Dear Reader,
Matt posted this poem this week in The Studio. It speaks of trust, and family, the power of the arts, the past, and hopes for what might come next, and I wanted to pass it along to all of you as we begin this new year with big doses of both love and fear.
Beginnings by Jacqueline Johnson
I did not expect to find a river
so far inland.
What underground tributary,
lake is your source?
It goes on for miles into the
center of an unending earth.
Back then everything was music,
wind running through rooster hair,
scratchy weed, wild onion, wheat;
blue gingham skirt, long nappy braids,
brown and redbone too.
When they built the first pyramids,
those Nubian Negroes did not sweat;
they used music, ancient tones, hoot wails,
song, prayers, and shouts that lifted earth into air.
How did melody find you?
Girl-child fingers banged upon ebony
and pounced upon ivory keys.
All around were concentric circles of
arms and laps; family allowing and
trusting who you were—to just be.
Everyone—parents, aunts, siblings, and
cousins left the parlor room regularly
to you and those unseen hosts of
treble clefts and jazz arias yet to be born.
How does melody find you unless someone trusts you to just be who you are?What if we saw our work alongside children as an opportunity to help them find the melody they hear - one that is informed by the past that brought them here, and a whole orchestra of possible futures.
In his book, On Freedom, (which we’ll read in The Studio in March and April), Timothy Snyder writes: “In order to see our way forward, we’ll have to look back” - at the stories we know, we’ve told, we believe, and the histories that have made us who we are. He continues:
“’Living in truth’ could make sense in politics only when it was an attitude toward nature and the universe, not just ourselves. As the future crashes in, we can panic and blame others. Those predictable reactions make us part of the mob and the catastrophe. Or we can, as free, people, take responsibility, look deep into Earth’s past, and save our world.”
I wrote a lot more about this on Substack last week - for the full essay, I invite you to head over there. But here's a section: I’m beginning to understand that “Is it truthful?” isn’t the question I want to be asking. I’m wondering whether “Is it worthy of my trust?” is better? For example, do I want to argue with someone who wants to end discussion with a shrug and a claim of “fake news”? No. Not worthy. Or, for another, is someone who is willing to shoot someone in the face because they are feeling big feelings of frustration or powerlessness, worthy of my trust? I don’t think so. What about the boss who says he didn’t do anything wrong? Nope. People who blame the victim? Nah. I have to ask myself: What do I value? What do I believe to be ethical, moral, virtuous? I don’t have to argue with anyone over who’s right and who’s wrong. But that’s a really hard thing to let go of. I have to trust that the values and virtues and ethics themselves are worthy of trust, and trust that I have the right - the permission - the freedom to take responsibility for them. In The Book of Permission, Nona Orbach writes,
“Because permission enhances trust, people become more collaborative and generous. Receiving permission can help someone build a sense of her own competence and encourage gratitude.”
And
“One can see how significant early experiences of permission or its absence are to personal development. If we receive enough permission to be, and it is a constant, regular phenomenon of our childhood, it will become a foundation for our life. It is childhood’s inner oasis whose springs we can still drink from, an inner resource to rely upon and even share throughout life; it can be returned to and rediscovered, and is experienced as a sense of contentment, equanimity, and calm.”
I wonder if trust is, in some way, an antidote to our notion of lying - a way out of the struggle to win and lose that keeps us trapped in a model that requires a bottom in order for you to be on top. Trust is not freedom from constraints, but an invitation to participate. What if the story that reinforces the hierarchy isn’t worthy of our trust? What other story are we free to write - or will we be more capable of writing from this position of greater contentment, equanimity, and calm?
Maybe this sort of trust is also an antidote to fear.
In solidarity, from Matt and me...
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We enjoyed this month's Guideline talk with the brilliant Kelly Goodsir and Kirsty Liljegren this week. Join The Studio now to listen to their conversation about trust and the power of the arts - and to listen to the whole archive of discussions with other committed and creative educators.
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Kirsti and Kelly are the developers of The Creative Collection resources. They are launching an online course beginning February 4. This course invites educators to explore the value of creativity through a hands-on approach that blends theory and practice. They are also offering 'Meetings On-Demand’, ready-to-facilitate professional learning packages that bring relational encounters with the arts, reflective thinking, and playful exploration into teaching and learning for teams.
For more information
https://www.thecreativecollection.org/event-details/the-creative-collection-online-course-2026
WATCHING, LISTENING, READING
Good things:
This wonderful video of the artist Sheila Hicks who makes art to meet up with our need for softness.
An essay about What Great Art Saves When Nothing Else Lasts
The Telepathy Tapes episode about creativity
Here are resources for talking to young children about ICE from Defending the Early Years
One more thing:
“The occupations that are most relevant to freedom are the caregivers: the elementary school teachers, the preschool teachers, the childcare workers. A society concerned with freedom would respect such people and pay them well.”
— Timothy Snyder, On Freedom