Tag Archives: language

Simple

12 Jul

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The Xhosa people of Southern Africa gave birth to one of our greatest human beings in Nelson Mandela. They speak the language called Nguni, which is also the common language of the Zulu and Ndbeli. Xhosa have no word for ‘Bridge’, except for…. ‘bridge’. This is surprising to me because the Mandela represents in himself a bridge sine qua non in South African and World Politics – his words and actions led to the reconciliation of white and black people following the dismantling of Apartheid and the building of a new nation state.

The word for river crossing in Nguni is Izibuko. Or a ford, where a body of water can be crossed safely on foot (far away from dangerous Hippos and Crocodiles). A Xhosa artist called Gogo, told me this and she also said that the word has a dual meaning – when spelled ‘Isibuko’ it means – ‘mirrors’.

At the crossing of a body of water do we not meet our reflection?

“Henkje,” my mother used to say ,”language is the key”. An air hostess had to learn quite a few in her day, so I always believed her.

It seems to me, however, that if words like bridge are not ubiquitous in human culture (because we don’t all build the same things, or solve logistical problems in the same way), then how is it possible to get all humans to understand each other before we accidentally recreate the Old Testament myth of the Tower of Babel?


After months of hard work creating commissioned pieces for my clients in my studio at www.woodenhenk.com, I recently awarded myself a few days of play time to pursue my practice.

 

Da Vinci Bridge

I was invited to build a much bigger Leonardo bridge at a public event organised by Ruth Nutter on Saturday 15th July, at Manor Fields Park, Sheffield – The Big Draw, Ruskin in Sheffield. This time I used Bamboo, grass stems instead of sticks from a hazel tree; oriental materials instead of occidental stuff. Lots of youngsters helped to build it and people climbed over it safely, including Ruth pictured here.

During the event a boy asked me, “Who designed it?”

‘Leonardo Da Vinci’, I said, ‘the famous 15th century Italian genius, do you know who I mean?’

“Yes,” he said, looking at me as if I had two heads, “but the bridge is so simple, surely somebody must have thought of this design before?”

“Simple things are hard to invent” I replied.

I suspected the lad had a point. It may be called a Leonardo Bridge, but one suspects that skilful builders like the Chinese and several other cultures may have been building free standing bridges from large interlocking poles for thousands of years.

PuqingBridge

It matters not, for the idea is so elegant and so practical, anyone can reproduce it, and simple ideas become the property of us all in short order.

It is this very simplicity that makes the Leonardo bridge so beautiful, the fact that anyone can make one and actually cross from one side of an obstacle to the other is enticing. Humans are all engineers and the act of making together makes powerful bonds between us.

To quote Willow Ferraby in the film above “As soon as there is a bridge between ‘us’ and ‘them’ there is ‘us’ and ‘the other us”. There is no longer a ‘them’.

As the architect Mies Van der Rohe puts it:

“Build, don’t talk”.

…it will help you to look in the mirror.

bridge in germany

 

 

Solo

25 Aug

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There are a crucial moments in life when we have to move from safety into danger in order that we may learn and grow. It was a brave mother (Helen Roach) who not only let her son, Adam, learn how to use a carving knife safely, but also, most generously, she sent me these photographs of the moment I let him take the tool and carve on his own. The intense look of concentration on his face and the way he folds himself around the work when he is flying solo is worth all the trepidation of tutor and parent.

Many years ago I re-trained to teach science at secondary level. It was clear to me that I could no longer rely on temporary contracts as a postdoctoral research fellow in Zoology to pay the mortgage and support my small family. I studied for a year at Durham University to gain a professional teaching qualification and thoroughly enjoyed the transition from laboratory research to classroom. What I loved the most was the way in which my teaching was reflected back to me by my students. In my final dissertation I invented the principle of the “Law of Convergence of Purpose” after a particularly stressful teaching practise field trip with a bunch of 14 year olds.

Their teacher had agreed to my taking them out to a woodland to get some hands on ecology experience: food chains, food webs, habitats – that sort of thing. Unfortunately the school only had a mini-bus capable of transporting 15 students and the class size was 28. This meant that the teacher had to drive me to the site, drop me off with half the class, and whizz back to school for the rest of them. These were the days before risk assessments.

He duly dropped me off with my share of expectant teenagers and drove off. With all the sampling equipment still in the van.

As the dust cloud settled, and realising I had better extemporise, I said the fateful words “Let’s be off then!”

They were. To all points of the compass, at high speed, yelling and whooping with the joy of liberation.

I was left with one student, a girl who looked up at me with one eyebrow raised and said “Will you get the sack then?”

A few seconds later I heard a commotion in the depths of the wood and with a sinking heart approached a group staring down into a deep muddy ditch. At the bottom was a boy stuck up to his knees in mud. “I don’t want to know what happened here” I said fatuously, and hauled the young man out of his predicament. He was missing a trainer, so I took my lunch out of its snappy bag and gave him a cheese flavoured overshoe as I waded in and retrieved his mud caked shoe. I had to write a letter of apology to his mother and reimburse the family for the damaged trainer. Needless to say the field trip was not a success.

Lesson one: language is the key

A few days later whilst on dinner duty in the school yard I witnessed a violent scuffle between two big fifteen year old lads. As I stepped in to separate me I was hauled back by a big meaty hand clamped on my jacket shoulder:

“Leave them to it lad” said the Head of Design Technology with a fag clamped between his teeth

“But fighting is against school policy!” I said indignantly

“They are not fighting lad, they are cuddling. They get very little physical affection in these parts, its their way of expressing affection”

Lesson two: things are rarely as they seem.

A friend of mine said “Ah yes, Anfield Plain – it is twinned with Sodom isn’t it?” Referring to the close proximity of the (by now defunct) steel mills which used to light up the sky above Consett. Anfield Plain school was originally set up for the Bevan Boys, conscripted to work down the local pit – that too defunct since Margaret Thatcher’s intervention in the early 80’s.

Bevin Boys

It struck me that all my science training and the success I had enjoyed as a researcher would be of little use if I did not learn to use language more effectively and, more importantly learn to listen to my students and their worries.

A couple of years later I was teaching science in my first job at Prudhoe High School. I had been given yet another bottom science set – a typical tactic of hardened heads of science; “Let’s see what the bastard can handle, I’m teaching the top set, fuck you” – policy. My lab (a shit hole) was open on both sides and used as the access corridor for the top floor of the school – so every Tom Dick or Cheryl could wander through. The class were watching me draw a big chalk diagram on the black board explaining the menstrual cycle (timely as one of them had ‘fallen pregnant’ – presumably by tripping over a sperm). As I was labelling it the Head of Physics wandered in:

“That is not how you spell Oestrus, Mr. Littlewood”

“Well Mr.Hanson, there is no penalty in the science curriculum for using the American spelling of the word as Estrus, which is easier to remember, and that is Dr. Littlewood to you”

Cheers from the class, scuttling away of intruder. We were not interrupted as much after that as word got round of my poisonous tongue.

I chose a single science curriculum for my class and they all passed – some with B’s – much to their great delight.

The Law of Convergence of Purpose states: Purpose will only converge when ideas and understanding become convergent – in other words use the right lingo buster.

Ask yourself this what right have you to teach? What gives you the right to take a child from a position of safety to a position of danger? Answer – the parents.

Never mind the curriculum, the poxy exam board, the idiot vote-catching politicians or your own expensive education, listen to the students and their guardians- they will give you the key.