Returning to Tokyo in 1874 from self-imposed exile, Japanese artist Kobayashi Kiyochika was met with a dramatically unfamiliar scene. His beloved home, the small traditional fishing village of Edo, had evolved beyond all recognition to the heavily modernised and industrialised Tokyo. The once quiet, ordered and functional community had transformed in character, purpose and size. Dismayed by what he witnessed, Kiyochika took to travelling around the metropolitan region and the vast Bay area observing and reflecting on the changes he was seeing unfold, literally by the day.
Trying to make sense of the scale and speed of modernisation, Kiyochika found that night time captured it best. At a distance he found Tokyo’s increased lambent glow via kerosene or gas lamps or very early electricity grids brought a new world to life. Near water he saw progress reflected as a thing of beauty despite its aggressive and irrepressible nature. However, in the face of such advancement and innovation, Kiyochika lamented times past. His works during this era document the arrival of light, locomotives and bricks. Despite the beauty and clarity of these pictures, they’re haunted — even animated — by a feeling of unease about the future.
Kiyochika presents a sense of disquiet. This is amplified by moody lighting. When people appear in his work, they’re typically depicted in silhouette, disengaged from one another. It’s feels as if they — not we — are the audience to these scenes of transformation, observing a world in flux, from the shadows and with an attitude of vague misgiving.
The sense of Kiyochika’s deep reflection on observation of a world at work, both close-up and at a distance, is something that has resonated with me of late. As I approach twenty years of teaching, I would suggest that now more than ever, educational ideals seems to orientate our gaze either towards the future or behind us towards the past. Some desire a future that resurrects the past, calling out and rejecting ideas or methods that may be considered synthetic or shaky contraband and leave students malnourished of knowledge. Other educators perceive an uncertain future that may present cognitive as well as material, spiritual and economic challenges. As such, they desire the development of dispositions as well as knowledge and are keen to dialogue and explore ideas rather than merely debate and limiting ourselves to the defensible. The stratigraphy of the views and approaches in the education community is truly fascinating.
I wonder if I am noticing it more nowadays because social media has connected educators more closely and openly and we can exchange dialogue with relative ease. One thing I am increasingly fascinated by is what might be termed the ‘essentialising’ of educational ideas, research and products. I know I, like others I have observed, have littered Twitter with stuff like ‘A MUST read’, ‘THIS …’, ‘X should be in the cannon of …’ or ‘what every educator should know about …’. I reflect and wonder why I and others do this? Does essentialising seek to awaken others and bring us any closer to establishing an educational resolution? In becoming more informed about what we do/can do, are we witnessing the privileging of guru-sanctioned and authoritative research? Is it undermining or supporting teachers and their work? Is this right? I am undecided, but it is worth the discussion.
Twenty years on, I still love teaching and feel proud to be a teacher. Like Kiyochika I observe change both close up through my day-to-day work, and at a distance through reading, research and reflection. I still see education as a thing of immense influence for all involved in it. I don’t believe in the sole occupation of a field of thought presiding over educational policy and practice. I worry about political carelessness from those whose work brings them into the sphere of education but whose own career trajectories limit their capacity for deep insight into the human nuances of the educational world.
Like my favourite Kiyochika piece, Looking at Evening Lights, I observe the illumination of change but feel a sense of foreboding. The economic transformation of education towards privatisation, the emergence of policy entrepreneurs and some massive concerns around data cast long shadows. I know that if I am to support purposeful change or help resist questionable influences, I must continue to be critically engaged, not a passive bystander.