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Rebelling together against the myth of the lone creative genius: how arts-based pedagogies enhanced community learning

by Katherine Friend and Aisling Walters

When we write about creativity, we often refer to the work of geniuses; [distancing] ordinary members of society from the act of creativity by reinforcing a perception that they could never be creative themselves (Dymoke, 2020: 80).

Digital story by Kate Shpota

The state of creativity

The damage wrought by the stereotype of a creative as an isolated genius seems likely to increase within the current context of the UK school system, where an overloaded curriculum and assessment driven pedagogies dominate. The 2023 State of Creativity report notes that creativity has been ‘all but expunged from the school curriculum in England’.  Educators across schools and departments in HEIs are attempting to resist the current educational practice which promotes students as consumers and centres our students as active producers in their own learning. Yet, as education policy from primary through to higher education continues not only to cut its emphasis on the humanities and creativity,  but also eliminate arts and humanities departments altogether, higher education runs a profound risk of further alienating students from the benefits of creative thinking and artistic practice.

Our undergraduates, being educationalists, use sociological and psychological lenses to understand the social and cultural landscape affecting both classroom learning and community education more broadly. Nevertheless, despite education being at the intersection of many academic disciplines (Sociology, English, Philosophy, History to name a few), students are often reluctant to incorporate alternative approaches into their learning and even less so into their assessments.

Fear and discomfort

As educators, we ask students to embrace discomfort when learning different theoretical approaches or understanding alternative viewpoints. But often, we do not ask them to embrace discomfort in operating outside of the neoliberal HE system, a ‘results driven quantification [which] directs learning’ (Kulz, 2017 p. 55). Within this context, learning focuses on the product (the assessable outcome), rather than the process (the learning journey). Thus, it is unsurprising that our undergraduates initially baulked at the idea of an assessment that incorporated a creative element, preferring essays and multiple-choice exams instead. Hunter & Frawley (2023) define arts-based pedagogy (ABP) as a process by which students can observe and reflect on an art form to link different disciplines, thus encouraging students to lean into uncomfortable subject matter and explore their place within in the wider world. To build more dynamic and critically analytical students, we had to simultaneously encourage an ABP approach so they would understand their academic and theoretical course content more fully while scaffolding their learning through a series of creative activities designed to engage students with different forms of learning and reflection. By incorporating cultural visits, mentorship, and creative assessments into the module, art enhanced subject teaching while encouraging students to think more deeply about their own practice (Fleming, 2012). Yet, incorporating practice was not enough, we were faced with the question: how do educationalists ask students to engage with their vulnerabilities around creative practice (the belief and the engrained fear that they cannot do art or are not good at art) and lead them to an understanding that vulnerability itself can be beneficial?

Perhaps, the most basic answer came by asking ourselves, are we, as academics, scared of implementing creative pedagogies because we are scared of showing our own vulnerabilities? What if we as educators fail at a task and our students see? What would happen if we became vulnerable alongside our students? Jordan (2010) argues that when vulnerability is met with criticism, we disengage as a self-preservation tactic. For Brown, acknowledging our insecurities offers a means of understanding ourselves, developing shame resilience and acting authentically. In our session, our vulnerability as lecturers was tested when engaging with textile art, specifically a battle with crochet. Our students saw educators who were not secure or competent in a task. This resulted in a small amount of mockery, but also empathy and offers of support. By stepping out of our comfort zone and embracing a pedagogy of discomfort (Boler 1999), we encouraged our students to challenge themselves. Romney and Holland (2023) refer to this as a ‘paradox of vulnerability’: by overcoming our own reluctance to be vulnerable with our learners we create connections and a sense of trust. We should add that the session explored women’s textile art as activism and the outcome, a piece of textile art, symbolically woven together by students and staff—all female.

Collective textile piece

Importance of community and connection

Once we examined theoretical and personal aspects of discomfort and vulnerability, to support and enhance our focus on creative practice, we drew on local cultural partnerships. The incorporation of cultural visits, mentorship from resident artists, and creative exercises enriched our subject teaching while simultaneously encouraging students to think more deeply about their own practice (Fleming, 2012). It also built an alliance between social scientists and colleagues in arts and humanities disciplines, capitalising on their expertise and years of honing ABP. Nottingham is a city where the legend of Robin Hood, outlaws, and rebellion intersect with vibrant cultural community. But many of our students do not engage with cultural spaces, leading to double disconnect, first from their own creative practice and second from the cultural sector altogether. Our students expressed their disconnect from the cultural heart of Nottingham was due to the spaces being ‘not for them’ or a worry that they would not ‘understand’ the art. By exploring the city centre as a group, walking from one site to another, we broke down barriers around these prohibited spaces.

Engagement with Nottingham by Alisha Begum

Once inside the Nottingham Contemporary, the resident artists told their own stories of fear, worries of judgement, and expressed anxieties of creative practice, thus setting our students free from the myth of the genius artist – untouchable by self-doubt. This realisation allowed our students to relax and engage worry-free into the creative tasks.

By joining in with these activities, lecturers and students learned alongside each other, tackling our insecurities regarding our creative abilities together as a learning community. Perhaps community was the most important outcome in the project as connection was central. Exposure to the cultural sites created a feeling of connection with the cultural heart of the city. Students also, perhaps more importantly, reported that they became more connected to an understanding of themselves as creatives, becoming more autonomous and engaged in their own learning.

Digital storytelling: Identity Crisis by Shahnaz Begum

Perhaps it is most appropriate to end this post with the voice of one of our year-two students—the transcript from a podcast created as part of her larger portfolio. She asserts:

Art in education is a goldmine of untouched opportunities [and can be] used to foster students’ holistic development, stimulate creative thinking and engagement with social justice. … and to my fellow Artivists, embrace creativity one canvas at a time.

Katherine Friend is an Associate Professor of Higher Education at Nottingham Trent University. Her work focuses on three themes: the underrepresented student experience on university campuses, the importance of undergraduate engagement in the cultural sector, and reconciling international and academic identities. Threading all three themes together are discussions of one’s ‘place’ and/or ‘space’ in HE and how social and cultural hierarchies contribute to identity, representation, and belonging.

Aisling Walters is a Senior Lecturer in Secondary Education at Nottingham Trent University whose research focuses on the development of writer identity in trainee English teachers, preservice teachers’ experiences of prescriptive schemes of learning, arts-based pedagogies, and students as writers. 


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Looking for Love in 2024

by Kai Syng Tan

It’s nearly Valentine’s, and I’m looking for love.

Don’t be silly, you scoff. Love doesn’t exist.

Silly Lovers  

Silly, then, for one Paulo Freire (1921-1997) to claim education as an act of love. Evoking the four-letter word no fewer than fifty times in the English translation of his Pedagogy of the Oppressed (1970) the Brazilian educator and philosopher links love with solidarity, humanisation and liberation, to clarify education’s mission as building a world where it is easier to love, and where educators must risk acts of love.

Laughable, too, that his contemporary James Baldwin (1924-1987) analysed love in its full range of possibilities, including erotic, platonic and familial, as well as relating to racial justice and the arts. The queer black author-activist is popularly understood to have compared the role of the artist to ‘exactly the same as the role of the lover. If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don’t see’.

One generation on, bell hooks (1952-2021) took things further. For the poet-professor, love is a ‘practice of freedom’ to ‘move against domination, against oppression’. More than an act of resistance, hooks is asking for a re-positioning of our very being, which demands a shift that is both ontological (how we are), as well as epistemological (how we think). ‘The moment we choose to love we begin to move towards freedom, to act in ways to liberate ourselves and others’ (1994). Critically, diversity is key – not contrary – to this love. The same way opposites can attract, a ‘beloved’ community is formed ‘not by the eradication of difference but by its affirmation, by each of us claiming the identities and cultural legacies that shape who we are and how we live in the world’ (1995).  

Laughable Academics 

Sure, love might exist, but these are marginalised lovers, movers and shakers from the last century. So woolly and passé, you scoff. Serious academics today do not talk about love. Nor do they laugh (much), you kindly warn. If you want to be taken seriously, grow up. Act professional.

Cheers, but I’m not just an(y) academic.

I’m an artist. It’s my job to be dotty. That’s why when the pandemic hit, I discussed how the queen of dots Yayoi Kusama gives form and direction to unknowns, and called for the governments to embed artists to strategise bold exit strategies and to curate new visions. I called this ‘artful leadership’, where artists catalyse change beyond the remit of art and design.  

I’m also flagrantly hyperactive and dyslexic. I connect dots in novel ways. I love mixing and mis-matching things, to see what happens. Like running with the arts and humanities, which has helped catalysed a movement (pun fully intended) of creative ‘running studies’ and running artists as change-makers

Although neurodivergence is over-represented in art and design, what makes my approach a-typical within HE and HE art and design includes my background as a working-class migrant. Others may laugh or mock, but my autism and thick-skin make me as impervious as the most wrinkled elephants. I laugh back, by calling upon the octopus to confront the elephants in the ivory tower with ‘tentacular pedagogy’. Driven by the art school ethos of creativity, courage, curiosity and change-making, but with its hearts in neurodiversity, decolonisation and intersectionality, this teaching and (un-)learning framework rallies art and design to play a pro-active leadership role to remove barriers in HE, update art and design’s mission to serve ‘society, the economy and the environment’, and fulfil UNESCO’s vision for HE to prioritise care, solidarity and social justice by 2050 (easy-peasy).

Out of Love

Easy now, dear, you say. We’re all grown up and sophisticated. Like the woolly mammoth, slavery, sexism and the lot are extinct. Move on, I hear you say. Why does your kind like dwelling about the past?    

Well, no more than those who like to reminisce of the mythical ‘good old days’, I shrug. Also, like the crafty Covid virus, far from being wiped out, the worst of us is alive and kicking, and have mutated to multiple guises.

Look around us. We are out of love. Pledges of EDI or DEI during BLM 2020 that have now all but DIED. Persecution of Black ‘supertokens’. Apologists insisting that such ‘policing serves democracy, not white western supremacy’, interesting given UK’s ‘democratic backsliding’. Systems that have ‘love only for the rich’, and where ‘only the rich dare fall in love’. Creating a false dichotomy between STEM and STEAM subjects by prioritising certain subjects, and letting others face ‘bonfires’. Funding bloodbaths, bullying bosses and toxic cultures in the arts, just like its counterpart in HE which remains elitist, racist and ableist. Poverty of imagination. Research and global bodies waxing lyrical about neurodiversity and creativity, but ignoring practitioners and those with lived experience. The double-edged sword of the declaration by the new freedom of speech tzar on how universities will be fined for curbing the rights to expression, because the insistence of neutrality applies to the powerful with trans-exclusionary views, too.

All amid the small matters of an ongoing double pandemic, (support for) killings, and (culture) wars.

Love Sick

If this makes you feel sick, stick with me.

I’d love to work together, not divide us further.  

After all, Baldwin had grasped that love is hard work. Love ‘does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does’, and is instead ‘a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up’ (1960), of individuals, of societies.

Building a beloved community, and building a community that gets the value of a beloved community, is hard work. You’d agree that to get there, to catalyse any form of meaningful change, education is key. It’s just as well that, like love, hooks considers education a practice of freedom, in her tantalisingly-titled book Teaching to Transgress (1994).

This brings us back to Freire, who states that, to foster change, love, as well as dialogue, are ‘indispensable’ (1970). Dialogue ‘cannot exist’ in the ‘absence of a profound love for the world and its people’. Founded upon ‘love, humility, and faith’, ‘dialogue becomes a horizontal relationship of which mutual trust between the dialoguers is a logical consequence’.

Love Letters to the Future

That’s why myself and many others involved in social justice and decolonial work in art and design have been opening up spaces for dialogue and action within and outside of HE centred on love.

I’ve been theorising a love-centred form of leadership. Rather than a trait or talent hinged on individuals, hierarchy, organisations, positions, genes or luck, I re-imagine leadership as a diversified, beyond-colonial, neuro-queered and (co-)creative practice, outlining ‘neuro-futurism’ as a multi-faceted toolkit within this. Care, compassion, kindness, joy, thriving and empathy are key in this (ignore the boffins who claim that autistic people don’t get empathy).  

But armchair pontifications are too cosy. Which is why my book draws on my own trial and (many) errors. They include my ongoing attempts to embody and test out modes of change- and future-making, as well as to foster such possibilities for others.

That was why I created a performance and installation last November, where I ran speed-dates with people from all walks, who also share their wishes for the future in the form of red tags that they tie to a staircase, which a visitor has termed ‘love letters to the future’ (Figure 1):  

Figure 1: ‘Peace and Love’ for 2050 (Tan 2023)

That was also why, as a jury member for the Yamagata International Documentary Film Festival in Japan last October, we awarded the top prize to an anonymous filmmaker who had been imprisoned by the Myanmar military junta. We get how life- and career-changing such a prestigious award can be for the filmmaker, and what a powerful message of solidarity for other creative makers equally imprisoned – actual and otherwise – such a move sends.  

That is also why, despite extensive challenges, I have remained thick-skinned as trustee board member of an arts and social justice charity, and helped to steer radical transformation in its governance, by embedding co-creation and anti-oppression policies and practices, leading to the appointment of its first, black neurodivergent female Artistic Director.

Love Seek

For the new year, I’m doubling down on my insistence on love. I’ll do so through a new project, entitled FAB PALS.

In the pilot, I will travel to different parts of my new adopted home of Hampshire, to look for artful leaders amongst hard to reach easy to ignore. This includes the Nepalese community who had made immeasurable sacrifices during the ‘good old days’ of the British Empire, but whose courage and creativity are now all but forgotten. I will volunteer at each site, to learn about their efforts on social and climate change, and how they survive and thrive within structures not built for and often designed to harm them. We will co-create stories set in the future, to visualise alternative, better realities that they aspire towards. These stories will irritate the dominant narratives of Hampshire as a twee stomping-ground of the elite, consistently ranked UK’s most desirable place to live in, and/or the best place to escape from a zombie apocalypse. Festivals are fab, so we will showcase this in a festival called Futures Artful Biennale (‘FAB’).

This can then be scaled-up and extended, to create a model of allyship and solidarity between HE and the community, in and beyond Hampshire. The spotlight will be on how the ‘undercommons’ within HE can find and team up with the under-dogs outside, and collaborate as artful leaders. Networks go beyond performative allyship and foster meaningful friendships, so we’ll do so through a network called ‘Partnering Artful Leaders’ (‘PALS’).

FAB PALS flips the narrative HE art and design as under-valued, as outlined in a report led by CHEAD. It does so by using EDI as a positive force and creative solution — not an appendix or problem. It will enable others, including ‘naysayers’, to learn about and from participants as consultants and collaborators. In the longer run, FAB PALS will co-develop a visual access rider with local communities about equitable ways of working with HE. FAB PALS critiques the common narrative of HE helicoptering into communities to colonise efforts, and/or confuse and harm with bureaucratic processes, contracts and forms demanded by research ethics offices thick with legalese to minimise risk for HE, then leaves, just as suddenly, once the ‘public engagement’, ‘impact’ and ‘diversity monitoring’ boxes are ticked. 

Out of Love  

Any discussion of the future must include the next generation, as well as education. My generation – myself included – have been responsible for much of the lovelessness and harm that we see now and for a while. Which is also why we must help to clean up after ourselves, to learn from beloved communities to push back on the push-backs. In particular, the bold interventions of queer, neurodivergent, multi-disciplinary Gen-Z artists such as Jacob V Joyce bring to live Freire’s explanation of love as an ‘act of courage, not of fear’ (1970).

In a new masters programme on arts and cultural leadership, I’ve also been calling upon hooks, Joyce and others, to not just decolonise, but love-bomb the curriculum. Rather than those offered by run-of-the-mill arts management degrees, the modules I lead on seek to dismantle the master’s story of leadership, and to build one out of love. This morning, I was more than proud to receive a 5000-word assignment entitled ‘love’ submitted by a student, which explores the role of oxytocin and power-sharing in leadership.  

Sure, the academy ‘is not paradise’, reminds hooks (1995). Nonetheless, education remains a ‘location of possibility’, and learning remains ‘a place where paradise can be created’. Freire adds that if ‘education alone cannot transform society, without it society cannot change either’ (2004).

The road ahead is quite definitely not paradise. Still, I’ve observed that many in the business of teaching — and especially teaching art and design — do what we do, despite set-backs, because we believe that art and design, HE and HE art and design, can be a force for good. That’s why we work with students, who will lead the following generations to ask better questions. We continue to risk acts of love, knowing that change, like love, takes time, and that we can build a world where it is easier to love. As artist-lovers, we want to make others conscious of the things they don’t see, and to replace harmful structures, cultures and mindsets with oxytocin, justice, solidarity, humanisation, liberation and joy, and move towards freedom.

If you don’t get this, it’s because only serious, artful academics get – and want to beget – love.

I’ve outlined my seriously silly efforts to beget love. It’s only been 25 years since my first full-time HE teaching role – I moisturise, cheers, love – and I’ll keep trying.

Do tell me about your efforts, so that we can join hands. 

Acknowledgements: The author is grateful to the many radical artist-lovers who have inspired her to look into love. The photograph is a detail of ‘Have a Speed-Date With Kai – Let’s Re-Imagine Our (Collective) Future Together’ by Kai Syng Tan (2023), as part of Ordinary Things, which was an exhibition curated by Professor Louise Siddons, The Winchester Gallery. The photograph was taken by Amy Hamilton.

Kai Syng Tan PhD PFHEA is a trans-disciplinary artist-curator, advisor and Associate Professor in Arts and Cultural Leadership, University of Southampton. Her book Re-Imagining Leadership with Neuro-Futurism: An A-Z Towards Collective Liberation (Palgrave Macmillan 2024) will be out in Spring. These are her personal views. @kaisyngtan