studying to be a teacher in the modern day
I often wonder what my parents think about me studying to become a teacher, an art teacher nonetheless.
There is something so visceral about my want to teach- it feels like just another one of my body parts, something inherent and genetic. I love working with kids, mostly younger ones; they know so much more about the world than I do. As I keep moving forward in time they are the ones bringing up the back, reintroducing me the place I have now left behind.
It is entwined with my artistic practice. I don't want to be an artist in the traditional sense, or at least in the way I know a lot of my peers are aiming for. Blame in on my political identity or just my entire generations disillusionment with the world, but I can't imagine trying to schmooze my way into museums or selling out to social media to run a small business. I mean not shame to either side of the art space, but I realized that for me, my art is tool for learning and teaching.
But of course, as almost everyone in my life has told me, teaching in the US is awful. Everyone reminds me that I am willingly spending money on getting a degree and certifications that will get me a terrible paying job that may very well age me faster than my peers. I think about this myself all the time, reckoning with my passion for this career with the very real fact that I might not ever support myself in the way my parents envisioned I would.
I can see my classroom- It will colorful and mismatched, second-hand and absurd. I can see what I will teach, about understanding shape and color and the liberating freedom of creation. I can see my students, rude, kind, snotty, interested, and small.
I know I won't be rich, I know I won't have the same life as my peers, but I know I will be happy, and I couldn't be more excited.
Here's a cat and bird sipping tea! A dèmain.
