April Fools: a term of derision, derived from the stubbornness of adherents to a previous calendar. This week, five years ago, in the Spring of 2009, I was explaining to my Virginia Tech Creative Process students how they would all carpool out to my home, how they must park in my limited driveway, and what kind of feast I would prepare: Indian masala rice, with coriander seeds, sultanas, and slivered almonds; pasta with homemade sauce and Parmesan; tamari- and sesame oil-sautéed vegetables; a giant fruit platter; onion dip, chips, candy, cookies, soft drinks. This is the yearly Field Trip to Ms. Vances, and a lecture (while all my 30+ students pack, seated on my living room carpet; another 30+ the next night). I call the talk Visual Literacy, and in this presentation I teach my students that art can--art must, in an environmentally fragile world, rife with fundamentalisms clashing--tell stories, and build bridges, as essays and conversations do. It is also my chance to demonstrate that I see my students as individuals, and that I care deeply about their ethics. That Spring, when Morgan Harringtons class came to dinner, Morgan kept the position she always chose in our McBryde 219 classroom. As she did on campus, she sat on my floor as close to me as she could. My friend Jenna Swann was videotaping that day; we used footage that included my lecturing which shows the beautiful Morgan Harrington on my floor, listening, in our award-winning documentary, A Gift for the Village, a ten-year project which I dedicated to Morgan. That day, after my lecture, I insisted students come back upstairs and enjoy another plate of food. And though I circulated to take care of everyone, it happened that I was there when Morgan was on the third step up to my kitchen. She had this expression--like she was shining from the inside out. I put my hand on her shoulder and asked, What? What is in your smile? What is it that you are seeing? She nodded, and Morgan answered, My mother needs to come here. Alright!, I promised, We will make that happen. The next time I remember Morgan that April afternoon, most of us were outside. I had told everyone: Go out into the garden. And remember: tulip petals are edible. They taste like cucumbers, or mild radishes. If you have any courage at all, youll go eat a tulip. I was good-naturedly harassing a student named Chris. He was reluctant to eat a tulip petal. Morgan laughed. She laughed as broadly as I had ever seen her laugh. She loved her classmate Chris. She loved Chris smile as he nibbled the tulip and said he would pass on the violets. She loved the gorgeous pure fun of it all, the permission to be welcome, the joy and celebration, the tremendous paintings, the insistence on passion, the candyland of the garden, the cats meandering. I remember how happy Morgan Harrington was. Radiant. On a magnificent April day in her last Springtime. In two weeks, now, another two classes will come out, with their cameras, their open hearts, their young smiles. I will feed the students as if they are royalty. Someone may smile and laugh about the ludicrous invitation to eat a tulip petal. Someone may be incredibly happy in the place that Morgan was. Whatever happens, my April Calendar will always be the Calendar of 2009. I will never leave the beauty of that Spring. I can never be fooled away from those memories.
Posted on: Tue, 01 Apr 2014 15:13:50 +0000
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