finally terminate the landscape. High overhead is a solid layer of

clouds, mostly dark clouds (some very dark), casting an atmosphere of gloom on

Bresler 22

the farmland. A light dusting of snow covered the surface, most of it accumulated

neatly into the corn rows. The combination of the picture’s orientation (looking

down the rows) and the light snowfall perfectly captured the precision of the

farmer’s work—each row was almost perfectly straight and almost perfectly

spaced (I used a makeshift measuring device to check the spacing). It is the

precision of the experienced farmer that never fails to amaze me, as every square

foot of land is put to use, no stone is left unturned by the man and the machine.

Beth Yacobi’s descriptions are as meticulous, taking her to a different kind of dialogue and to

different inner landscapes:

The painting is an early Italian Renaissance painting that had been donated to the

museum in 1943. It is not a large painting, only about the size of an 11″ x 10″

picture. It had been created in the late 15th century and highly religious in

nature. The medium is tempera on wood and the painting itself is full of brush

strokes and textures as well as rich colors. It is a panel painting, with the frame

resembling a church window: arc shaped and made of wood. The wood frame is

old and worn, with a gold gild that has faded.

The subject of the painting is the Virgin Mary holding the Christ child with two

men standing behind her. All of the figures have halos behind them, and only one

figure is looking directly at the observer––the Christ child. None of the subjects

painted are smiling, but rather serious and thoughtful.

The Virgin Mary is the predominant figure in the painting, with a rich black cloak

and red gown underneath that looks as though they are velvet. While most of the

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painting consists of gold tones and muted browns, the red dress under the black

cloak is the most striking color aspect in the painting. The dress draws the

observer to the painting as it was painted in such detail with folds and texture that

you almost feel that it could be velvet or velour. The Virgin Mary is looking to the

left of the child, with a serene expression on her face, and is holding the child

firmly, but not in a clutching fashion. The child is naked, with a knowing

expression on its face. The man recessed to the left of the Virgin Mary looks to be

a prominent church figure by the fact that the cloak he is wearing is rich in

texture and color. He is wearing a hat that I have seen Catholic bishops wear,

and is very ornate. The hat seems almost three-dimensional with its jewels in the

middle of it protruding off the canvas. The figure is not looking at the Virgin Mary

or the child, but rather above at another point. The second man is plain, painted

in a plain brown cloak and seems to blend into the background of the painting.

This bearded figure is looking to the right of the Virgin Mary and child, but not

directly at the observer. There seems to be a yellowish cast to the whole painting,

but very subtle as the vivid colors of the Virgin’s gown and the jewels in the

man’s hat and robes are not diminished.

Descriptions, reflections, and interpretations are seamlessly interwoven. Beth writes:

Obviously, the themes and issues of this painting are the role of the church and

devotion to its teachings at this particular time in history. The mother-child

connection is what spoke to me in this painting as the Virgin Mary is a primary

figure and the Christ child secondary by their proportion to the canvas. The child

seems older in expression than its physical body, but vulnerable, as it is naked.

Bresler 24

While all the figures have halos painted around their head, it seems as though

their humanity is being emphasized, rather than their divinity. There is

humanness in the Virgin Mary’s expression, but it seems to go beyond the love for

her child as he is not the focal point of her gaze. She looks thoughtful, but

peaceful at the same time. She is not painted with jewels adorning her like the

man behind her, but is not plain like the other figure in the picture.

Michael writes:

As previously provided, I come from a family of rural Americans, from people

that lived off the land. The meaning I often find myself making of life’s events is

from the perspective of an agrarian. Through my lens, a primary theme

immediately surfaced: as I looked at the dark clouds and the shadows they cast,

as well as the snow that laced the open, empty, land (there is no house in this

picture, there are no people, there is very little sign of life), I saw the continued

demise of a way of life for generations of Americans. Indeed each and every year

brings a myriad of difficult challenges to the farmer, including weather

conditions, economic conditions, equipment problems and the continuous creep of

suburban American. The farmer spends long hours preparing the land, planting,

nurturing and praying—praying for rain (but not too much), praying that prices

will yield enough money to keep a roof overhead, praying for the opportunity to

keep the farm for yet another year. The photographer perfectly captured the

lonely, solitary struggle of the life of the American farmer.

Another (entirely different) theme emanating from Cornfields in Snow is

simplicity. The image exudes the uncomplicated (though challenging) life of the

Bresler 25

rural American. As previously stated, this image is of the land, the sky, and the

work of Mother Nature—and nothing else. Absent are the highways leading to

shopping malls, housing developments, high-rise office buildings and the

congestion that results from thousands of people wanting to be at the same place

at the same time. Absent are the power lines, covering millions of miles of the

earth and connecting to nuclear generators and other complex products that stem

from the genius of modern man. While the rural American has an avenue to many

of the marvels of our modern society, there remains distance between the urban

buzz of 21st century America and his/her land. The photographer of Cornfields in

Snow masterfully captures the essential, simplistic life of the rural American:

working the land, supporting the family and helping to feed the people.

I regard students’ sharing in class as a text to refer to, just like course readings. This is part of the

enculturation that what people say matters and should be treated as important text. Accordingly,

students were encouraged to refer in their papers to these sources when relevant. Michael writes:

This was a very challenging, very interesting assignment. As provided in the

introduction section, I was initially concerned about my ability to successfully complete

the work; however, information from the class and from the textbooks and articles

provided several concepts that proved valuable in the process of completing this paper—

they helped me to be an effective observer. For example, as I was in the process of

writing this paper, I reread my class notes and parts of the textbook and realized that my

analysis and interpretations of this photograph were being inductively constructed out of

the pieces of information I gathered as the observer. Prior knowledge of interpreting art

was irrelevant (a source of my initial concern—I had no prior knowledge); rather my

Bresler 26

impressions and interpretations took shape as I visually absorbed the work of art, took

pages of notes from my observations and spent many hours thinking about what I had

seen. I needed not to have some preconceived theory about the artwork. Indeed as I

studied the picture and then later my notes, layers upon layers of information

accumulated out of the barren expanse of land, the dark sky, the perfect rows, the snow,

the lack of any semblance of life. Each of these pieces of information were constructed,

taken apart, and reconstructed in my mind. Moreover, the construction of these pieces

was formed through my lens, under the context of my life’s experiences. The meaning

made of this photograph was out of my reality. It is uniquely mine.

As I complete this assignment, I feel like the experience was a small step in learning how

to effectively observe and record the happenings of life by using a structure and concepts

in order to formulate meaningful conclusions. Indeed this was just the beginning. I am

excited about what lies ahead!

Sean Walsh, continuing the journey from objective to interpreted realities addresses the role of

the literature and the group discussion.

Listening to others talk about what they saw in the artwork only frustrated me

more because I could not understand how they got so much out of a simple piece

of art. (I was even more unnerved to hear my classmates talk about the art with

such insight.) Being pushed to spend time with the art helped me to see that the

expression of art was beyond the familiar materials used and the message that the

artist was trying to convey. I believe now that the expression of art uses the

materials and the message of the artist to place the observer in a space that

requires them to wrestle with the realities that are before them and to make sense

Bresler 27

of them with their own realities. This is not to say that the observer is passing

judgment on the artwork with their own realities to judge them true or false or

acceptable or unacceptable, which is what I had done previously with art

(Bogdan and Biklen, 2003). In fact, I believe that the wrestling causes new

realities to be discovered. As was discussed in class, “It makes the strange

familiar and the familiar strange.” [QUERY: Does this quote need a reference?]

Journeys Based on Dissonance

Resonance is not always harmonious. Just as qualitative research involves encounters with the

jarring and the difficult, some of the most interesting journeys with artworks were based on a

negative response to the artwork. While students did not always “like” the artwork, the extended

time with it and the dialogue with it resulted in deepened understanding and perception of

complexities. [QUERY: This seemed too important a point to be a footnote so is moved into the

text. Please check if this edit is OK.] Acknowledging the diverse types of responses that the arts

evoke, and the dislike response which regularly functions as a major hindrance for clear

perception (in arts, as well as in research and in life), I ask students to choose two artworks, one

that they like—a positive resonance––and one that they don’t like––a negative resonance, either

aversion or neutrality.

Framing this activity as an inquiry often facilitated a mindset less caught up in judgment and

more open to perceiving and forming relationships with what is encountered, leading toward a

meaningful journey. Joe Simone’s encounter with a video, described here, is an example of such

a journey. Joe’s account of the artwork starts with a description (shortened considerably) of

sights, sounds, and movement, moving to an interpretive identification of issues:

Bresler 28

After spending nearly 45 minutes wandering in the Museum and scanning

artworks, I was met with an eerie image: a young girl’s face covered in a deep,

lush red stared at me through a television screen while dozens of people walked

past her. At first, the image disturbed me, and I didn’t like it. I put my opinions in

check and decided that this image was going to be one of the pieces that I spent

time observing during my visit to Krannert.

The image streamed through a 46″ LCD television screen hung in the center of a

plain white wall. On each side of the black framed television were two sets of

headphones. Next to the television were the labels as depicted on the left of the

artwork. I began viewing the image without headphones, but soon I realized the

need to hear the experience and placed them on my head. Although I later

realized that I began watching at the end of the video, I will begin my description

based on the point I first encountered the piece. Only after watching it from start

to finish did I begin to interpret the image.

The girl in the video faces the camera with her eyes closed, and her face is

smothered in red. She is draped in black clothing with a shawl adorning her black

top. Her hands are at her side, turned outward to the camera, and covered in red.

Her body stands motionless.

While she occupies the center of the screen, people stream past her, apparently

approaching from behind the camera and congregating at a building in the

distance. Most of the onlookers are draped in head garb or hats. Men wear a

variety of earth tone color jackets and shirts; women are draped in layered

dresses and blouses. Several people walk past her with sticks in their hands. The

Bresler 29

sound of people talking heightens as they approach the camera, then fades away

as they walk away replaced by the sound of the next approaching group. It is not

possible to decipher the actual conversations. It appears the scene takes place in

an African nation as indicative of the dress and dialogue heard through the

headphones.

The majority of people walk past the girl without paying much attention to her. A

few acknowledge the camera, but very few visually engage her. The looks on their

faces ranged from disbelief to disinterest. In particular, one man wearing a large

brown straw hat and blue jacket is so mesmerized by the scene that he actually

starts walking backwards to keep his gaze on her. Not seeing where he is walking,

the gentleman drops a packet and stops to pick it up.

In yet another scene, and seemingly out of nowhere, a car horn is heard just

before a car drives past the girl on the grassy patch of land and proceeds toward

the congregated area. There are no roads in the scene, just worn, grassy paths

from the steady flow of foot traffic. Shortly thereafter, the scene fades to black and

the same girl appears on a rocky shore in the piece Let Go. I took note of the Let

Go piece while reflecting in my journal on Not Yet (and nobody knows why not)

for about 10 minutes, noting the similarities between the pieces. At that time, the

piece faded to black and returned to the beginning of Not Yet (and nobody knows

why not).

The piece begins with the girl standing outside the building. She is dressed in

black and applying a general application of lipstick. While doing so, people

stream past her without paying her much attention. As she continues to apply the

Bresler 30

lipstick, her application circle starts to increase, creating a very lush set of red

lips. While applying it more forcefully to her lips, she begins to engage with

passersby, staring at them while deliberately applying the lipstick. Most ignore

her, but a few onlookers are taken in by her stare. Although her body doesn’t

move, her upper body gestures create the allure of a Siren….

While all description is interpretive, shaped by what we bring to the encounter, as we discuss in

class, the process of deliberate interpretation moves more obviously from the artwork to the self

and its subjectivity. Joe continues:

After spending some time observing and noting details, my attention shifted to my

subjectivity. My conscience needed to start making meaning of the experience to

try to understand the girl, the passersby, and the environment in which they

existed. My immediate thought was that it takes place in front of a church. The

wardrobe of the passersby and the manner in which they were congregating

indicate a formal setting, and there tended to be genuine camaraderie built into

the relationships. The building they streamed toward appears to be a one story

building that expands the background of the screen. What I needed to make most

sense of was the girl in the image and her relationship to that particular setting.

Based on the notion that the setting is a church gathering, my thoughts turned to

the girl’s actions.

At first, she acts as temptation. As she deliberately applies her lipstick, she

entertains the looks of passersby with intense stares. She continually moves the

lipstick in circular motions around her lips and face. When she is able to catch

Bresler 31

the attention of someone, she holds the gaze for as long as her head can turn, and

then she looks back to engage another onlooker.

The color of the lipstick, red, symbolizes sin, and her seductive application

process resonates with temptation. It was interesting that she chose this setting, in

front of a church for this piece. In making sense of this scenario, I couldn’t help

but think the statement was political. Here were all these people congregating for

a religious ceremony, yet none seem to be cognizant of the sin taking place right

before their eyes. In further analysis, I contemplated the geographical setting of

the art.

I then fixated on the notion that red doesn’t just symbolize sin, but it also

symbolizes death. The girl, by enveloping her face in red, was symbolically dying,

yet no one seemed to notice this; what they noticed was a freakish happening, if

they noticed anything at all. On a greater scale, I believe the artist is making a

statement about the suffering that exists in the world around us. People tend to

ignore the atrocities that don’t impact them in the comforts of their immediate

world.

Taking notice of the geographical setting once more and considering the time

setting, I thought it was a message about genocide. Her art symbolizes the fact

that genocide is running rampant in parts of the world, especially in Africa, yet

people walk past it and do nothing because it doesn’t impact their immediate

world, and therefore it is of no concern. Toward the end of the piece, she closes

her eyes, tilts her back, and turns her red-stained hands outward; the action

represents death and resonates with that of a Christ-like figure. On one level, the

Bresler 32

artist is pushing the envelope on whether the people even realize what the

purpose of their religion is (assuming it is Christian based on my interpretation).

Do they take note and put their religious beliefs into action, or do they just roam

in and out of church every Sunday never truly embracing what it is to be a

Christian, never truly realizing the need for their faith to extend beyond the

boundaries of their building.

On a deeper level, I find her message to symbolize the responsibility of inaction. If

the girl is indeed representative of the genocide plaguing the world, and the

people choose to ignore it, then the girl’s red stained hands symbolize the blood

that will be on every person’s hands unless they move to take action. In essence,

the whole scene depicts the act of suffering, dying, and death, right before

everyone’s eyes, yet no one seemed to take interest. She reminds us that religion

can easily become a social event with little meaning or inquiry. Mankind can fall

into a rut so deep, blinding him or her to the suffering taking place before his or

her very eyes.

Dialogues generate layers of interpretations. In class we discuss the different types of

interpretations: those that can easily be corroborated by the data (here, the artworks) and those

that draw more heavily on personal projections. Still illuminating, their tentative nature needs to

be acknowledged.

Bresler 33

Generating Questions

The interpretative accounts were followed by generating questions to others situated in different

perspectives. In the following section I selected a few questions raised by each student, to give a

flavor of the range of their curiosities.

Michael’s questions focused on the artist’s motivation, specific choices, and personal

knowledge:

What prompted you to take this photograph? Were there specific reasons for

selecting this particular cornfield? Is there significance in the time of day the

photograph was taken? Or the month/day it was taken? Is there significance in

the orientation of the photograph (narrow focus and looking down the rows)? Are

there more photographs of this nature that you have taken? Where were they

taken? When were they taken? Is rural America important to you? Why? Do you

know about the lifestyle of the rural American (do you have family members that

farm)? If so, what do you know? What does it mean to you? Do you like this

photograph?

His questions to the curator included his or her situated perspective in relation to this artwork,

addressing the curator’s unique perspective as insider in the museum:

Why did the museum acquire this photograph? Why did you group these four

photographs together? Are there common themes or other characteristics that

caused you to put them together? Why did you place this photograph (as well as

the other three) near the exhibits of loud videos? Do you have other works by this

artist? Do you have other works of this nature (scenes of rural America)?

Bresler 34

Michael’s third potential interviewee was the farmer that owns this cornfield and his farming

experience:

Why do you own/operate a farm? How long have you owned the farm? Are you

successful? How do you measure success? How old are you? How long will you

continue to farm? Are you the son of a farmer (are there generations of farmers in

your family)? Do you enjoy farming? What does your family think about life on a

farm and in rural America? Do they want to remain on the farm?

In the equivalent world of research, the first question could be (as we often see in class)

addressed to the author/researcher; the second to the scholar as editor (or to series editors); and

the third to the participants in research projects.

The questions were part of identifying additional contexts to understand the artwork. Questions

to the artist frequently related to the painting’s origin, medium, technique, and intent. Beth

writes:

The questions that I would want to ask the artist include: Why did you paint it?

Who are the background figures? Are they saints? What is the technique that you

used to get such vivid color and texture to the painting? Why is wood the canvas?

What is “tempera on wood”? How long did it take to paint such a picture? What

is the message you are trying to send with the picture? Who was it painted for? Is

it strictly about religious devotion? What is the historical and social context of the

Roman Catholic Church during this time? Where did you live? Does that have

significance? What is your life background? Why did you paint the Virgin Mary

in the striking red gown?

Bresler 35

Beth’s questions for the curator of the museum include—

Why this painting? What makes it different from any other renderings of the

Madonna and Child? Why was it put into the room that it is hanging in? What is

its significance? Is it content or technique? What about the donors of the

painting? How did they come to acquire this painting from Italy?

Beth’s third person was a viewer situated within a different perspective:

I think it would be beneficial to get impressions about the painting from someone

who is not of a Christian background and get their perspective on the work itself.

The questions I would ask that person would include: What do you think the

painting is about? What is it saying to you? Why do you think of its hanging in a

museum? What is its significance to the understanding of art?

Joe’s questions13 to the artist addressed the artist’s life circumstances, her lived experience of

creating the artwork, and her general views of art:

Based on my research of the artist, Donna Kukama, I learned that she is the

female subject in the piece. Questions are based upon that knowledge. Are you

also the camera operator? What were your first thoughts when you watched

yourself on the video? Did you have a hard time staying in your role or did you

have to shoot this more than once to capture what it was you were looking for?

What was your inspiration for creating this piece? What were your initial

thoughts of yourself when you watched the video the first time? What have you

noticed since your first viewing that helped you to better understand yourself?

Others? What did you get out of this project that you expected? What did you get

Bresler 36

out of this project that was not expected? What are the implications, based on

your piece, particularly for religion, politics, and world events? Why did you pick

this medium to express your beliefs? What was your experience with digital

technology before creating this piece? What are your religious beliefs? What is

your experience with war? What is your definition of art? How do you inspire

emotion through your work? What is the most important thing you hope people

take from experiencing this piece?

For the curator, Turnelo Mosaka, curator of contemporary art, Joe focused on his curatorial

perspective:

What types of questions do people ask about this piece? Do you feel people spend

more or less time viewing digital art than traditional art? How would you

describe the typical observer of digital art (age, gender, ethnicity, language)?

How would you describe the typical visitor to your exhibit “On-Screen: Global

Intimacy”? Did you receive the piece with the monitor and headphones, or was

this something you had to supply in order to display the piece. If so, were there

specific requirements you had to adhere to in order to acquire the piece (volume,

placing, size of screen, etc.). Do you feel the two pieces, Let Go and Not Yet (and

nobody knows why not), are meant to complement one another, or is looping the

projects just a coincidence? Since it is a digital piece, are there other copies of it

on display around the world or is digital art limited to only one original copy? Is

digital art more powerful because it exposes the viewer to more than the sense of

sight, or does the message get lost because it attends to so many senses? If

Bresler 37

someone were to purchase this art for their own personal collection, how would

you recommend it be displayed?

Reflecting on the impact of generating questions, Joe observed:

The best part about this question-generating exercise is the notion of

brainstorming. By taking the time to brainstorm questions and then reflect on the

questions, I was able to think about questions from various perspectives. I

especially enjoy the questions pertaining to the integrity of digital art and its

place in the art appreciation spectra. Is this the type of art someone would buy?

How would they display it?

I also enjoyed the questions alluding to the political statement of the piece. In

appreciating that perspective, it is important to learn the background of the artist

and the prior knowledge of the curator and visitor to see if a common theme

develops around the political nature of the work.

Researchers/students’ [QUERY: Previously, the term has been students/researchers. Please

check to see if the terms can be consistent.] papers demonstrate the beginning of a research

journey generated by this first assignment of encounter with artwork. In a class of 24 students, 22

gave ample evidence of a dialogue that was generated by an intensified perception.14 The

diversity of students’ backgrounds guarantees a richness of perspectives, enabling this

community of beginning researchers to discern the social and personal aspects of interpretation

and understanding.

Bresler 38

Private and Public Dialogue

The specific guidelines of the assignment combined with an open-ended space and a relatively

prolonged engagement and immersion with the artwork aim to encourage individual perception

and dialogue. Cultivating dialogue toward empathic relationships within distance is, I believe,

the most important aspect of qualitative research. It is also the most difficult. The activities of

description and interpretation are ultimately about an engagement that will go beyond surface

level toward a thorough analysis and dialogue, leading to a deepened understanding.

Philosopher Martin Buber articulated the concept of dialogue in relation to people and things as

“I–Thou” (in contrast to “I–I,” “It–It,” “We–We,” and “Us–Them” relationships). It–It people,

for example, he writes, “are apt to be great scholars of extraordinary erudition, with no time to

have a self. They are devoted to their subject, but it does not speak to them. It is a subject one has

chosen to study, and there may be others working on the same subject, and one respects them

insofar as they, too, have no selves and are objective” (in Kaufmann, 1971, p. 12 [QUERY:

While correct, this reference is to the prologue of Kaufmann’s translation of Buber’s work and

not from the essay itself. Please reword so it’s clear who is being quoted.]). Buber suggests that

we must learn to feel addressed by the human being behind a book (or, in this case, an artwork),

“as if a person spoke directly to us. A good book or essay or poem is not primarily an object to

be put to use, or an object of experience: it is the voice of You speaking to me, requiring a

response” (Buber, 1971, p. 39 [QUERY: This is a quote from Kaufmann’s prologue of his

translation of the work and not from Buber’s essay “I and Thou.” Please reword so it’s clear who

is being quoted.]).15 I–Thou and the implied process of a dialogue means that the “I” is changed

by the “Thou,” much as the artist is changed by his creation and the viewer by the artwork.

Leading to an intensified perception, this dialogue allows us to be reshaped by the encounter.

Bresler 39

In the context of research, the dialogue between artwork and viewer, I suggest, goes beyond

Armstrong’s (2000) five aspects of encounter with artwork, involving a transition from private to

public in the writing and communication of research. The written aspect of the assignment is

meant to support that transition from private to public. The difference between the private and

public was noted by Elliot Eisner in his distinction between connoisseurship and educational

criticism (Eisner, 1991). The communication with others provides a space for meaning making,

in what I see as a three-pronged gesture of research, where the communication with the audience

can enhance the relationship between the researcher and the researched. Assuming the role of an

animator (Bresler, 2009), the communication of the research and the eventual interactions with

our audiences intensify our engagement, contributing to the shaping of who we are.

Continuing the Experiential Journey

The museum activity, like a musical overture, holds the major themes of the course. Subsequent

assignments build on the museum visit and involve observations of live events and performances

where we all attend the same event, yet attend to it differently, in both description (selecting

what to attend to) and interpretation (the meanings we construct and the issues we identify).

These call for similar categories, but with an emphasis on the temporality of experiences. On one

occasion, after sharing our observations and interpretations of the event in class the next day, the

director of the play we had seen joined our class to respond to students’ queries, functioning as a

live (unlike the artist and the curator from the museum activity) interviewee. Indeed, many of the

things he shared with us (for example, the type of research that goes into his own work, his

primary goals as a director in a university campus) provided us with new and unexpected

perspectives that broadened our understanding of the event (Bresler, in progress).

Bresler 40

The final assignment, a methodology paper, includes metareflections on this and other

assignments. Building on the students’ choices of artworks, the class members reflect on

sampling (and its reverse, what they did not sample), including choice of settings and informants.

In discussing emerging issues and contexts we talk about which contexts were initially useful for

the conduct of the study. Which contexts emerged as being useful once the study was under

way? Which contexts were only minimally or not at all useful?

At different stages of the study, just as we did with the artwork, we pause to ask: What did we

learn from doing this observation? I prompt students to note their surprises; to indicate an

unexpected encounter, an emerging tension, an insight; to reflect on their research skills, on the

aspects of the research activity that were most difficult, most frustrating, most rewarding, most

conducive to learning; to consider what else they need to learn to improve their perceptions and

skills. These are the questions I ask myself after each study.

It is also important to talk about the ways in which the arts are different from research. We

discuss trustworthy criteria for research (for example, persistent observation, triangulation and

structural corroboration, auditing, among others, Lincoln & Guba, 1985; Eisner, 1991) as distinct

from criteria for the arts. Most important is the raison d’être of research. What makes a

worthwhile topic, one that contributes to our understanding, as well as to the larger research

community? It is that articulated issue underlying the observations and interviews that creates

valuable research.

As with a meaningful I–Thou dialogue, the experience of being a researcher, I have argued

elsewhere (Bresler, 2008), shapes who we are in a process of mutual shaping. The very

engagement with research, I suggest, parallels the engagement with the arts. In this engagement,

Bresler 41

the conceptual and the embodied, the analytic and the holistic and the convergent and the

divergent are interconnected and interdependent.

Research is commonly defined as a disciplined, systematic inquiry (Cronbach & Suppes, 1969).

Indeed, research calls for discipline and systematic work in different stages, from design to data

analysis and writing. There is no art without craft, writes sociologist Richard Sennett (2008): the

idea of a paper is not a paper; the idea of a musical composition is not a musical composition (p.

65). Craft—whether in creating art or research—is founded on skill and trained practice,

developed to a high degree. Just as becoming an artist involves proficiency with art materials,

becoming a researcher requires proficiency with the research materials. The line between craft

and art may seem to separate technique and expression, but this separation is false, as Sennett

shows compellingly in his discussion. A key purpose of the arts-based experiential approach in

this course is to encourage students to think about these aspects of art and craft, providing them

with occasions to practice them and reflect on their interplay.

“We teach who we are,” wrote Parker Palmer (1998, p. 2), famously, making a case that

teachers’ inner landscapes are central to what they do. Elsewhere (Bresler, 2008), I have argued

that other occupations, too, to various extents, are shaped by those who “occupy” them, referring

in particular to the occupations of researchers and artists. These paralleling experiences in the

arts and in research are also evident in teaching. They are created and shaped by connection to

and exploration of what we study, the craft and skills we need to develop. These processes move

recursively. Supported by a space for lingering engagement, inquiry is inspired by the deep wish

to understand and communicate to our audiences––fellow researchers or students. Ultimately,

conducting research (and, as I found out the teaching of research), like engagements with art,

results at its best in mutual absorption (Armstrong, 2000), propelling the process of becoming.

Bresler 42

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Author’s Note

Bresler 47

I am grateful to Michael Babb, Joe Simone, Beth Yacobi, and Sean Walsh for allowing me to

share their papers and insights in this chapter. I am indebted to Eve Harwood for her careful

reading of this paper and insightful comments.

Endnotes

___________

1 I was trained as a pianist and performed in solo and chamber music concerts. Before being recruited by Elliot Eisner to arts education, I worked at the Tel-Aviv Museum as director of music activities. 2 The literature on experiential learning has focused on articulating the process of moving dialectically between the modes of action and reflection (Schon, [QUERY: Is Schon spelled with an umlaut?] 1983). This interplay of doing and thinking allows educators, scientists, artists, business people, and researchers to interpret the outcome of their decisions and actions and make changes. 3 Which students often used for their early research requirement. 4 Spinosa et al. (1997) identify a fourth form of detachment that involves noting only the features of the things that most clearly serve the instrumental purpose at hand toward the creation of theory. Theory is an abstraction where we isolate the features of things that we uncover in our investigation and investigate how the elements are interconnected. As modern science shows, such a theoretical approach—reducing phenomena to the relations of context-free elements—can produce great insight and power when it comes to understanding the physical world but can miss a lot when applied to the human sciences (e.g., van Manen, 1990). 5 In Buddhist discussion of the four highest attitudes/emotions and sublime abodes, the far enemy is the opposite quality, whereas the near enemy is a quality that can masquerade as the original, but is not the original. For example, the far enemy of compassion is cruelty, where its near enemy is pity. The far enemy of loving-kindness is hatred, but its near enemy is attachment (Insight Meditation Center, n.d.). 6 Stake acknowledges that many teachers do both. 7 Here, I am paraphrasing Tom Barone (1990), who suggested that, when used for educational purposes, a text of qualitative inquiry is better viewed as an occasion than as a tool. 8 This approach is not limited to students in arts education. My students at the University of Illinois come from diverse disciplines. I have counted in my qualitative research courses students from 7 colleges and 17 departments on campus. 9 When teaching in Illinois, I conduct this activity in the on-campus Krannert Art Museum. I have also conducted this activity in art museums in Stockholm, Copenhagen, Helsinki, Hong Kong, and Launceston, Tasmania, among other places. The museum does not need to be big: a favorite setting is the cozy Giga gallery in the island of Stord, in western Norway. 10 Musicologist David Burrows (1990) has noted that where sight gives us physical entities, the heard world is phenomenally evanescent, relentlessly moving, ever changing. For a discussion of temporality and stability in research, see “What Musicianship Can Teach Educational Research” (Bresler, 2005). 11 What I often refer to in class as the “so what” question.

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12 Nobel Prize–winner Naguib Mahfouz suggests, “You can tell whether a man is clever by his answers. You can tell whether a man is wise by his questions” (in Gelb, 1999, workbook p. 2).

13 Selected from the 62 questions that Joe generated.

14 In one instance where the dialogue was surface level, the author addressed this in her final paper, reflecting

insightfully on hindrances and offering extended relevant observations.

15 Indeed, Buber is said to have exemplified in his personal life what he advocated in his writing. In his introduction

to Buber’s I and Thou, Kaufmann (1971) comments about Buber that he was not a man of formulas but one who

tried to meet each person, each situation, and each subject in its own way, bridging differences in age, cultural

background, and languages, listening and communicating.