How Much Does Art Education Want?

When we were young, my brothers and I used to joke about how easy it must have been for our father to learn history in school. The joke, of course, was he probably did very well in history because there was not as much content to learn back then. But, kidding aside, there always has been much to learn about history—and histories—regardless of how far back in time one searches. There is no single history to learn and no way to know it all. The same might be said of art education. There is simply too much to know to enable adequate comprehension of its content. As the field evolves, it grows exponentially in form, content, and complexity. Is art education trying to do too much? Is it doing enough?

Like numerous issues that have come before it, this issue of Studies in Art Education reflects a breadth of interests, theories, methodologies, and goals that are representative, but not exhaustive, of the field at this particular historical moment. Borrowing a theoretical thread within Rachel Fendler’s article in this issue, I wonder if perhaps the field is merely a constellation of desire paths, connected tangentially to one another. Observing how Marjorie Cohee Manifold’s article traces the path of an introductory studio course for university students who are not necessarily interested in art from its origins in the 1960s through its evolution over time, I understand how the course and art education as a whole have endured pedagogical and ideological adjustments as well as shifts in instructional spaces from nontraditional to online formats. The works of Fendler and Manifold both challenge the more traditional ways in which students have learned about art and the practice of artmaking itself, and they open potential modes of delivering art content and providing feedback. Expanding on the previous issue of the journal, which was dedicated to social engagement, social practices, and the critical interface with everyday life, Lisa Hochtritt wonders in this issue what can be learned about social engagement and art education from a case study of art educators who participate in thrift shopping.

Additionally, Lea Kabiljo’s review of The Enemy (2017) describes a virtual reality work by Karim Ben Khelifa. Ben Khelifa’s work pushes the boundaries of photojournalism by situating viewers in direct communication with digital representations of pairs of people on opposite sides of armed conflict. Shelagh Gamble’s review of Rachel Branham’s “What’s So Great About Art, Anyway?” A Teacher’s Odyssey (2016) questions the daunting attempt of a single text to cover the breadth of content within art education. Gamble notes each of the areas taken up in the book could be the subject of its own project. Miranda Matthews’s review of Art, Disobedience, and Ethics: The Adventure of Pedagogy (2018) by Dennis Atkinson offers entry into Atkinson’s project of drawing on the work of education theorists to consider how art might move into new forms of existence and positionality. Gamble’s review inspires reflection on why some art educators feel compelled to cover an overwhelming amount of material. And Matthews questions whether art education is taking on too much in terms of “building a life” informed and influenced by emerging views on existence and positionality.

Going back to one of the earliest editorials in Studies, Kenneth Lansing (1962) wrote, “The remarkable increase of research in art education during the past 10 years has added much to our storehouse of knowledge of the visual arts. But, in the judgment of some people, we have been making some mistakes” (p. 1). The mistakes Lansing wrote about in his editorial were methodological errors he deemed “most apparent” (p. 1), primarily with respect to experimental research rather than research more broadly classified. Curious to know who Lansing meant by “some people” (p. 1), more than 55 years later, I suspect such an assessment of experimental research in art education could still be made with similar confidence, and I wonder: In trying to do a lot, has art education tried to do too much?

In Studies 25(4), Jean Rush (1984) wondered who decides which paths art education follows and which paths it abandons:

New ideas about what to teach and how to teach it come along in art education now and then. Some last, and some disappear. Some effect change and signify progress; others, inappropriate for time or place, are forgotten as events take a different turn. How is their relative impact assessed? In determining their value, who decides? (p. 203)

Overall, Studies 25(4) was dedicated to the unpacking of different perspectives on discipline-based art education and the Getty Center’s influence on the field. As Rush (1984) explained:

In the interest of charting evolution of the discipline-based approach to curriculum, the Editorial Advisory Board of Studies in Art Education invited some of the field’s leading scholars to study this time of change and report on the people who helped accomplish it, the nature of their work, and its implications for art education during the coming decade. (p. 204)

Might the members of the Editorial Advisory Board Rush mentioned have been the “some people” Lansing had in mind 2 decades earlier?

Additionally, Richard Salome, in his 1990 editorial, offered a summary of all the editorials that had been published in Studies up to that point. Thirty-one years after the journal’s inception, Salome described briefly the evolution of journal editors’ focus and thought. This overview was in service to Salome’s specific project as senior editor, which presumably was to provide guidance to authors as they received feedback from reviewers and revised manuscripts for resubmission. Salome (1990) wrote, “Studies can serve as a clearing house for findings in all areas of research related to art education if contributing authors write to communicate with all who read the journal, rather than members of special interest groups” (p. 123). What if trying to reach the breadth of readers was (and is) too much to ask?

Salome’s (1990) recommendations for clarity and “smooth reading through a continuous flow of ideas that interrelates the purpose, assumptions, and conclusions” (p. 123) still resonates with many of this journal’s potential authors now, nearly 30 years later. A common response from reviewers to authors over the past 2 years has been cautionary, frequently questioning authors as to whether their manuscripts attempt to do too many things at the expense of establishing convincing connections among the theories that informed the study, the nature of the study, and the outcomes presented for consideration. This type of reviewer statement is perhaps symptomatic of an intention on the part of the author to do exactly what Salome recommended: to offer a manuscript open to “all who read the journal, rather than members of special interest groups” (p. 123). Unfortunately, by trying to do too much, an author often can end up losing their own voice.

While it might be fair to assume art education is trying to do too much, one could also make the case art education might not be doing enough. Consider one more editorial written by a previous senior editor. In her final editorial, my predecessor, Mary Ann Stankiewicz (2017), wrote about how her editorial voice has been informed by her professional identity as a historian of art education as well as her identity as “a White, middle-class, cisgender female art educator on the downhill slope of middle age” (p. 261). Acknowledging her White privilege, Stankiewicz explained, “B. Stephen Carpenter, II… is Studies’ first senior editor who is a person of color and African American (as he was for our sibling National Art Education Association [NAEA] journal, Art Education)” (p. 261). In other words, it took both journals about 60 years to disrupt the unbroken cycle of excluding people of color from the role of editor.

Another trend among Studies authors to be inclusive has been to use the pronouns “we” or “us” when addressing an imagined set of readers who are assumed to share a common culture, interests, and perspectives. When used in this way, these pronouns imply all teachers are of like mind or are connected by some unspoken bond wherein one is able to speak for the collective whole, without exception, difference, or degree. Does the use of these pronouns indicate inclusion or a bond common among all art educators? How are attempts at inclusion communicated, and how much effort is enough?

To what extent is the expertise of the Editorial Advisory Board sufficient? The self-disclosed areas of expertise held by the journal’s manuscript reviewers are widespread, encompassing 82 areas. The most common fields of expertise among reviewers include arts-based research, art museum education, community-based art, contemporary art, curriculum, teacher education, public art, and youth culture. Among the least common over the past 2 years are critical race theory, postcolonial theory, quantitative and post-quantitative methodologies, queer theory, and special education. Every 2 years, fresh reviewers bring additional and different areas of expertise. How much diversity of expertise is enough?

As I leave Studies with this, my final issue, the senior editorial responsibilities shift to Dónal O’Donoghue. I am confident his expansive and formidable comprehension and tireless curiosity about the field of art education will take authors and readers to important conceptual spaces. I also thank Amy Barnickel for her solid and diligent work. As I have said many times in meetings, emails, and in my first editorial, the journal would not get published without her. I offer thanks to the members of the Editorial Advisory Board, as well as Juan Carlos Castro and Aaron Knochel who served as Media Review Editor and Commentary Editor, respectively. Thanks again to Mary Ann Stankiewicz for her wisdom and friendship. I realize these few words of thanks are not enough.

At the moment, the aims of art education appear to be well immersed in a constant progression toward definition. So, what if there is simply too much to say, too much to know, and too much to learn within institutional confines such as a field of study, a journal, or a school? Inspired by Rachel Fendler’s article, might research—or studies—in art education be a nomadic force that is always just outside, yet adjacent to—and in tension with—the aims of the field in which it resides? As an adult, I appreciate the experiences my parents provided for my siblings and me that inspired us to value learning as a nomadic force, one which is often out of bounds or in tension with the aims of schooling. I imagine art education may never resolve these tensions or ever know when enough is enough.