The Doctoral Journey in Dance Education and Drama Education : Reflections on Doctoral Studies by Dance and Drama Educators in Australia and New Zealand [1 ed.] 9781922454355, 9781921875991

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The Doctoral Journey in Dance Education and Drama Education

The Doctoral Journey in Dance Education and Drama Education: Reflections on Doctoral Studies by Australian and New Zealand Educators Edited by David Forrest

Au s t r a l i a n S c h o l a r ly

The chapters contained within this volume have been subject to peer review. © David Forrest 2012 First published 2012 Australian Scholarly Publishing Pty Ltd 7 Lt Lothian St Nth, North Melbourne, Vic 3051 tel: 03 9329 6963 fax: 03 9329 5452 email: [email protected] web: scholarly.info A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry for this title is available from the National Library of Australia. isbn 978-1-921875-99-1 All Rights Reserved

Design and typesetting by Sarah Anderson Printing and binding by Tenderprint Australia Cover image by Arda Culpan

Table of Contents Introduction David Forrest 

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The PhD journey from the supervisor’s point of view John O’Toole4 Do you need a tutu to teach dance in NZ primary schools? Ralph Buck22 Moving mountains by carrying small stones: Reflections on a doctoral journey Christina Hong

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The vanity of imagination Nicholas Rowe 

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Risk-taker: Meaning–maker Kathleen Buchanan 

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Passion and pedagogy: Researching as reflective practitioner Helen Cahill 73 Destination know-where: a road map of a PhD journey in theatre for young people Sandra Gattenhof 95 PhD Mountain Janika Greenwood 111 My dramatic playbuilding story Sarah Lovesy 121 Sitting down with uncertainty: A PhD journey in drama education Christine Sinclair

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Contributors Kathleen Buchanan taught as a primary teacher in country and urban schools. Her life-long learning included Special Education, Visual and Performing Arts, a Masters in Education and an Educational Doctorate after years of experience as a Drama teacher in Early Learning and Primary Education. Kathleen has been involved in school based musicals and performance which has incorporated the integration of the Arts into the school curriculum. She has conducted innovative and challenging workshops for students and teachers, providing opportunities to foster collaboration and resilience techniques. Kathleen’s drama experience includes NIDA training, Playback Theatre, Playhouse Theatre majoring in Improvisation. Since her teaching experience in Fiji and Japan, she has a keen interest in non-verbal communication. Kathleen advocates the intrinsic value of the process in Drama to encourage creativity and imagination using diverse thinking skills and dispositions in learning. Ralph Buck is Head of Dance Studies, National Institute of Creative Arts and Industries, The University of Auckland. His research and teaching focuses on dance education curriculum, dance pedagogy and community dance. Ralph is currently the elected World Dance Alliance Representative upon the Presidential Council, World Alliance for Arts Educators; Co-chair Education and Training committee, World Dance Alliance: Asia Pacific; Dance advisor, UNESCO International Advisory Committee, Second World Conference on Arts Education. Ralph’s teaching has been recognised by The University of Auckland Distinguished Teaching Award 2008 and the 2006 Excellence Award for Equal Opportunities. His research in Dance education is published in international journals and he has delivered

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invited key note addresses and Master classes in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Australia, Columbia, New Zealand and Fiji. Helen Cahill is senior lecturer in student wellbeing and deputy-director of the Youth Research Centre, Graduate School of Education, University of Melbourne, Australia. She leads research, development and evaluation projects in the fields of youth participation and health, and teaches in the Master in Student Wellbeing and Master of Teaching programs. She has developed a number of Australian and international school and community health promotion resources addressing issues related to drugs, mental health, life skills, reproductive health and HIV prevention. She provides training and participatory curriculum to assist artists, teachers, parents, and health professionals to use applied drama methods within wellbeing and empowerment programs with young people. Her current work includes a focus on youth wellbeing and participation in south east Asia with a five country trial of a participatory curriculum designed to assist women and girls to talk about sex and gender rights. Senior consultancies include development of a youth framework to inform UNICEF’s approaches to working with adolescents in emergency situations in countries in the Asia-Pacific region. Her research in the field of drama focuses on the use of applied theatre to enhance resilience in young people, and the use of poststructuralist theory to inform approaches to the use of drama for social change. David Forrest is Professor of Music Education in the School of Education and the School of Art at the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology (RMIT University). He has contributed to the fields of music, education and industry linked arts education, policy in music and arts, education and cultural development. He is a member of the National Executive of the Australian Society for Music Education and editor of the Australian Journal of Music

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Education and the Victorian Journal of Music Education. He has published The Doctoral Journey in Music Education: Reflections on Doctoral Studies by Australian Music Educators (2003), Journeying: Doctoral Journeys in Music Education (2009), The Doctoral Journey in Art Education: Reflections on Doctoral Studies by Australian and New Zealand Art Educators (2010) as well as three books on the Russian composer and educator D. B. Kabalevsky. Sandra Gattenhof is Head of Drama and a senior lecturer in drama and contemporary performance in the Creative Industries Faculty, Queensland University of Technology. Sandra has been chair and board member of a number of international, national and Brisbane-based arts, drama and youth arts companies. She has also been an arts education consultant to La Boite Theatre Company and Brisbane Festival. She is immediate past-president of Drama Australia, past-president of Drama Queensland and past Queensland board member of Young People and the Arts Australia. Sandra is a Drama Australia Board member in the role of Director of Arts Education and Industry Partnerships and is Drama Australia’s representative on National Advocates for Arts Education (NAAE). In 2006 she published a research monograph for Drama Australia titled Drivers of Change: Contemporary Australian Theatre for Young People. She is a recipient of the 2007 ViceChancellor’s Performance Award (in recognition of a significant and superior contribution to the work of the University); 2007 Carrick Awards Citation Nominee for Outstanding Contribution to Student Learning; and 2006 QUT Creative Industries Faculty Dean’s Award for Teaching Excellence (Early Career). Sandra’s research interests include theatre for young people, contemporary performance, intermediality, drama education, and new media/interactive teaching environments. Janika Greenwood is Professor of Education and Drama and Associate Dean of Education for Postgraduate Studies at the University of Canterbury, New Zealand, and is Director of Publications for IDEA (International

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Association of Drama and Theatre in Education). She is a playwright, teacher and researcher. Her doctoral thesis won a distinguished dissertation award from the American Alliance for Theatre and education. She teaches drama in initial teacher education and in Masters programmes, supervises a number of doctoral students, and works in a range of school and community projects. Her research publications include not only work in applied drama but also in cross-cultural education and social justice, literacy development, ESL, and arts-based research. Sarah Lovesy is a freelance drama consultant implementing workshops for drama students and teachers around Australia as well as teaching master classes at various Australian Universities. Currently she is also working at Wollongong University’s Bateman’s Bay Campus teaching Creative and Performing Arts. Previously she worked as a Drama Lecturer/Tutor at the Universities of Western Sydney and New South Wales, teaching undergraduate and postgraduate students to become drama teachers. She worked as Head Drama Teacher at the School of Performing Arts and Santa Sabina College Sydney, and was actively involved with the New South Wales Board of Studies Junior and Senior Drama Syllabus Committees, as well as writing for various educational bodies. Sarah’s doctoral thesis explored the links between imagination and creativity in the drama aesthetic of playbuilding. With her colleague Dr Christine Hatton she has published an international textbook called Young at Art: Classroom Playbuilding in Practice (2009, Routledge) which is a practical guide to playbuilding. John O’Toole was Foundation Chair in Arts Education at the University of Melbourne, and before that Professor of Drama and Applied Theatre at Griffith University. A teacher, drama educator and community theatre worker for over forty years, he has written and co-written many books on drama and arts education, both scholarly and practical textbooks, and he took his own Masters’ and PhD degrees mainly in order to help him write books.

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Since then he has supervised many PhD students, six of whom have won the American Alliance for Theatre and education Distinguished Dissertation Award. In 2001 that organisation gave him their Judith Kase Cooper Award for Lifetime Research Achievement. Nicholas Rowe choreographed and performed with The Finnish National Ballet, Australian Ballet, Sydney Dance Company, Royal New Zealand Ballet, Nomad Dance Theatre and Modern Dance Turkey. From 2000-2008 he resided in the Occupied Palestinian Territories working on dance projects with local artists, groups and community centres including El-Funoun Popular Dance Troupe, Sarreyet Ramallah Group for Music and Dance, Ramallah Dance Theatre and the Popular Art Centre. He holds a PhD from the London Contemporary Dance School, University of Kent at Canterbury and is currently a Senior Lecturer in Dance Studies and the Associate Dean (Postgraduate) for the National Institute of Creative Arts and Industries, University of Auckland. He has written extensively on dance in diverse cultural contexts, and his books include the performing arts workshop manual Art, during siege (2004) and Raising dust: A cultural history of dance in Palestine (2010). Chris Sinclair has recently been appointed as co-ordinator of Drama Education at the University of Melbourne. She has previously held positions at Swinburne University, as Co-ordinator of the Masters in Arts (Writing) and Deakin University where she lectured in drama education, theatre production and community arts practices. She also spent two years as a Research Fellow at University of Melbourne supporting the research program of the Chair of Arts Education. Christine is currently a Chief Investigator in an Australian Research Council funded project TheatreSpace: Accessing the Cultural Conversation, a large-scale longitudinal study into young people’s attendance at mainstream theatre. For several years, Christine has pursued an interest in ‘alternative’ research methodologies, including a performance

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ethnography project and a variety of arts-based research. Christine is a freelance community artist, working as a writer and director in many community settings and is on the Board of Drama Australia as Director of Publications. She is the current Editor of NJ, the international peer-reviewed journal published by Drama Australia.

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Doctoral journeys in dance education and drama education: An introduction David Forrest This volume complements the work on undertaking doctoral research in music education (Forrest, 2003, 2010) and art education (Forrest & Grierson, 2010). The contributions are commentaries and reflections by educators who have completed doctoral research in dance education and drama education. The aim of the series has been to present a range of personal reflective journeys that could be of assistance to future doctoral candidates. As with music education and visual art education, the field is relatively small, but it is growing, emerging and expanding. It is anticipated that this publication will contribute to further developments. The accounts in this collection are concerned with dance and drama, and particularly the interface between dance and education, and drama and education. The contributions from dance educators and drama educators add more pieces to the expanding mosaic of doctoral research in arts education. The individual contributions divide into two sections. The first includes details of the research (thesis title, abstract, university) to provide a context for the discussion. In the second section the writers were given the option to reflect on their experience undertaking a doctorate or to respond to a series of questions. These questions include:

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1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

Why did you decide on your university? Reflect on the process you underwent to decide on the topic/thesis and how it changed/emerged? Reflect on the process you underwent to decide on methodology for the research and how it changed/emerged? How did you go about organising your life and work around the thesis? What advice would you give to prospective doctoral candidates? What was the most difficult memory of the time as a candidate? What was the most memorable time during the thesis? In retrospect what would you do differently in your journey? Other issues.

The fields of dance education and drama education are diverse and multifaceted. The areas of research and practice within the disciplines expand and the complexity of the research is refined. Each year the number of people completing doctorates increases. A diverse range of dance educators and drama educators were invited to contribute to this collection. A number declined due of work commitments at this time. The contributions cover a range of topics and a diversity of methodologies. The contributors provide their reflections, commentary, discussion and advice from the perspective of their own study, and in the case of John O’Toole from his extensive supervisory experience. I would particularly like to acknowledge Arda Culpan for providing the cover image for this book. This is the fourth image she has contributed to this series. She has through the span of these publications undertaken her own doctoral journey. In the previous collections reference was made to the opening of Homer’s Odyssey. It is appropriate to return again. The contributors have written with the knowledge that through these commentaries the journeys of others might be easier – but, hopefully just as adventurous, and in doing do they “sing for our time too”.

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An introduction

References Forrest, D. (Ed.). (2003). The Doctoral Journey in Music Education: Reflections on Doctoral studies by Australian Music Educators. ASME Monograph No. 6. Melbourne: ASME/ Common Ground Publishing. Forrest, D. (Ed.). (2010). Journeying: Reflections on Doctoral Studies by Australian Music Educators. Melbourne: Australian Scholarly Publishing. Forrest, D. & Grierson, E. (Eds). (2010). The Doctoral Journey in Art Education: Reflections on Doctoral Studies by Australian and New Zealand Art Educators. Melbourne: Australian Scholarly Publishing. Homer. Odyssey. Retrieved from http://library.thinkquest.org/19300/data/Odyssey/ virtodyssey1.htm

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The PhD journey from the supervisor’s point of view John O’Toole The Agony Column Dr Phil answers your questions about research degrees NB In Dr Phil’s column, all stories are based on the experiences of the author with real people, but names, addresses and some genders have been changed to protect the innocent and deter the litigious. No correspondence will be entered into.

A PhD sounds like fun and I reckon I’m up for it, but my colleagues at school tell me it’s a waste of time. Are they right, or what should I tell them? [email protected] That depends on you. There’s a bit more to a PhD than a fun run, and the thrill of the chase quickly gives way to the realisation that you are sharing half a decade of your life or even more – and your nearest-anddearests’ lives, too – with a very demanding companion. This column isn’t called the agony column for nothing. Doing a PhD is, or should be, a lifechanging event. As for your colleagues, you don’t have to take notice of them, but make up your own mind. Perhaps they don’t want that kind of change,

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or don’t yet need it in their jobs, but in case you and they haven’t noticed, the paperchase for increased qualifications with increased remuneration and better job prospects is certainly a strong motivator if you are as ambitious as you are feisty. On the other hand you might just relish the intellectual challenge, and like reading a lot of thick books with no pictures. I can’t tell from your email, but if either of the above fits you, then go for it. Oh, and do hang on to your idea of ‘fun’ – because you have to be (or become) passionately engaged in your quest, which is part of ‘fun’, and you also will need at times to be playful, sceptical and ironic, which is the other part of ‘fun’. You can do a PhD without having a sense of humour, but it’s a long and dreary road for you and your supervisor. I have a very good friend, a sessional drama lecturer who has been pressured by her University to do a PhD, but it’s nearly thirty years since she’s done any studying, and she’s afraid she is not clever enough at fifty. Her nephew got his PhD in microbiology at twenty five. She is doing some preliminary coursework with some honours students, and says the kids in the class are all far quicker and sharper than she is.  Kirsty, Ballarat I’d say that fifty is a very good age to start a PhD. At her age I was in the middle of my own PhD, which I had not even thought about until a couple of years before. And discount that young microbiologist; this is one area where the arts and the sciences are very different indeed. There is some evidence to suggest that scientists are at their intellectual peak in their early twenties; a PhD using orthodox scientific research methods needs a sharp and recently trained mind, and the candidate is usually supported by a research team of much more experienced researchers who can provide the background and tools to ensure certainty and accuracy of data analysis. Your friend has something which her nephew does not, called life experience, which can get in the way of science, but is absolutely essential in nearly all studies in human nature, which

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include both education and drama, both of which are quite different from science. Shakespeare is right and drama holds the mirror up to nature, but it’s a refracting, not a reflecting mirror, and if your bit of nature is a school classroom, then to read that refracting mirror you’ve got to recognise the scene and be able to interpret. Most studies in our area are looking at social contexts and human learning, which are ambiguous, shifting and full of far too many variables for data ever to be entirely accurate or conclusions entirely certain. The youngest student I have supervised insisted against friendly advice on going straight from his glittering honours achievement into a PhD, looking at classroom practices, before ever teaching full-time in a classroom, himself. He was a voracious reader, and figured that he could make up the deficit through book learning and his own very sharp intelligence – much like your friend’s nephew. To some extent this was true, and in the end he achieved a worthy and competent PhD, but he gave himself (and his supervisors) a very hard time, especially at the end, and mainly because of all those books. He had read everything in sight, but didn’t have any idea of what to accept and what to leave out – he found it very hard either to prioritise what the book writers were saying, or to be selective, especially when what he read did not match up comfortably with what he was observing in his fieldwork. He didn’t have the filters of experience to know what was worthy of believing, nor the confidence to cut out what was suspect or irrelevant. His first draft was three hundred thousand words, and he was incapable of bringing it below a hundred and fifty thousand without some very savage surgery by his supervisors. And good though the thesis was, I have always thought how much better, deeper and sager it would have been if that brilliant young mind had been more patient, and prepared itself for the task with a few years doing what your friend has been doing – getting out there, teaching. Incidentally and ironically he then went into a school, and so far as I know has not touched the scholarship since… too busy with the kids no doubt. I suspect that ‘your friend’ is actually you. You can tell ‘her’ that in the thirty years since she last studied, we have developed lots of arts-friendly

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methods of research, which in their data gathering acknowledge the ambiguity and dynamic changeability of our workplaces and research sites, and which in their data analysis honour and utilise the wisdom that thirty years of professional experience have given you (‘her’). And as for those smartass kids in your coursework group: you should know that they are actually all or most of them in awe of you, though they won’t tell you that. They know they may be quicker on the draw, but they also know enough to recognise real depth of lived wisdom that the mature students like you bring to the work. For over ten years I’ve seen the amazing effects of drama in classrooms, both as a teacher and as an actor and director in TYA (Theatre for Young Audiences), on kids’ learning and their lives. I’ve got my own TYA company and I have decided to use its visits to schools in some research that will show the principals and teachers how drama increases literacy and learning skills, self-esteem and self-confidence in public, and social skills, especially for kids at risk and with special needs. Where shall I start? [email protected] Don’t. Go back to your company and stay doing what you are doing, and get better at it, and more critically reflective, then come back and apply again. Johnny, what you are trying to do isn’t research at all, but advocacy, and it’s wildly overambitious anyway, as well as hopelessly impractical. You actually sound very much like me, several decades ago. If you are still reading this after that start, don’t despair, but get patient and get clever. Those of us who have experienced the power of drama and theatre in education know what you mean, already, instinctually – that’s why we continue to change costumes in school toilets and endure the casual putdowns of those who are still in the dark but have all the power and status. But those latter folks have also heard our grandiose claims and stories for nearly half a century, and generally don’t believe them – and they are usually too

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busy with the tasks of orthodox wisdom to take time out to see and feel the power of drama for themselves. But just occasionally they do, and you could make yourself useful by focusing your TYA work on just one thing at a time, making sure it speaks not just to the students but their teachers as well, and encouraging those teachers and principals to spare the time to experience it and talk with you about it. Then you might have a convert or two on your hands, especially if you are honest enough to see with their eyes the things that might still be wrong or inadequate about your work, or at least the tradeoffs you have had to make; that’s not weakness. It’ll be a lot more convincing to acknowledge the deficits and gaps and failures, as well as the triumphs. That, you see, is a vital part of any real research – what we call looking for the negative data. You can and should make a start before you do any formal research study. First off, look at your Company program evaluations which I’m sure you’re expected to distribute: how genuinely even-handed are the questions? Do you invite that negative data? How carefully gathered is the data, or do you just dish out the form to those busy teachers or the principal, and then collect it at the end, or even let them send it back days later, when some of them will just have taken the line of least resistance and ticked the number 2 box (‘satisfactory’) all the way down, because they actually didn’t see much of the show but don’t want to miss out next year? Have you found a way to get genuine and thoughtful responses from the students themselves? When you’ve achieved a way of evaluating your company’s work which does all of that, then you will be ready for your PhD. A close friend and colleague over many years wants me to be her PhD supervisor, even though we now work several thousand miles apart, and her own university does not have any other drama specialists. Is this wise?  Chong, Melbourne.

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There are really two questions here, one of relationships and one of logistics. I have found in several instances, if the relationship works, the logistics will too. From your friend’s point of view, to know your supervisor in advance is a priceless asset, as many PhD students in education apply to a university, perhaps because it has a highly reputable faculty, or is local, and they have to take pot luck with whoever they get. Our field being small, fortunately most students can know or easily find out about their potential supervisor before they enrol. I am always admiringly surprised at those brave souls – often from South East Asia, sometimes from Africa – who take the punt on an Australian or British university with a drama reputation, but with only distant connections or even none, and come over ready to spend three years or more in this foreign place… I have had several, and fortunately, so far at least they have ended up successful (all but one, but that’s another story!). But for many of them, and their supervisors, it has been hard work matching both cultures and study habits. Forging a strong personal relationship with the supervisor is always a crucial aspect of that, and in the end gratifying to both, as educational to the supervisor as the candidate, and often very long-lasting. Starting at the opposite end, with a personal and professional relationship already forged, has obvious advantages…but also a dangerous potential drawback, I have found, which you would be wise to acknowledge in advance. If there is an element of competitiveness in your relationship, as there often is in long-term professional friendships, it can create really awkward issues for you both; equally, if either or both of you deep down doubts the other’s ability; or again if you have a radically different philosophy or belief system. In any of these cases, you shouldn’t touch each other with a bargepole. I had a friend – of long standing – with probably elements of all three of those issues in our relationship – which neither of us acknowledged. He very sensibly (probably instinctively) chose one of my other colleagues as his supervisor, and had great success initially, at Masters’ level. Unfortunately, when that supervisor left suddenly, effectively abandoning him, my friend

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was forced, reluctantly, to accept me… and for two years we had a really awkward time, during which for whatever reasons his enthusiasm and commitment waned; my colder, logical approach dampened his spiritual vision and ardour; he didn’t enjoy giving me his very roughly written drafts to read, and I enjoyed reading them even less. Then by the time I too left, as far as I knew he had just given up and defaulted. Later, I heard that he was picked up by another more simpatica colleague, who somehow helped him through to completion. He did not respond to my email congratulating him, and I have not seen him since. If you are sure that those interference factors are absent, both of you should take the opportunity with both hands. A robust professional friendship is a gift from the gods for supervisor and student alike. I’ve supervised two colleagues based next door, and had many warm and wonderful discussions, and quite a few intellectual battles, in the doorway between our offices with them both, separately and together. These were as revelatory to me as to them, but more importantly, they came away better focused – and both of them deservedly won international awards for their theses. [Memo to any supervisor… see if you can attract highly talented and experienced students: the opportunities for reflected glory are endless!] There are lots of other advantages, both before and after enrolment. In your case, your friend has the opportunity to discuss the whole project with you before embarking on it, so you don’t have to start where new appointed supervisors often do, trying to pull a stranger’s rough and vague idealistic outline into some sort of shape, simultaneously trying to read between the lines what the student’s underlying experience, philosophy and prior reading might have been. Last week’s column dealt with half my question, about relationships with supervisors, but quite ignored the other half, about problems of distance. Can you please finish the job?  (Getting impatient) Chong, Melbourne.

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Yes I’m sorry, Chong, my editor’s word limit stopped me from the second bit. As I said, the logistics of distance are never insuperable if the spirits are willing (and if the university regulations permit or can be bent). It certainly helps – and for some students, they may feel it essential – if the supervisor and student can meet face to face on a regular basis, especially in the first year, so from your point of view, the best solution would be for your student to come to stay where you live – and I’m often amazed how enterprising people can be in achieving this. I’ve had a couple of Chinese and a Japanese just come over bravely by themselves, like I described last week; a Kiwi bring her husband over for three years; an African bring her husband; another African bring his wife; and another African come over for the threeyear stretch, but bring his wife over for six months in the middle, when it got too lonely; and yet another African come over, and during the next three years entice her husband and several grown-up offspring over to Australia, where they are all now happily settled. For all of them, children and families were not a problem or could be managed remotely, and Australia is a very attractive destination for a few years. Luckily in all these cases, we have a capacious house with a large spare room, which they all needed for varying lengths of time. That is not always possible, nor is it necessary, if your student is highly motivated, is a self-starter and has staying power. Thanks to electronic and cyber-technology, you can have a strong, regular, immediate and ongoing supervision relationship remotely. I am supervising two students based in another Australian city and both doing their fieldwork in China. We enjoy our monthly skype, and from one of them, my co-supervisor and I get long emails full of queries and insecurities, both of which can be answered at length on line, or by a phone or skype call. The personal relationship which we discussed last week also reinforces this remote correspondence: I sustained a long-running email correspondence with another Kiwi through a ritual based on the fact that he was a passionate All-Blacks rugby supporter, and we never failed to start our emails by baiting each other on the latest

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football news. After that start, any critical comment by me about the direction, variable commitment or quality of his PhD work, and any unease or problems he was having and needed sorting out, seemed like mere trifles. Face-to-face contact is still valuable, of course, and he and I also took advantage of a characteristic of the drama education and applied theatre context which you too may be able to use: we are a small community, with a finite number of conferences and congresses that we tend to attend where possible – and our conferences are usually stimulating and lively and good social events too, unlike some academic disciplines. He and I would arrange to attend the same conference, at least once a year, and put aside at least half a day (as well as drinking and yarning time) for a thorough supervision, eyeball to eyeball. I do this wherever possible with students from whom I am physically separated – and with two others it proved a boon for quite a different reason. Both these students were good candidates, but during the second half of their degree were removed quite a distance from the stimulus and fieldwork that had been the mainspring of the PhD. They had both moved internationally to new and demanding jobs, and downgraded their PhD to part-time status… which was further reduced within the context of their jobs, where completing the PhD was neither a priority nor specially encouraged, and they were given other fierce priorities and timelines. Each of these fine candidates had a further weakness too: one was very easily distracted – quite the party girl – and as far as her PhD was concerned, it was mainly out-of-sight, out-of-mind. The other was more dedicated, but had a very deep insecurity about her writing (which was fine, actually, one of the most literate I have supervised), that blocked her from putting pen (or keyboard) to paper. Our annual conference meetings turned into rev-up sessions – from my point of view quite hard work breathing life back into the moribund near-corpses of the projects. In this I was sustained in both cases by our strong personal friendship and my own respect for the candidates’ abilities– I knew both of them were entirely capable and would get there in the end.

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I want to start my action research fieldwork (community theatre for conflict management) this term, and I have a marvellous chance to work with a group of Macedonian senior citizens, helping them deal with a lot of inter-generational tensions and prejudices about their Australian grandchildren. However I’ve been told that I must fill in an ethics procedure and lots of rigmarole that could take months. Is there any way round this? – after all, they are not kids. [email protected] Not a chance. If you are working with other people, and especially children and minors, or members of special groups like you are (and it sounds as if minors will in fact be involved at least indirectly in your project), you have to navigate the human ethics process, and there is no way round (and nor should there be), and I guarantee that this will almost drive you mad, and your supervisor too. The energy, passion, inspiration and hard graft which you put into designing your fieldwork will be leached out remorselessly by the seemingly endless questions that demand obvious answers (Are you using radioactive isotopes? prohibited substances?) or too-detailed and unanswerable responses (How can you know exactly how your research participants will respond to your forum theatre until you try it?). You and your supervisor will do the best you can and send the form in hopefully, trying to second-guess the panel, and then get back a whole new set of questions that you hadn’t even considered, which will depress your supervisor even more than you, because he should have thought of them. If you are unlucky, the assessment panel will be led by somebody with a purely quantitative research background, who will be uncomprehending as to why you have such a small and unrepresentative research sample from which no control groups could be set up or firm conclusions drawn; or worse, somebody coupling that with their own mythical baggage about drama (probably from a cognitive psychology background) who is convinced that applying drama strategies to children’s learning is at best dangerous social

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engineering, and most likely child abuse… Then to get the thing through the second time you will have to convince them both incontrovertibly that they are wrong – not easy with any other academics, and especially cognitive psychologists, in my experience. The downside of this is that it will probably occupy all your energy and time for up to six months when you wanted to get stuck into the research. The upside is that this is actually very good training, not only in saintly patience and soul improvement, but in covering all your bases and examining the minutiae of your actions and words for any possible sub-textual or subliminal meaning or ambiguity. The actual research and data analysis should no longer hold terrors for you, as you’ve already been through the fire – you will have become a far more sophisticated survey designer and scrutineer, a master of second-guessing, a much improved interviewer and as Pecksniffian a vigilante as the best of us. There seem to be an awful lot of rules – how carefully do I need to read them? [email protected] Very carefully, of course, stupid – for two reasons. Uni PhD rules and regulations – as any University authority will tell you – are there for a good reason: to protect you against others (and sometimes yourself), and to protect the University too. I’ll come back to that, because for me the most essential rules – unfortunately often the most bewilderingly complicated, and certainly the most frustrating – are to do with protecting what you are doing, and when you’ve done it, what you have produced. You might have read last week’s column about gaining human ethics clearance – well those are some of the rules, and next to them are their close cousins, the rules and procedures about intellectual property. However, I have sometimes found rules that are also there to be bent, because they do not always reflect our needs or our history. Universities tend to be built on scientific traditions, and are often run by scientists, and

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besides, changing the rules in a university is a very slow process. Drama as a research discipline is quite new, and uses provisional, hermeneutical and phenomenological approaches (go on, get used to the jargon) which go beyond the positivism of science and the wonderful Occam’s razor principle on which it’s built (yes, look that one up too). That’s why you will waste your valuable time explaining to those uncomprehending members of the ethics committee (were you paying attention last week?) why the whole notion of a representative sample or control groups is irrelevant to you. That’s just a minor irritation, but there are occasions when that kind of thinking materially disadvantages us. For instance in one university not a million miles away from my recent experience, there was a rule that PhD students must be permanently resident in the city of that university. In the past, when the institution was a local university and immediate communication was face-to-face or not at all, this was entirely necessary. Even today, for science departments, local residency is mostly still a good idea, where a PhD student is likely to be a twenty-something, still very raw in the ways of research, needing regular access to the lab and personal mentoring from experienced profs… and handy, too, to have around for emptying the petri dishes on Christmas Eve and entering up the figures. It is not like that with us at all, or ever. A new music colleague of mine and I had arrived fresh at this university, each with a number of new students who had nominated my colleague and me as their chosen supervisor, and who were eager to take advantage of the fine arts education reputation of this university. To our astonishment not one of them could be accepted. Just to take one example: Chan was a middle-aged male academic, an associate professor already running a theatre arts department in Taiwan, with a growing family to boot, and with his research site based in his own university up there. There was no way he could spend three years in Australia even if it had made sense (or even one year, as the rule has subsequently been amended to). We had discussed a supervision of the kind I have mentioned previously in this column, based on occasional –

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The Doctoral Journey in Dance Education and Drama Education

probably annual – visits to Australia, and plentiful use of skype, email, telephone and blogs. Although I was forced to say goodbye to Chan, and watch him accepted with alacrity by a rival university, I learnt later that in such cases, ‘residency’ can be quite a creative term, and I have supervised a range of candidates who were in reality based in many other places than this city. [NB this is for readers’ eyes only, and must not on any account fall into the hands of my associate dean of research – eat this page after reading it.] I have also had several quite spectacular fights with university authorities getting candidates – Kiwis in particular, for some reason – accepted for a PhD on the basis of their years of professional experience and contribution, often at the cutting edge of the discipline, which in my eyes was admirable and just the right training for scholarship, but under the university’s rules did not match up to a bright twenty-one year old with the conveniently simple yardstick of a first-class or 2A honours degree. It was almost as hard persuading the candidates themselves, with their fragile confidence to take the leap into scholarship after many years easily fractured, that they were better than the university reckoned, and supporting their morale to persevere and jump through the inevitable hoops of coursework and lower-level degrees which then had to be upgraded. This story has a happy ending, as both of the Kiwis to whom I refer completed their PhDs in timely fashion, and both won a welldeserved international award for their thesis. This has not changed that university’s entrance requirements, yet. Two grumbles this week, which I’ll answer together for obvious reasons: What is the right amount of time between supervisions? My supervisor expects to see me every week or two and show exactly what progress I’ve made, and I feel like a naughty schoolgirl – in my opinion a PhD is an

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The PhD journey from the supervisor’s point of view

independent study and I need the space to think for myself, and have the supervisor there just when I need help – which isn’t often. If these are the rules, they should be relaxed.  Autonomous learner, address supplied. My supervisor is never around for a supervision when I need one – last year she was away for six months, and it usually takes a month or more to organise a supervision, and then as often as not she cancels. I really admire her and need her expertise. In my masters I saw my supervisor weekly, which made me feel really good and we became good coffee mates. What can I do about this? There should be some rules.  Disgruntled, Bald Hills. I think you are both pretty unlucky, by the sound of it (and perhaps should swap supervisors!) In both cases, have you talked to your supervisor about how you feel, and find out how they view your progress and the frequency of supervisions? If so, and this letter is the result of your continuing frustration, you should contact your faculty dean of research studies, and without whinging, talk your situation over to see what can be done by the university. There are no rules about this, and really there can’t be, though this is one of the trickiest areas of negotiating and managing a PhD, demanding great sensitivity from the supervisor and often some flexibility from the student. Let’s look at it both from your needs and those of the study. Each study is different, and each student more so. You have come with a particular level of research expertise, of being up-to-date in your field, of being familiar with your research topic, site and participants, and being au fait with the literature… or not, in any of those areas. Each of these demands a different spot on the dial of regularity of supervision. Your research site, topic or participants may need especially careful handling for some reason, or might present you with risks or the need to make decisions quickly and wisely, where another more experienced head can be essential. Then there are

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The Doctoral Journey in Dance Education and Drama Education

your own study habits and proclivities: I notice that one of you signs yourself as ‘Autonomous Learner’ – fine, and I was too, and you should be allowed to spread your wings and use your professional judgment. Unlike you, I was allowed to get on much as I wanted, which in my PhD was a great boon, but in my Master’s degree was a real pity, since I was also arrogant enough to think I knew more about drama (true) and research design (culpably false) than my supervisor did; so I ended up putting together a really soggy piece of research that discovered far less than it should have or could have, properly handled. Moreover, even though I did know more about drama than my supervisor, instead of ignoring and despising his limitations and indeed prejudices against my kind of drama, I could have used that really positively to test out and marshal my opinionations into more coherent thoughts – if only to teach the teacher. Furthermore, you may know you are a genuinely autonomous learner, but your supervisor probably doesn’t. I can tell you I have spent many anxious moments wondering whether the long silence from the student means he (or she – I’ve had both) is deeply engrossed in the research, squirreling away confidently and independently, or whether it means he has just gone walkabout for an indefinite period, lost interest in the whole shebang, had something come up in his personal life which has temporarily derailed the study, or just got confused, lost confidence and is too embarrassed or guilty to admit it. As for you, ‘Disgruntled’, you certainly have a right to regular and reliable supervision, but not in order just to make you ‘feel really good’. Embarking on a PhD does demand fortitude and stamina, and a lot of that independent learner. There will probably be times when the study, or your personal or professional life beyond it, hits a crisis, and you genuinely need a wise shoulder to cry on, or some pastoral advice. But that is not every week; even if you are a good mate of your supervisor, just consider whether your desire for that regular cosy chat comes from the needs of your study or your own psychological neediness – and perhaps caffeine addiction! Supervisors are

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The PhD journey from the supervisor’s point of view

also very busy people, and however interested they are in your study, they only have limited time, which except in emergency should really all be focused on providing you with academic input and critique that you can’t get elsewhere. I am a little surprised that your university has not provided you with a backup – most nowadays demand a second supervisor, and some even require a panel of three or more. Mind you, apart from increasing two or threefold the total work required from the supervisors, that does not necessarily guarantee a better service for you. Second and third supervisors also need to be in synch with each other, as well as you. If you have a supervisor you admire and trust, that person must be your major mentor. It is useful to turn to another more disinterested or distant eye at difficult times, or if you find yourself at loggerheads with your supervisor, and also when you have an almost complete draft of the thesis. Whatever you do, don’t send both of them everything you write and a schedule of everything you do, and expect a full response from both. If they are in synch you will just be giving them both a bigger workload. Moreover, you may well find that they don’t give exactly the same response (especially if they don’t have time to talk to each other about your latest offering), and you will suddenly find yourself confused by apparently different or conflicting advice – as often as not just a difference of emphasis, but you probably won’t see that. I have also known students who play games with their supervisors, and play off one against the other, if they don’t like what one of them says (I’m sure you are not at all like this!) My university tells me that in order to pass the PhD I must have published between five and ten refereed papers, but I am already running late with my data analysis, I have never written a paper before and I am panicking. Can I just send some chapters of my thesis to journals as articles?  Alice, Sydney.

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The Doctoral Journey in Dance Education and Drama Education

Now don’t get me started. I am deeply sympathetic with you, and I think that this rapidly growing kind of demand made on research students is utterly immoral, iniquitous and the very antithesis of all that is good scholarship or good learning – and an impending nightmare for journal editors, too. Universities are so strapped for research funds and the brownie points which come with refereed publications that effectively they are turning you into exploited cheap labour, with a more than a touch of blackmail about it. I have an old-fashioned approach to research projects and publications, which is that while you are engaged on a research project you are involved in a dynamic, changing learning environment, and need to be able to concentrate on that – if you need to have a public conversation about your ongoing work, and get useful input, then you can talk to your colleagues, your supervisor, or take it to a conference and give it an airing in a paper or poster presentation. Refereed publication is essentially a vehicle for formally reporting to the public of your peers and other scholarly readership the new knowledge that has emerged from finished research projects. As a scholar, that is what I want to read – something I can believe or challenge, but which I am sure has been fully-thought-through and has a solid, thoroughly researched foundation. Anything less demeans or trivialises a journal. As a journal editor, I receive more and more half-baked offerings by desperate or overweening students, which should (like your draft chapters) be sent no further than your supervisor to be admired or corrected. Apart from anything else, writing a journal article is quite a different process from writing to impress an examiner: for one thing you don’t need to pretend you’ve read every word on your subject and slavishly reference everything in sight – your readers will be familiar with the major literature and expect you to be too. They don’t want a litany of received wisdom – they will be expecting your introduction and description of the project to lead to something they have not read before. They want a good, challenging, informative and above all original read. By the sound of it you are in no position yet to give them one… let alone five or ten.

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The PhD journey from the supervisor’s point of view

Alice, I’m sorry if this sounds pompous, and I realise that as a solution to your dilemma it is worse than useless, but frankly I don’t have one, other than to point out that your university is asking you to do what the Red Queen suggested to your namesake, six impossible things before breakfast, and as that tyrannical ruler also observed, it takes all the running you can do to stay in the same place. Your cri de coeur and my unhelpful response to it make me realise that it’s probably time for me to retire and stop trying to advise students about a system that I no longer feel in sympathy with. I imagine that you and your colleagues and successors will find your own ways to take arms against the slings and arrows of outrageous university financial drivers – as enterprising PhD students always have done and always will. I quit. Editor: Dr Phil’s column will not be appearing in subsequent editions, as he appears unaccountably to have shot through, without leaving a forwarding address. His column will be replaced next week with our new cartoon feature: A drama dummy’s guide to phenomenology.

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Do you need a tutu to teach dance in NZ primary schools? Ralph Buck Teachers and dance in the classroom: ‘So, do I need my tutu?’ The University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand, 2003

Abstract of thesis Implicit in the inclusion of dance in the school curriculum are philosophical, educational and political arguments that this particular body of knowledge offers children a means for thinking, and a form for the expression and understanding of self, others and events. Research that seeks to understand teachers’ perspectives of dance in New Zealand primary schools is made all the more pertinent by the mandated inclusion of dance within the arts curriculum as from 2003. Given this context, teachers’ comments such as ‘I can’t teach dance, I can’t even dance myself ’, ‘I don’t even know what dance education is’ and ‘So, do I need my tutu?’ reflects a discomfort common among primary school teachers around bringing dance into their classrooms. The questions: ‘What are primary school teachers’ meanings of dance in their classrooms?’ and ‘Do these meanings create barriers or opportunities for teaching dance?’ directed this research, which took the form of a constructivist study of nine primary school teachers’ meanings of dance in

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Do you need a tutu to teach dance in NZ primary schools?

their classrooms. The data arose from co-structured interviews, classroom observations and reflections upon a shared dance activity. An emergent analysis of data found that teachers’ meanings of dance in their classrooms were predominantly informed by performative assumptions of dance. The teachers’ educative roles emerged as they included and negotiated their own, the children’s and curricular expectations of dance in the classroom. A key finding of the study is that when meanings of dance emerge from the classroom rather than by being imposed or directed by external expectations and assumptions, many of the supposed barriers to teaching dance fall away. _____ I decided to do a doctoral degree in 1997 while travelling between Charleville and Thargomindah in outback Queensland, Australia. At the time I was the Senior Policy Officer, Dance, Education Queensland, and my role included supporting teachers, developing resources, writing curriculum and policy. On this particular day I was travelling home after visiting a small isolated primary school where three female teachers had expressed an interest in implementing a dance programme. We completed the usual demonstration lessons, one on one programme writing, professional development session and sharing of resources. After two days I headed home to Brisbane pondering the two days, feeling that I had done as much as I could, yet deep down feeling that I didn’t really change anything. During the following 10-hour drive I mulled over what I needed to know if I was to initiate genuine change in teachers’ attitudes towards dance education. Without really finalising a research question, I felt that I needed to understand what teachers thought dance meant for them in their classrooms; what were their motivations for including dance and what were their barriers. These thoughts stayed with me for months as I continued to provide support to teachers in diverse schools and contexts.

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The Doctoral Journey in Dance Education and Drama Education

Six months later I noticed a newspaper advertisement for a Dance Tutor, University of Otago, New Zealand. Not really knowing what a Dance Tutor was, though intrigued, I completed a rushed application. To be honest, the application was also prompted by the knowledge that my current job was probably going to be ‘re-structured’ (and it was). To my surprise, early one morning the Dean, School of Physical Education, University of Otago, phoned and spoke to me about the tutor position, but more pertinently a lecturing position that would be advertised in four months. To cut a long story short, I applied for the lecturing position, and accepted it under an agreed condition that I undertake my PhD. In effect, I did not choose the University of Otago; it chose me as the place to undertake my PhD. On arrival at the University of Otago in 1998, my PhD was not a priority; my full time lecturing load, dance programme leadership position and my family all required attention. One year into my job I began my PhD, enrolling part time. My research focus remained with teachers’ meanings of dance in their classrooms. With this question I searched for a team of supervisors within the University. In assessing my own strengths and weaknesses, I knew I needed supervisors with experience in education theory, methodology and who had completed research with teachers in schools. I did not feel that I needed guidance in respect to dance education teaching, curriculum, nor working with teachers. The search for supervisors was relatively short. After talking to colleagues who knew the University and diverse researchers, I approached my primary supervisor within the Faculty of Education. We quickly established a rapport and with surprising speed he agreed to be my primary supervisor. He then introduced me to a secondary supervisor who likewise had considerable expertise and experience in researching with teachers in schools. Our first meeting found us all agreeing on the research focus and the qualitative methodology. Over the next six months of reading and writing I fine tuned the methodology, the number of teachers I would involve in the study and the period of time that I would involve teachers in data

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Do you need a tutu to teach dance in NZ primary schools?

collection. Being a relatively pragmatic and structured person getting the practicalities and timeframes in place was important. While the key methodological decisions were made very early, the writing and re-writing of the methodology chapter continued to the very end. For example, I found the information gathering subtleties within the actual interviewing and the interviewing literature very interesting and consequently I deepened this writing. The research focus did not change and the methodology really did not stray from the initial plan. I think my many months of thinking about this research in Australia had already clarified my intent and motivation. It is important to note here that on reflection I was incredibly lucky to find two very experienced and highly regarded supervisors. Having supervisors who share your interests, understand the value of the research and can offer informed methodological insights is incredibly valuable. Once I put my mind to the research I ‘just did it’. My work rhythm included a daily practice of going to my favourite cafe early in the morning and reading pertinent articles and taking notes for one hour. Then I would write, integrating quotes or ideas, returning to my office and re-writing via the computer. Normally, I would then teach, do my other work and then revisit the PhD in the afternoon where I would read over what I had done and re-write and identify gaps and directions. In the afternoon I would select articles that related to those gaps and put them in my bag ready for the next morning in the cafe. I never worked once I was home. Home was for family, however, with my wife’s incredible support I returned to work every Sunday. These were my deeper thinking, literature searching and wider writing days where I tried to cover the bigger issues and take larger steps. I often wrote much and trashed a lot, but Sundays opened the doors to ideas and scope. I basically maintained this rhythm for three years. I was also fortunate in that for one year I moved all of my teaching into one semester which in essence gave me six months full time to concentrate on analysing all the data. Without a doubt my life and my family’s life was orientated around my PhD. This took its toll, with my wife getting quite ill and returning to

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The Doctoral Journey in Dance Education and Drama Education

Australia with the children for three months. While this was horrible, within these three months I lived and breathed my PhD and wrote the bulk of the results and discussion chapter, which I would have to say was much harder than anticipated. With so much to say and so many fantastic comments from the teachers’ interviews, I found it very difficult to edit the ‘gems’ and find a structure for presenting the results. I wrote three different versions till I found the ‘right’ way to articulate the results and then discuss these. Reflecting on this journey reminds me of lessons and ideas that I try to pass on to PhD students that I now supervise. One of the key pieces of advice I offer to all my PhD candidates, is to spend time to ponder on what really interests you and hence what is the question or set of issues driving the research. Sometimes this takes longer than anticipated, and on reflection of my own experience, I am grateful for those long drives in outback Queensland that gave me time and ‘head space’ to roam over ideas, recurring issues and sort what really mattered to me and importantly what would matter to the teaching community. In this sense, from the outset, I think it is also worthwhile to consider what might the key outcomes of the research be, and who will benefit from the research. Building a support team of supervisors, friends and family is crucial. I had a group of friends who were familiar with an interested in my area of research. I had many coffees with these friends who often grilled me and unpacked my assumptions often better than my supervisors. Finally, have an interested but ‘objective’ friend carefully proof read/edit the final draft, and be prepared to re-write, re-structure and re-search in response to this ‘outside’ reading. Remember, the aim is to make the thesis accessible, readable, coherent, accurate and trustworthy. The most painful part of my PhD journey was the final month where I re-wrote much of my thesis in response to an objective and critically informed reading of the total draft thesis. Once I had a full document, this dispassionate reading revealed repetition, gaps, areas that went unanalysed, poor grammar, referencing errors, points that needed profiling up-front

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Do you need a tutu to teach dance in NZ primary schools?

rather than being hidden and inconsistencies. I worked very hard in reworking my draft thesis into a polished thesis, and I remain ever grateful for the advice I received during that final month. Amongst the pain and struggle there were memorable moments. The outstanding moment was sharing a chocolate fish with my wife after I handed the thesis in for examination. The tradition being that, on receipt of the thesis the Graduate Office handed over a chocolate and marshmallow fish with a card congratulating you and noting that you had ‘Phinished’. We let out a huge sigh of relief and began planning a full and relaxing weekend. Other memorable moments included working with the teachers in my study. I genuinely enjoyed working with them, learning from and with them and making sense of their practice such that the research was achieving what I had hoped. What would I do differently if I had my time again? I think I would be more honest with myself in recognising that a PhD takes serious time. It is a full time job and it requires intense thinking and critique. I regret that I tended to shy away from the debates and arguments that arose and really I should have seen these as opportunities to test and articulate ideas without worrying if they were erroneous. It is a time for discovery, building and re-building understanding, and yes you will make mistakes. Irrespective, I probably would want to prepare myself better by taking time to learn more about methodological philosophy, as this is probably the weakest aspect of my thesis, and to this end value my supervisors’ knowledge and advice more highly. I have never regretted undertaking my PhD as it has helped me understand teachers’ meanings of dance in their classrooms, and this knowledge has helped me serve the education community. I achieved what I set out to do, and as I walk into classrooms today all over the world, I still remember those teachers in outback Queensland that prompted the journey.

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Moving mountains by carrying small stones: Reflections on a doctoral journey Christina Hong Developing dance literacy in the post-modern: An approach to curriculum Griffith University, 2002

Abstract of the thesis This thesis articulates an approach to Year 1–13 dance education for New Zealand schools based on a conceptual framework that conceives of dance as a literacy within a post-modern conceptualization of multi-literacies. Set against a prevailing climate of change and renewal, the study overviews the historical background and the educational reforms currently impacting on the development of dance in New Zealand schools. In examining this background context, identifies the notion of arts literacies as the central and unifying idea of the recently released national curriculum statement The Arts in the New Zealand Curriculum (2000). Taking this and other catalytic provocations as points of departure the study undertakes a philosophical inquiry that seeks to illuminate the conceptual and theoretical underpinnings

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Moving mountains by carrying small stones

of a dance literacy approach to dance education. Concomitantly, in recognizing that curriculum is situated within and encompassed by the wider ecology of the world, the study also considers the emergent themes percolating the social cultural condition of post-modernity and the relationship of these to education and to nascent post-modern curriculum. A dance literacy approach to dance education is then proposed and subsequently articulated that is both flexible and purposive, interweaving the challenges of post-modern culture and the dynamics of post-modern education while maintaining the integrity of dance as an evolving discipline and the interests of the student at the core. A rationale is delineated and a conceptual framework and a diagrammatic model that establishes the conceptual foundations of approach are presented. The conceptual foundations implicit in the approach articulated in this study includes an understanding of dance as an evolving discipline, its content concepts, and its modes of inquiry which involve communities of discourse across the four domains: the sociocritical-contextual; kinaesthetic-performative, choreographic-expressive and critical-interpretive. Pedagogical approaches and principles informing the approach as a model-in-process are developed and implications and possibilities inherent in the approach for New Zealand are identified and discussed. Reconceptualized as a literacy, the study contends that dance will emerge out of the margins and into the web of curriculum and connect both intrinsically and instrumentally to student’s lived-lives. As a kinaesthetic form of expression and representation students explore, construct, communicate, interpret and negotiate own and social group meaning as they learn, in, through, and about dance in its many forms and contexts. Dance and dance works are made and interpreted as socially constructed texts, which represent diverse social realities and as such emerge out of, and innovate upon the traditions of the past while contributing to the present. Within a reframed Year 1–13 dance curriculum, the development of dance literacy, the capacity to think in the medium of dance and to engage in the

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The Doctoral Journey in Dance Education and Drama Education

construction, communication and interpretation of dance and dance texts become vital in the construction of student narratives, autobiographies, and socio-cultural identities. _____ There is a Chinese proverb that goes, ‘The man who moved the mountain began by carrying small stones’. For me, this proverb encapsulates both the enormity of the undertaking in writing a doctoral thesis and the sheer doggedness and determination required to acquit the task. The successful completion of a doctorate is not without significant personal and professional challenges. For those who succeed in moving their proverbial mountain, the sense of personal accomplishment, the deepening of disciplinary understanding and potential for professional advancement as key outcomes are, in my opinion, well worth the effort of the journey. My research study presented a conceptual approach for dance education contextualised by the expanded definitions of what it means to be literate within contemporary society and the emergent themes of post-modernity. The research was motivated by a desire to continue my personal professional inquiry as a dance educator and to further probe, enlarge upon, and articulate the value of ‘meaning-making’ in respect to the form and function of dance education in schools. After entering the teaching profession with my initial undergraduate degree, teaching credential and graduate diploma, the pursuit of further postgraduate study was not something I contemplated. However, unimagined opportunities and divergent paths in life sometimes avail themselves, and in the most unexpected ways. In my case, as one of a very few teachers with both a teaching and dance discipline background, at a time when curriculum reform in New Zealand was embracing the inclusion of dance and movement education as a subject study, I was fortunate to be

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Moving mountains by carrying small stones

government-sponsored to undertake a research masters degree in dance education in the United States. As a mature-aged student and with a young family in tow, the prospect of immersing myself in full-time postgraduate study overseas was both exciting and more than a little daunting. Needless to say, the opportunity was grasped and we departed New Zealand. I took to postgraduate studies with relish and a highly successful period of immersion and study eventuated. On my return to New Zealand my newly minted Master of Arts in Dance and Related Arts was recognised as valuable currency that quickly resulted in a career promotion and education sector transition from secondary school teacher to lecturer in teacher education. My appetite however for postgraduate research and scholarship had been whetted and while I immersed myself in applying what I had learnt from my Masters study, I also became increasingly interested in continuing higher degree studies. I was curious to learn and to know more. As a result, I began to scope possible institutions and programs in which to enrol. While I dallied for a time in pursuing post-graduate studies in a non-cognate field, such as a Masters of Business Administration, it eventually became evident that doctoral studies would ultimately provide the most potential return on investment both in personal and professional terms. The opportunity to enrol in a doctoral program initially proved elusive, as there was no university in New Zealand able to offer academic supervision in the field of dance education at the time. I then looked to universities in Australia with non-resident candidacy as a necessary condition. Explorations proved lengthy and communications often circuitous. At one university, I found a willing supervisor. However, while initial discussions looked promising, after almost a year of negotiation, the university finally communicated their conditions of candidature, which included the expectation of at least one year of in-country residency. While I had relocated to the United States for a year to pursue Masters-level study with a young

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The Doctoral Journey in Dance Education and Drama Education

toddler and supportive husband in tow, repeating this venture was not an undertaking we were willing to consider. After a time of further investigation, I was fortunate to happen upon a more ‘enlightened’ university – Griffith University in Brisbane, Queensland, and a research supervisor willing to take on the challenge of supervision from a distance. Enrolling in doctoral studies while also maintaining full time employment is difficult enough. Enrolling in doctoral studies in one country while resident across the Tasman in another made the job doubly tough, and yet at that time, there was no other alternative. And so began the many years of carrying small stones.

Knowing why, how and where you want to move the mountain The piece of advice I most often share with anyone who contemplates embarking on doctoral studies, and particularly so for those engaged in fulltime work concurrent with enrolment is to choose a research study that is as closely as possible aligned to their everyday work. Having the initial motivation for moving the mountain is one thing, actually managing to move the mountain without becoming distracted by the pressures of everyday life and living is quite another. The doctoral task is both demanding and time consuming. The more you can make the study part of your work, the more manageable and achievable the task becomes. Key questions that ought to be considered include: Does your proposed research study really have what it takes to maintain your interest over a period of years? Is the study something that requires years of close investigation? What is the likely impact of the outcome? Is the methodology appropriate for the research purpose? Is the methodology not only a good fit for the study but is it a good fit for the ways in which you think and work? This said, even the best intentions are fraught with U-turns. My initial research topic was an action research project to explore the application of

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Moving mountains by carrying small stones

constructivist pedagogy in dance education. While a start was made on this, an opportunity arose to diverge from this intent when I was contracted as the consultant writer by the New Zealand Qualifications Authority (NZQA) to develop national standards for the dance industry. The NZQA project involved the facilitation of iterative working parties with key dance industry stakeholders to draft national standards followed by consultation, redrafts as necessary and publication of the standards for implementation by private training establishments, school and tertiary sectors. As this project broke new ground and was the first of its kind, at least for New Zealand, it seemed to me that this project would provide the ‘perfect’ thesis topic – a case study of the development and implementation of national qualifications assessment standards into New Zealand dance education with anticipated impact into the dance industry. And so I switched my research to this new field and focus. The development of the qualification standards for industry unfolded over several years during which I recorded and developed research data. As time went by however the lengthening time frame for the implementation plan for the standards proved too challenging and it became obvious that this was not to be the project for doctoral study. So what to do? While the notions of constructivist pedagogy still intrigued me, the opportunity of being among the first movers in this field had passed. My enthusiasm for undertaking action research had also diminished since the initial phase of doctoral candidacy. This period of my doctoral journey was certainly the most difficult. In comparison to the early days of ‘gungho’ optimism this phase in the doctoral journey was a struggle. In spite of making several well-intentioned beginnings, I was faced with the resounding and uncomfortable fact that no real progress had been achieved. Worse, that there was no sense of what to do, or where to head. Should I even attempt to make yet another beginning? As the saying goes, I hit the wall. As an arts educator I knew full well that there are those periods in the creative process when projects seem to reach ‘that muddle in the middle,’ when the creative spark somehow fizzles and the going becomes incredibly tough. A colleague

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The Doctoral Journey in Dance Education and Drama Education

used to liken it to ‘going through porridge’, in other words, heavy, hard, laborious slog. My advice to students over the years is to say that when this ‘muddle in the middle’ happens, – ‘Don’t give up!’ An important part of the learning curve in the creative process, and in sustaining a viable doctoral journey, is to persevere, to persist and to trust in the process. Ultimately, given time, the way ahead usually materialises. And so it was for me on my doctoral journey. In this instance another set of professional opportunities appeared on the horizon. In many ways these opportunities enabled a return to a research paradigm and field of inquiry that I had undertaken for my postgraduate study in the United States. In hindsight, it was as if it was always meant to be. The focus of my actual doctoral research study when I finally articulated it was so obvious that it was almost a case of my not being able to see the woods for the trees.

Signposts and milestones: Opportunities in the wind In the mid-1990s new directions in the educational landscape in New Zealand were successively signposted by education reform and these in turn precipitated iterative cycles of curriculum change. The inclusion of dance under the umbrella of such reforms marked a most significant and long-awaited watershed for dance education in New Zealand. As a consequence considerable amounts of professional energy, resources and investment were put into forging new and exciting academic scenarios for dance within school and tertiary education. The opportunity to contribute to the process of curriculum change occurred through my secondment to the New Zealand Ministry of Education as a project director and lead writer of the national curriculum statement for schools. This project commenced in 1998 with publication of a draft curriculum statement for consultation in 1999 and culminated in the publication of The Arts in the New Zealand Curriculum as the official curriculum statement for New Zealand schools in 2000. The publication of the national arts curriculum was then followed by a 3-year Ministry

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resourced and led implementation phase. I was again fortunate to be appointed by the New Zealand Ministry of Education to a leadership role as one of four National Coordinators: The Arts. I undertook leadership responsibility for the implementation of dance in primary and secondary schools across Years 1–12 in the national curriculum. It was this role that I held at the time of writing up my doctoral thesis. This high level activity at national level enabled me to be fully immured into the dynamic field of curriculum development. A field that, as O’Neill (1996) describes, ‘is arguably the most difficult area of educational study. It is the field where the rhetoric of state policy, contextual factors, the theory of knowledge and curriculum, everyday classroom practice and the lives of young people converge’ (p.131). The Ministry of Education roles I undertook coupled with a teaching career across all sectors enabled me to work at the cutting edge of curriculum reform and to garner significant experiences and opportunities from which to reflect critically upon the permutations and implications of curriculum design.

The methodology for mountain moving My doctoral research study was, in many respects, the opportunity for a large-scale ‘reflective and scholarly moment’ post the rigours of national curriculum development. I was able to pursue a philosophical inquiry into an irksome question that had nagged at my professional consciousness for longer than I cared to admit. And yet, the irksome question was one that I was in the privileged position of being able to do something about. We philosophise, as educational philosopher Maxine Greene (1973) writes, when, For some reason, we are aroused to wonder about how events and experiences are interpreted and should be interpreted. We philosophise when we can no longer tolerate the splits and fragmentations in our

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pictures of the world, when we desire some kind of wholeness and integration, some coherence which is our own. (p.7)

As a reflective practitioner and researcher I was aroused to wonder when I considered the possibilities that might be conceptualised with regard to a new 21st century dance curriculum for New Zealand schools. I engaged in philosophising and making the outcomes of my philosophising evident because, as Greene has outlined, I was aware of the splits and fragmentations in the education sector and in the community as to the nature and purpose of dance education. The prime motivation that precipitated the study was an attempt to provide a bridge between the gap that exists between what is, and what might be. To examine the then current and emergent contexts within post-modern society and education and to articulate a theoretical model and conceptual framework that might provide indeed, as Greene remarked, some coherence. An interpretation that was essentially my own, but a coherence that might also resonate for others working in the field of dance education. As a dance educator my professional raison d’etre had been predicated on the belief that an education in, through, and about dance made a significant and unique contribution to the general education of young people. However, while advocating the case for dance education in New Zealand schools I was also aware of the tenuous and marginal status of dance as a conventional school subject. In wishing to confront and hopefully shift perspectives on this situation my doctoral study probed the issue of relevance of dance in schools and proposed an approach to dance education curriculum that I hoped would more persuasively synchronise the link between dance and education in the 21st century. For dance in New Zealand schools to develop and mature as a subject study I deemed the articulation of a theoretical base for practice to be both urgent and of fundamental import. Accordingly the key question that precipitated my doctoral research study was: How might an approach to dance curriculum for New Zealand schools with oversight of the emerging post-modern world-view be conceptualised?

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Utilising philosophical inquiry as a methodology to facilitate the probing of the question involves the application of a philosophical method to a specific question (or a problem) that has been clearly stated and with a purpose that has been well articulated. The evidence, the constructs of thought, or the ‘big ideas’ for answering the question, are gathered in the form of propositions and from that evidence an interpretation is formulated that presents a response to the question and purpose guiding the inquiry. Philosophy as a mode of inquiry in dance research, as Hanstein (1999) explains, Concerns itself with identifying and probing problems and issues that concern the field of dance. These may be in the area of public policy, curriculum development, artistic integrity, ethical behaviour, the roles and responsibilities of professionals in the field, or any number of other areas that raise concern or interest. Working with ideas, logical reasoning, and developing lines of argumentation are the hallmarks of philosophy as a mode of inquiry. (p. 42)

Recognising that there is no single interpretive truth and that truth is both provisional and in essence multiple, my doctoral study presented a dance education curriculum approach and a conceptual model and framework as understood and interpreted by me as a reflective practitioner and researcher, realised through the process of philosophical inquiry. Philosophical inquiry involves the researcher through extended engagement with philosophical thinking and reflection in probing meaning and asking questions of the often taken-for-granted. It entails a desire to go beyond the given and to forge new ways of thinking about what is already given, new ways of putting together concepts and ideas and thus enlivening personal and social meaning. As Greene (1973) contends, Philosophy is a way of framing distinctive sorts of questions having to do with what is presupposed, perceived, intuited, believed, and known. It is

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a way of contemplating, examining, or thinking about what it taken to be significant, valuable, beautiful, worthy of commitment. It is a way of becoming self-aware, of constituting meanings in one’s life world. Critical thinking is demanded, as are deliberate attempts to make things clear. Efforts to explore background consciousness may be involved, as may be explorations of boundaries and the creation of unifying perspectives. There may be normative thinking as well: the probing of what might be, what should be; the forging of ideals. (p.7)

I chose to engage in philosophical inquiry and making the outcomes of my inquiry public for two equally important reasons. Firstly, the demand for clarified explanation to support the current reform initiatives in dance education in New Zealand. Secondly, and as Greene (1973) counsels, the object of ‘doing philosophy’ in educational contexts is to help the educator decide what makes sense for themselves: Educational philosophy is a matter of doing philosophy with respect to the educational enterprise as it engages the educator – doing it from his vantage point as actor and from the vantage point of his newest experience and his most recent fears. To do educational philosophy is to become critically conscious of what is involved in the complex business of teaching and learning. (p. 7)

Managing that lengthy and delicate balancing act Doctoral research is ultimately a lonely endeavor. In the end, the onus is on the doctoral student to simply get on with the job and complete the task. Thankfully however, there are those supportive others along the way: husband/ wife, partner, children, family, friends, colleagues, and supervisors who, to varying degrees and in different ways help to lighten the load and share some part of the journey with you. This said, the ability to keep the delicate balance

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between the changing demands of academic work, making progress with doctoral research and the vicissitudes of family life and other commitments is always a very significant challenge. Given the period of time that it takes to complete doctoral studies and the absolute single-minded commitment to the task required, it is no wonder that a significant proportion of those who commence do not in fact manage to bring the task to fruition. I am reminded of the adage, Focus on the journey, not the destination. Joy is found not in finishing an activity but in doing it. In my experience nothing could be truer when considering the activity of a doctoral journey. While there is without doubt a celebration on completion of the manuscript and joyous celebration on notice of a successful examination outcome, the journey itself must be intriguing enough to sustain the rigors of candidacy and the distractions that ordinary and not-so-ordinary life may throw at it. When reflecting on my doctoral journey and the personal sacrifices that are made, I am reminded of a poem by New Zealander Michele Amas (2005), The txt Mum come upstairz my throats 2 sore 2 call out 2 u. In firemother red 
 I take the stairs 
 two at a time.

While the period during which I wrote my doctoral thesis pre-dated the now ubiquitous use of mobile technologies, the poem nevertheless speaks to the imperatives of parenthood. The image of firemother red resonates for me in particular with remarkable vividness. While I was fortunate not to have had any extraordinary family catastrophes or events occur during my years of candidacy, the normal ebb and flow of family life, including the birth of my

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The Doctoral Journey in Dance Education and Drama Education

third child was busy enough to require some considerable commitment and strength of character. As mentioned previously, if your daily work embraces your thesis and the thesis informs your daily work then the progress is made a little easier. However, working your research and writing time around work and family commitments takes considerable organization as well as a genuine understanding of the value of the endeavor from your supportive team of close family, friends and colleagues. When I reflect back on the experience of being a doctoral candidate, probably, the most challenging aspect was the fact that I had made a commitment to completing this task. Once the journey was started there was no turning back. Those of us who even contemplate commencing a PhD have, I would venture, been previously successful in our academic pursuits. We tend to display the traits of high achievers. As a consequence, the fear of failing, of not completing the task, was for me, the sustaining challenge and the spur that kept me going. I knew full well that I was up to the task provided I could find the time and space to actually organize my thinking and meaningfully articulate my argument in coherent form. My writing process cohered over one extended summer ‘vacation’ period during which I dedicated myself completely and without reservation to the task. With the exception of a few days over Christmas, that particular summer was spent in absolutely single-minded doctoral pursuit. I lived and breathed thesis from dawn to dusk and into the early hours. All else was set aside, nothing was to intrude on my thesis writing. I distinctly recall my young children carrying cups of tea to me and when asked by a colleague what they did over their summer holidays the resounding answer was ‘Thesis’! In retrospect what would I have done differently in my journey? There is probably much that could have been done differently, but actually, on reflection, I would not change a thing. I do not believe in looking back, there’s always more to be gained by looking forward. We are the sum of our experiences and nothing really prepares you for what is to come better than the experiences that you have already encountered. We should therefore acknowledge both the practical and

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learned wisdom that comes through lived experiences. The completion of my doctoral thesis and successful examination outcome was a result of my ability to demonstrate resilience, persistence, and sheer doggedness as much as my ability to conceptualize, innovate and contribute original knowledge to the discipline. If I were to identify a single memorable moment during my candidature, I would point to a note-card containing a simple but transformative message that I received from my supervisor during the final stages of my thesis write-up. I acknowledge that from the very outset I was fortunate to have had a supervisor who provided me with the time and space to move and who always gave me every encouragement. My supervisor had the wisdom to allow me to follow my own journey in my own time, while incisively also directing my attention to specifics. In particular, a defining moment came when he simply, but astutely, expressed in a card – ‘trust in your own voice’. It made all the difference.

References Amas, M. (2005) The txt. Retrieved fromhttp://www.victoria.ac.nz/modernletters/bnzp/2005/ amas.htm Greene, M. (1973). Teacher as stranger. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth. Hanstein, P. (1999). From idea to research proposal: Balancing the systematic and serendipitous. In S. Fraleigh, & P. Hanstein (Eds.), Researching dance: Evolving modes of inquiry. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh. Ministry of Education, (2000). The Arts in the New Zealand Curriculum. Wellington: Learning Media. O’Neill, A, (1996). Curriculum reform: Development issues in Aotearoa New Zealand. An editorial introduction. Delta: Policy and Practice in Education, 48(2), 127–140.

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The vanity of imagination Nicholas Rowe Post-salvagism: Cultural interventions and cultural evolution in a traumatized community: Dance in the Central West Bank University of Kent at Canterbury, 2008

Abstract of thesis The thesis examines how nineteenth century social dance practices in Palestine have been transformed into twenty-first century presentations of dance as a performed art in the Central West Bank. An extensive ethnographic history of the local dance culture is collated from various perspectives and (in acknowledging the ongoing collective trauma experienced by the indigenous population during this period) analysed in terms of pre-salvage, salvage and post-salvage phases. This involves an examination of the impact of dominant socio-political paradigms on local dance practices, including European Imperialism, political Zionism, Islamic Reformism, Pan-Arabism and Palestinian nationalism. Whilst the experienced community of the Central West Bank is acknowledged as continuously negotiating with various manifestations of an imagined community, this analysis considers how local dance products have not necessarily been limited by such definitions of identity. As the research aims to support (what has been identified here as) post-salvage dance production

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in the region through cultural interventions, the aesthetic principles and evolutionary processes of post-salvagism are examined and defined here as anti-hegemonic. This examination involves reflections on the author’s own approaches to local dance interventions, conducted with dance groups in Ramallah and Al-Bireh from 2000–2006. It also posits a theory of cultural evolution that contrasts with more ethnocentric notions of unilinear progress and development. This proposition includes an algorithm for the evolution of dance that suggests how the processes of learning, creating and evaluating dance can be seen as analogous to the Darwinian evolutionary processes of reproduction, adaptation and selection. In this sense, it considers how post-colonial (and particularly post-development) studies may benefit from applications of Richard Dawkins’ (1976) meme theory. _____ At a hotel breakfast bar in Addis Ababa in 1996 I engaged in a lengthy debate about cultural hegemony and cultural appropriation with a stranger who described himself as a New York based Rastafarian. He firmly argued that cultural exchange is not benign. This was so unsettling because at the time I was a young man, a young dancer fresh from the Australian Ballet, thinking I was a saint, hopping around the world generously teaching dance workshops in seemingly unusual and offbeat locations like Ethiopia, and studying local forms of dance so that I might enrich the wider world of dance through my subsequent choreographic work. Suddenly, while digesting fried eggs, I was forced to consider that creative work is not inherently virtuous; that making up and sharing dances might hurt and might leave cultural damage. While the details of this pivotal conversation have become blurred in my memory, one phrase felt so incongruous that it has echoed in my mind for years. As I steadfastly defended the value of artistic work within a community, the man sighed ‘Aaah…the vanity of imagination’. This axiom entwined creativity with self-satisfaction so tightly

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that it made my community arts interventions appear absurdly hollow and self-serving. My doctoral journey did not take place in Ethiopia, but on reflection it seems that the key question began there, in that unsettling moment. While I could not perhaps articulate it, concerns over hegemony, appropriation and this notion of the vanity of imagination teased around me as I continued giving/taking/sharing/creating dances in communities in Africa, Asia and the Middle East. At the conclusion of a choreographic workshop that I was facilitating in the Occupied Palestinian Territories in 1999, a dancer lamented that now things would be worse than before, because like others before me I had come and given an exciting taste of an idea, but would now leave, and leave behind a sense of emptiness in my wake. My brief arts intervention had perhaps made the local dance scene feel less sustainable than before. So I moved to the Occupied Palestinian Territories and immersed myself in its dance culture. I taught and taught and taught, in dance studios and schools and dusty halls in refugee camps for three years, and wrote about what I was discovering with each class. A doctoral program leader at The London Contemporary Dance School read a draft of a book that I had written about my experiences of teaching in Palestine (Rowe, 2003) and suggested that I enroll in a doctoral program to investigate my dance teaching more rigorously within an academic context. So began my doctoral journey. Now, ten years later, having completed a PhD, started an academic career, and become responsible for the doctoral programs within my Faculty as the Associate Dean (Postgraduate), I really value the London Contemporary Dance School’s proactive approach to doctoral student recruitment. Instead of just waiting for prospective academics to apply, filtering through from Masters’ programs, they actively went out and sought people who they felt were doing interesting things in dance, had potentially innovative ideas, and guided them into doctorates. As a fledgling doctoral student at the time however, this did present particular

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The vanity of imagination

challenges, especially as I was to remain located in the Occupied Palestinian Territories for most of my doctoral candidacy. The most obvious of these doctoral problems was the limited access to literature. Only in the last year of my candidacy did I gain internet access to online academic libraries. I reached literature mostly through periodic visits to the UK, with long days in libraries photocopying articles and chapters. My supervisor Inma Alvarez, who I mostly corresponded with through emails, also posted me relevant documents. Another significant challenge emerged from my own inexperience in academia, and perhaps my institution’s assumption that I was aware of the broad methodological options for conducting my research. As such, my research methods changed significantly during the course of the study. While these shifts in research method consumed considerable time, extending the period that I needed to complete the research, I have come to value these experiences. By approaching my research query in multiple ways, before identifying and defining one, I have become much more sympathetic to diverse ways of knowing. My thesis began as a theoretical treatise, seeking to explain how diversity and dynamism might be identified within the transference of cultural heritage. I wanted to show how traditional educational practices allowed for the imagination and creative interpretations of existing knowledge. I was working with communities whose cultures were sometimes marginalized or undervalued because they appeared to be old-fashioned, out-of-date, inherently static and therefore irrelevant in an ever-changing world. I had, however, experienced dynamism within dance learning in these places that was perhaps not as apparent as it could be. This misperception seemed to me to be intimately connected to the twin issues of cultural hegemony and cultural appropriation that I had been introduced to in Addis Ababa years before. I understood cultural hegemony as the process of imposing one society’s cultural knowledge and values on another society, as a means of exerting and maintaining power over that society and reducing its cultural autonomy. Mostly discussed in reference

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to European imperialism and the colonization of non-European regions by European powers in the past five centuries, cultural hegemony could be overt but also insidious, particularly through the establishment of particular education systems. I understood cultural appropriation as the reconfiguring of cultural items, such as dances, in new contexts as potent symbols of identity and representation, for perhaps a completely different society. This was particularly prevalent within the construction of folkdance cultures aligned with newly formed national identities in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. I was interested in how both hegemony and appropriation contributed to popular notions of more progressive and less progressive cultures, more developed and less developed societies, and a binary relationship between tradition and contemporaneity. I wanted to come up with a theory for understanding culture that might clearly and convincingly identify dynamism and diversity within all cultures, a theory that would negate the idea that certain cultures were ‘backward’. This, I hoped, would help restore the cultural autonomy of marginalized communities. So I immersed myself in cultural theory and constructed complex theoretical arguments. I sought connections between biological evolution and cultural evolution, not in the uni-linear evolutionary sense promoted by social Darwinism, but in the multi-linear sense of dynamism and diversity touched on by meme theory. I hoped for a theory that would ultimately prove that all dances are contemporary and relevant. It was just an occasional whisper at first. Slowly it became a daily mantra, bouncing so musically around my head that I did not recognize its significance. Eventually it became a snarl so bitter that I had to sit up and take notice. That incongruous statement, that seeming oxymoron, ‘The vanity of imagination!’ These words returned from my memory and gained new meaning. My doctoral research journey was no longer about serving communities through dance. It was about me proving to everyone how clever, creative and critical

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The vanity of imagination

my fantasies could be. My well-referenced theories sounded so profound in my mind, but when I gave them voice, when I put them down on the page and then went back and read them the next day, I realized how enraptured I had become by my own speculations. I had even twisted my theoretical views so that they could support poetic metaphors. My imagination could indeed be very vain. This was humbling but also liberating. It initiated a slow shift in my doctoral journey, away from a theoretical treatise, away from a desire to construct a brilliant meta-narrative that might justify my practice as an arts interventionist. It was a slow move because my own practice as a dance artist and teacher in the Occupied Palestinian Territories remained the focus of my research. I did not know, however, how I might investigate my own practice in a meaningful way that was not just dull description. The tease of a vain imagination kept returning, whenever I would start to generalize and extrapolate on why I did things. Ultimately, I had to acknowledge that I was making a lot of it up. I was presuming so much and using observational evidence as a way of reinforcing something I already believed. I was being lazy, allowing my imagination to do the work of my curiosity, making up answers instead of seeking them out. I had to face a very hard reality. Perhaps a lot of my work teaching dance in marginalized and traumatized communities was based on what I presumed was good for local people. To justify these presumptions, I argued that very little had been documented about attitudes to dance practices in the West Bank, or about how these attitudes might have shifted as a result of community dance interventions. How could I possibly investigate my own community arts practice without imagining something to describe the unknown environment around me? If I didn’t fill in the gaps with speculations, then I’d be struck immobile and unable to function as a community arts interventionist. In hindsight, the final method and design that my doctoral research adopted seems farcically obvious. At the time however, the prevalent

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and diverse local speculations about the position and history of dance in Palestine, along with an expectation of myself as Somebody Who Does Things rather than as Somebody Who Finds Out What Others Have Done, meant that it took a long while for me to realize where the really profound questions were. Eventually it became very clear. If my work as a dance interventionist was to critically engage with issues of cultural hegemony and appropriation, I would need to develop a much more comprehensive understanding of how these issues had affected this specific community’s experience of dance. So my study re-focused itself on those I was connecting with in the West Bank community. It became an ethnographic history of dance teaching in Palestine during the past two centuries, and how this history continued to inform local dance teaching practices. Even after I had established the clear direction of my research, the doctoral journey remained complex, particularly when it came to condensing and organizing the material I had discovered. A major shift had occurred however, particularly in relation to my sense of who I was as a dance artist practitioner and researcher. I was no longer using rationale discourse as a way of justifying an existing practice, but instead using it as a way of discovering things that were not immediately apparent. As perhaps with all histories of the Middle East, the histories of dance that I was investigating were highly contentious. They had been constructed from differing viewpoints that both argued against, and borrowed from, each other. To work through the seeming contradictions, I reviewed articles, books and other archival material in libraries in Palestine, Israel and the UK. I interviewed current and past dance practitioners in Palestine, Israel and Lebanon. As I investigated how attitudes to dance had been constructed during the previous two centuries, it became apparent that popular dance histories had been heavily influenced by the competing socio-political ideologies of European colonization, Zionism, Arabism and Palestinian Nationalism. This had led to historical suppositions that were as fanciful as mine had been,

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and had contributed to a perceived polarization between traditional and contemporary dance in the local community. Despite millennia of constant cross-cultural interaction and transformative socio-economic, political and cultural upheavals in the region, there was a casual acceptance of the idea that local dance traditions had remained unchanged since ancient and biblical times. This idea recurred within both foreign and local cultural discourses. The subjugation of the local population of Palestine within a colonial mandate, and the subsequent rebellions and constructions of new national identities, relied upon references to local dance practices first as backward and then as pure and directly related to an authentic, ancient source of collective cultural identity. This notion of historic purity and authenticity, and the perception that innovation and adaptations of heritage were corruptive, seemed to underwrite the political concern that I had heard many years ago about ‘the vanity of imagination’. A fear of the dissolution of cultural identity through inter-cultural artistic fusion had meant that any creative act was seen as corruptive and merely self-serving. My reconstruction of this dance history, which I subsequently published as the book Raising dust: A cultural history of dance in Palestine (2010a) and an article on the political appropriation of dabke (2011), thus engaged both a post-colonial and a post-nationalist critical view. This allowed me to identify how local dance forms had been subjected to cultural hegemony and appropriation from diverse socio-political groups, from both the North/West and South/East. The research journey became spellbinding. Sitting in the reading rooms of the British Library, I poured over nineteenth century tales of pilgrim journeys to the Holy Land. I felt a thrill of discovery every time I found an anecdotal impression of local dance practices. While these short passages said more about the imperial attitudes of the travelers than they did about the dances being documented, they nevertheless provided clear illustrations of how diverse and dynamic local dance practices were. Following this investigation on in libraries and archives in Tel-Aviv and Ramallah helped

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illustrate how traditional Palestinian dance culture had been seen and reseen from remarkably different paradigms at different points in history, and how these different impressions had subsequently informed popular beliefs over what was ‘authentic’ in dance traditions. These collected documents provided some evidence of how cultural appropriation and hegemony had contributed to contentions over dance education within Palestinian society. The most memorable part of the research, however, involved the interviewing of local dance practitioners and teachers. With reference to the diverse ideas that I had found in the archives, these discussions were fun and lively places for reflection, remembrance and provocation. Impassioned oral histories tumbled out. It was especially pleasurable to question dancers that I had worked with in the studio, and by documenting their anecdotes somehow express how valuable I found their artistic experiences. In a sense, the research had become a way of saying thanks to the people I lived and danced with. This history of how creative innovation had been valued or vilified within dance in Palestine was threaded together by my educator’s concern over how such creativity was taught and learnt. It became clear that creativity was, and had been, an integral part of local dance production, and had historically been fostered in learning forums in different ways. As an ideal, creativity had not been imported and imposed through foreign cultural hegemony and appropriation- quite the opposite: imperial and national processes of hegemony and appropriation had instead sought to canonize and fix cultural traditions in time and space and deny any inherent dynamism in local dance education. From my postcolonial and post-national understandings of history, I could see that it was actually these imperial and national political movements that had associated innovation with corruptive European influences. I now understood that the ‘Imagination’ that had been described as so repugnant and vain in Ethiopia many years before was perceived as a particularly European sense of Imagination. It was an Imagination that

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had been promoted during the Renaissance, a selfish Imagination that privileged the individual will over communal, spiritual and environmental concerns. From my postcolonial, post-national investigation of dance in Palestine however, I could see that imagination was not inherently foreign. It was not a vanity that had been arrogantly foisted upon the world through first European colonization, then corporate globalization and eventually the sort of community arts workshops that I was facilitating. Imagination had historically had a central role within the perpetuation of intangible heritage in Palestine. As such, fostering creativity in twenty-first century dance learning-forums could be seen as central to cultural autonomy and sustainability. I understood that this did not, of course, mean that all forms and approaches to creativity in arts are relevant to all cultural communities. Perhaps if I had entered this study from a more typical ethnographic route, from a simple curiosity about culture, my research journey would have ended there. My involvement in the West Bank as a dance teacher pushed me, instead, to then critically consider how my own community arts practice might now be approached from a more informed and sensitive position, in the light of the ethnographic history I had constructed. Hoping that these insights might be of benefit to other local and visiting artists, I extended this secondary investigation in my thesis and then within three subsequent articles on dance teaching (Rowe, 2008), dance making (Rowe, 2009) and dance critiquing (Rowe, 2010b) within the Occupied Palestinian Territories. The breakfast conversation with a stranger in Addis Ababa many years before had allowed for a moment of epiphany, but it was a malformed epiphany. It opened up ideas but did not resolve them. The later doctoral journey allowed for a time and space to investigate that disturbing moment more rigorously and find a way in which it might become a useful realization, not just a realization. In doing so, I feel that I have found an approach to inter-cultural education (and a way of articulating it) that might reduce the antagonism, and ultimately the posturing, that occurred in the conversation

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in Addis Ababa and its culmination in the taunting catchphrase ‘the vanity of imagination’. As a practicing artist and an academic researcher, I know how easily my imagination can still take charge of my perceptions and lead to fantastical assumptions. My imagination can be vain and can preen itself on a page or on the stage, without exposing anything more useful than its own ability to reproduce. It can also, however, allow for extraordinary empathy and an envisioning of what is not immediately apparent. The doctoral journey taught me that the choice of how I employ my imagination is mine, and that a disturbing catchphrase does not need to determine how, where, or if, I teach.

References Rowe, N. (2011). Dance and political credibility: the appropriation of dabkeh by Zionism, Pan-Arabism and Palestinian Nationalism. Middle East Journal, 65(3), 1–18. Rowe, N. (2010a). Raising dust: A cultural history of dance in Palestine. London: IB Tauris. Rowe, N. (2010b). Movement politics: Dance criticism in the Occupied Palestinian Territories. Forum for Modern Language Studies, 46(4), 441–459. Rowe, N. (2009). Post-Salvagism: Choreography and its discontents in the Occupied Palestinian Territories. Dance Research Journal, 41(1), 45–68. Rowe, N. (2008). Dance education in the Occupied Palestinian Territories: Hegemony, counter hegemony and anti-hegemony. Research in Dance Education, 9(1), 3–20. Rowe, N. (2003). Art during seige: Performing arts workshops in traumatised communities. Palestine: Popular Art Centre.

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Risk-taker: Meaning–maker Kathleen Buchanan An Investigation into Drama Education: A socio-cultural case study Faculty of Education Monash University, 2010

Abstract of thesis The research investigates the practice and understandings of Drama Education in a school through a socio-cultural case study. The focus was to discover what constitutes Drama Education in a school awarded for best practice in Australia. The concept of play underpins the questioning of the drama practice in Middle School. This study investigates the socio-cultural background of the institution to uncover the historical influences that impacted on the interpretation of Drama Education. A qualitative research approach was used with an ethnographic case study methodology. Interviews were conducted with teachers in Drama Education and with leaders in the school. Observations of drama lessons were recorded and school documentation was collected. Additionally, a personal journal recorded the events, and a questionnaire to the parents was conducted. Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis (IPA) was applied to the data to uncover the contemporary educational and sociological philosophies that underpinned the role of play in Drama Education. The findings show a well-intentioned appreciation of play was presented. However, play in Drama Education in

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the school was misplaced and a specific theoretical understanding of play is required in the drama pedagogy. _____ Reflecting on the journey into my doctoral research I must admit that it began many years ago; as life shaped me into a researcher without my knowledge. I had no ‘grand plan’ and my education evolved through my curiosity. Somehow, I fell into my lifelong journey as opportunities appeared, just at the right time for me to grasp and run with them. So it was by happenstance that I saw an advertisement in the Saturday Age newspaper about funded research in education at Monash University for the Educational Doctorate. At second glance I imagined going to the same university with my daughter. Was this trying to recapture my youth? Was I too old to contemplate such an enormous undertaking? Or was there something still to be completed in my life? Since accomplishing my Masters, my children had completed school and had embarked on their tertiary studies. My responsibilities were virtually over; surely this was a time in life to relax and slow down. Yet as a natural born risk taker, I was ready to seize another chance in life and I am so pleased I did; even though it was difficult at times. In Australia entry requirements for an EdD are similar to the PhD; however, the EdD requires a number of years of professional experience in education or academic life. Many do not understand this degree and it is often mistakenly thought to be inferior to a PhD. I had discovered that Monash has a strong academic reputation and is recognized for its standards in research. That awareness allowed me to consider the possibility to achieve what I had previously considered unattainable; the opportunity to complete advanced research related to my teaching and professional practice in education. I had no clear idea where the degree would lead me as I was interested in the research aspect rather than the advancement in my professional career. I was and still am content being a primary school drama teacher.

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Monash offered the EdD to be completed in three to four years full-time, or part-time equivalent, with intakes in both semesters. The mid-year intake appealed to me, as did the assignment of a supervisor and an associate supervisor as I had no knowledge of the academic staff. Monash was not too far to travel from home and work so that appealed to my sense of time management. The EdD program offered an innovative approach to the professional doctorate, comprising several supervised research core units in educational research conducted after working hours, so that I could still continue my teaching. It sounded so easy. Oh yes … and a thesis of about 80,000 words. Little did I realize that it would take me eight years part-time to complete this cycle in my life. The Educational Doctorate is a professional approach to a higher degree to demonstrate the candidate’s ability to relate academic knowledge to the problems of professional practice. It was the ideal way for me to employ my teaching practice in Drama Education to research. Collaborative and reflective practice has been embedded in me from an early stage of my career, so the professional doctorate was a comfortable vehicle for achieving my goal. The Educational Doctorate provided the opportunity for me to research with others and I value the student contact rather than learning in isolation. The group challenged my approaches and enlivened my understanding. I always thought it was important to follow my interest and learn from inspiring mentors. Walking into my first lecture was an eye opener – the students were mostly older than myself and I laughed at my fear of being a mature-age student! Previously, I had chosen three other universities for specific reasons related to the structure of their program and their particular instruction for my other degrees. Each university enabled me to take a risk and adapt to a new learning environment and gather particular tools to enhance my teaching. Monash provided the research education I needed to validate and articulate my belief in Drama Education. During my research it came as a surprise that the lecturers and staff nurtured me and supported me in such an all-embracing manner throughout

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my study. Whenever I sought assistance from the library, law department, IT or from colleagues, there emerged an open door policy which enthused me to go further with my research. It was my associate-supervisor who inspired my belief in my capabilities, my self-worth and my determination to succeed during the introductory phase and assisted me to voice my ideas to others. She later became my main supervisor and supported me throughout the whole process; she was ‘the wind beneath my wings’ breathing strength and confidence into my character. She made sure I had a room to work in at the university, close to her so that I felt respected and accepted. Her endless supervision and enduring faith in me through her guidance, insight, support and unwavering encouragement led and assisted me on my journey. Research demands a strong disposition that requires perseverance and communication throughout the process. It is necessary to be resilient and to be able to problem-solve and develop skills in clarity and precision and retain a sense of humour. In reflection, the education I received has been extraordinary due to the support and guidance from my supervisor to follow my passion for drama and education. Many are less fortunate I have heard, as their supervision is rather clinical.

The process of deciding on the topic through invaluable lessons Background The research topic evolved from my deep fascination with play. Play in the learning environment. Play as a means of communicating and experimenting with ideas and issues. As I recall, this process started with the voice of a six year old. I remember the burning desire I had at that age. More than anything in the whole wide world I wanted to be Goldilocks, even though I had short red hair! And indeed I did play the part. Amazingly I convinced my teacher and parents that it was possible, with the help of a shoulder length

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Titian coloured wig, I was transformed into Goldilocks – I believed and thus others believed too. The impact of this experience has had a profound influence on my attitude to learning. Anything was, and is possible. I was hooked for life; learning through play was instilled in me. Drama opened my eyes and opened doors to opportunities for the discovery of a way of knowing. Drama generated meaning through my play so that I could learn to understand different perspectives and value diverse points of view about the same context. Drama was illuminating situations so that my interpretations were enhanced. From this point I wandered through life with both my eyes and ears open, observing emotions, experiences and relationships, and thus reading the underlying messages of what was really happening. Growing up on a farm provided a rich environment for inquiry and laid the foundations for me as a qualitative researcher. Observation was a prized skill as the slightest change in circumstances could herald a greater forthcoming change. The cause and effect, the consequences of an action were all lessons that were gradually and naturally incorporated in my world. However, due to living in the country it was necessary to attend boarding school. I learnt resilience. Nevertheless the long hours of silence and prayer provided an opportunity for deep reflection and a vivid imagination to develop! I learnt that a person can be controlled on the outside with rules and regulations but the environment needs to be nurturing, to encourage young minds to be open and to take risks. The role-playing on the farm and the role modelling from those I respected provided the responsibility, risk-taking and determination that compensated for the claustrophobic boarding school experience. Primary teaching appealed to my inquisitive nature. But soon, due to my reflective practice I realised that teaching required more than a licence to teach and I commenced my journey of life-long learning. I returned to study to develop the necessary skills to educate children. However my real education arrived with the birth of my two children. My focus was on their development, their happiness, their safety and their love of life. Observing them in play opened my eyes to the first hand information about the value

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of play; learning through experimentation and through dramatic play. Their experiential learning was the catalyst for the shift in my attitude to learning. I saw that meaningful learning developed from their fun and enjoyment as they engaged in something that they had purposefully chosen to pursue; to discover information that they were personally seeking. Many times I would be included in their play as they allocated my role, which was usually subordinate to theirs. They initiated the play and I followed them, offering mere suggestions that they either incorporated or dismissed as illogical. Due to the accessibility to a lovely big backyard with an overgrown vegetable patch, fruit trees and play equipment the children would embark on adventures all morning and I would have to call them to reappear at appropriate meal times. They were so engrossed in their play and so engaged with their environment that I was relegated as a spectator to their activities. They seemed to be able to play in role and discuss their role at the same time as they explained the experiences to me. It was fascinating to listen to these little ones’ serious intent. The safe environment, the natural facilities and the multiple numbers of pets filled their days with pleasure. It always seemed like a new chapter opening each day as they initiated their learning. And so as I ventured back into the classroom I found that my children had changed my teaching approach. The old fashioned didactic learning had changed due to personal experiences. Before too long the Principal suggested that due to my dramatic approach to classroom teaching I might be interested in teaching Drama. This came as a great surprise to me. I hadn’t noticed the impact of my ten years ‘at home’ under the influence of ‘the little ones’. So I went back to university to learn how to be a drama teacher. The life-long learning that has occurred throughout my life has been exhilarating. Each time I return to study I redefine myself, I discover a deeper schema to my thinking and I enjoy the whole process. I am empowered. Over the years this new learning at the university has validated my thoughts and actions with a strong theoretical stance. It has challenged me to go beyond the

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surface learning and recognise new connections and approaches. But I also must say that the practical experience in the classroom has been essential for the ‘experimentation’ stage of teaching and learning as it provided an incubation time for learning. Together the professional development and the school’s philosophy act as guidelines to the development of a teacher’s thought processes. I remember the challenge of the Early Learning Centre when I slipped into the wonderful preschool world, influenced by the Reggio Emilia philosophy. The experience was a delight but also a rude awakening and the careful nurturing and mentoring by the Directress was crucial for my understanding of Vygotsky. This theoretical framework assisted in my professional growth as I was learning at the same time as my students. I was learning not only from adults but from the children too. During my career I have had role models of all ages assisting and scaffolding my learning, which in turn I mirror in my drama practice. The latest approach in my professional teaching and learning has been the Primary Years Programme of the International Baccalaureate Organization. Through the collaborative approach of working with a group of educators I have recently extended my inquiry approach to teaching and learning. Finally, throughout my professional development I have learnt the art of reflection. With the writing of a journal, in my own words, I have learnt to describe what was happening and how and why I thought about issues. This is a most empowering skill because suddenly there is acknowledgment of the strength of one’s own voice. Now, I valued what I have to say. I am willing to speak up and state my opinions. This I think is the greatest gift to offer students. The recognition of respect for the individual is an important component in shaping learning. It starts with a whisper and develops into a roar. Voicing is one thing but listening is the other critical ingredient for empowerment. Thus the audience, be it one or one hundred provides the sounding board for the ideas to perform. So it is within this research that I embark on the quest of discovery about Drama in Education.

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University When I applied for the EdD degree, Monash University requested a proposal of my areas of interest. I believe this indicated my direction so that supervisors could be allocated appropriately. As a primary school teacher trained in Drama Education, and a mature-age university student I had developed a specific interest in drama from Early Learning to Middle School. I appreciated the Reggio Emilia approach in early childhood and the inquiry method of learning in pre-adolescence. I was unsure of the exact question I was going to research but I knew it would incorporate teaching practice in a school setting. Monash allocated two supervisors from Music Education with understanding and interest in the Arts. This was to prove vital for I was reluctant to admit play was my main interest. I considered play elementary to learning and not important enough for university research. My supervisors allowed me extensive time to settle into the course and they supported my direction. They encouraged me to voice my ideas so that I identified and articulated my passion for play which became the catalyst for my investigation. I felt I needed to legitimize play through the United Nations Declaration of the Rights of the Child which identified the importance of play for all children and officially recognized play as a right for children up to the age of eighteen years. Penn (2008) believes the Rights of the Child have been ‘a landmark in rethinking children and childhood’ (p. 145). It was difficult to define ‘play’ and its culture. Sutton-Smith (1997) spent forty years pursuing the meaning of play and still questioned its ambiguity. Csikszentmihalyi (1977) and Schwartzman (1978) would strongly criticize the concept of play being aligned solely with leisure. Sutton-Smith and KellyByrne (1984) declared that play can be viewed as a mask because of its elusive nature and many guises. Kelly-Byne (1984) identified that in some instances play is considered trivial. I investigated the theories and beliefs about play which included the classical theories purported by Spencer, Groos, Hall and Patrick as their influence is still noticeable. Zigler and Bishop-Josef (2006)

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would argue that the developmental theories of Piaget (1962) and Vygotsky (1978) ‘both stressed the essential role of play for cognitive development’ (p. 23). Zigler and Bishop-Joseph (2006) also demonstrated an understanding of the value of play in children’s learning in social development. I realized the connection with the Vygotskian influence on the learning environment. This was noticeable in my own drama practice as a ‘meaning-making’ process in which the child’s interaction with the symbolic world (internalization) developed through their social interaction. Vygotsky (1978) identified this as ‘peer play’ that he considered as the zone of proximal development (ZPD) which has been popularized by Bruner in the 1960s as ‘scaffolding’ to describe how adults help children learn. Both Vygotsky and his follower El’konin emphasized the importance of social play as being critical in child socialization. Bodrova and Leong (2003) state Vygotsky (1978) defined ‘real play has three major features: Children create an imaginary situation, take on and act out roles and follow a set of rules determined by specific roles’ (p. 161). My research was motivated by questions about the role and influence of play in Drama Education. The past theories about play filtered through contemporary understandings and attitudes that are still evidenced in current dialogue. The numerous justifications for the inclusion of play in education appeared intriguing and I felt warranted further investigation. Of particular interest was the lack of discussion in research concerning the inclusion of play in middle childhood. Play is accepted within early childhood educational culture but not so readily accepted in the middle childhood circle. This disparity opened up the investigation into semiexplored territory. The sparse literature on middle childhood play caused concerns. The need for play in adolescence was identified as an area of particular significance (Dunn, 1996, 2002; Evaldsson & Corsaro, 1998; Goodenough, 2002; Hatton, 2003; Roberts, 1980; Singer, 1995, 2006). After much investigation, the leader in the field of play and Drama in Australia was identified as Julie Dunn. Dunn (2002) made the links between Drama,

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play and pre-adolescence as areas of concern to investigate. Subsequently, this led to a discussion into the research on play and its connection to Drama Education in my review of the literature. The issues of privacy, continuation and opportunities to play, extra-curricular drama, motivation, popular culture, control and boundaries, peer pressure, anxiety and identity were identified as the pertinent issues related to middle childhood. I was fortunate to find an interesting article by Flynn (1991) that identified that ‘not enough qualitative research on actual observed drama sessions exists’ (p. 3). The study by Flynn and Carr (1994) demonstrated the collaboration between a classroom teacher and a drama specialist to explore literature through Drama Education. Dunn (2008b) supports the idea of collaboration with teachers using dramatic play and literacy in the early years. It was at this point I directed my attention and focus on an investigation into the importance of play and pedagogy in Drama Education as a major contention of the research. From this stance I set about to examine education through play to provide an inquiry into the different perspectives that influence teacher and student roles in learning. My position on Drama Education is informed and influenced by inspirational drama educators and reference to a long list of practitioners inform my research (Gavin Bolton, David Booth, Bruce Burton, Richard Courtney, Julie Dunn, Dorothy Heathcote, David Hornbrook, Nellie McCaslin, Jonathon Neelands, Cecily O’Neill, John O’Toole, Peter Slade, Philip Taylor, Betty Jane Wagner and Brian Way). The reasons for my research came from the investigations into play that identified the gap in the studies on play to investigate the impact of play on pre-adolescents in terms of experiences, perception and understandings through a cultural and social context to enlighten existing research. I identified the need for the greater understanding of the potential contribution of play to assist and develop learning in society. I was hopeful to discover a model of good teaching practice to contribute to the professional practice of teaching. There is an urgent need particularly with the emergence

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of the Australian National Curriculum to look to good practice in the drama field so that the teaching profession can examine the critical issues of Arts teaching to promote learning across the curriculum. Bloomfield (1996) advocates the need for research to include all age ranges from the ‘youngest child through to secondary age and including…initial training levels and the professional development of teachers’ (p. 9). Taylor and Warner (2006) promote ‘effective and fruitful research will develop emerging representations of the way in which drama operates in a variety of contexts’ (p. 132). O’Toole (1992) espoused that the practices and ethos of the educational setting influenced the process of the participants. Consequently a school offers a unique self-contained culture and provides the ideal case study for research. Simply stated my research question was ‘What is drama practice in this school?’ A number of other questions were embedded in that question to discover the importance of play in Drama Education and the type of learning environment created for Drama Education. The aims of the research were to explore the value, role, place and practices of drama in a selected school identified for its best practice. Also to discover the place of play within the selected school’s Drama Education for middle childhood. Corarso (1997) recommended research into play not just for preschool children but older children and adults (p. xiv).

The process to decide on the methodology for the research I commenced the EdD mid-year as the core course units were spread over two years and this allowed me time to process the information. The lectures and assignments were difficult for me and I needed clarification about many aspects regarding the methodology for research. This explanation was accomplished with the patient weekly de-briefing with my supervisor who was extremely tolerant and encouraging as I found this a steep learning curve and I often felt undermined and lacking confidence in my ability. The library

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is also a haven that offers assistance for novice researchers. The librarians were a wealth of knowledge as they provided workshops for organizing information and constructing arguments and discussions. Within the library there were past theses to study for topics, layout and frameworks; I remember a lecture where we sat browsing through the different theses thinking ‘Is this how it’s done’. The main change that occurred in the search for the methodology was within me; as each time I needed help, I actively pursued it and was honest enough to admit that I did not understand. Monash provided the help in numerous ways but as a student, ownership and openness of the process is paramount to achieving success. I gained an epistemological stance from the core course units as they laid the foundations for my knowledge of theory and methodology to address my thesis. The discussions on conceptual frameworks in lectures and with my fellow students enabled me to realize what was appropriate for me to use for the type of research I was pursuing. The Student Research Group at Monash provided useful and informative discussion groups to clarify theoretical understanding. Lengthy discussions with my supervisor confirmed my approach, suggesting reading material and encouraging reflective practice as I questioned my process. My supervisor listened to me explain my metacognitive approach and advised me to read about Interpretative Phenomenology Analysis (IPA) as she recognized my natural inclination to interpret in this way. I discovered it was exactly the approach I understood and so I used it confidently on the data and on my reflective journal. My education was developing as a researcher as Monash University provided platforms for learning outside the coursework. The Winter Schools broadened my understanding of the application of methodology as I was able to discuss with other students the use of quantitative and qualitative approaches, mixed methodology, and ethnographic case study approach. Research strategies and data analysis methods enabled me to gain specific knowledge of the different approaches. Miller (2003) presented her case study with an ethnographic approach in socio-cultural framework to

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interpret the social context in her research. Miller (2003) explained that a case study with an ethnographic approach incorporates four criteria including a ‘socio-cultural view of what is said and the consequences of speaking and hearing; revealing social conditions and positions of participants in the contextual features in a local setting; an emic or insider perspective from both participant and researcher; flexibility in data collection and analysis’ (pp. 15–16). My supervisor encouraged my investigation of socio-cultural theory from my interest in Vygotsky and I attended some discussions with a cohort of devotees of the theory at Deakin on a fortnightly basis. The opportunity to hear Barbara Rogoff at Monash Peninsula confirmed my ideas about play and socio-cultural theory. My meeting with Barbara Rogoff at a conference enabled me to listen to the socio-cultural approach to her research which resonated with my own beliefs about learning. Rogoff (2003) explained ‘children’s engagement in routines and play allows them to become familiar with local traditions and practices’ (p. 295). Her term ‘guided participation’ broadens the collaborative learning process similar to the social interaction in Vygotsky’s zone of proximal development which describes the intellectual space between the teacher and the learner. This knowledge persuaded me to delve into socio-cultural theory as a conceptual framework for my research to analyse the elements at play in the educative process. Initially I thought that a comparative study between Early Learning and Middle School would be feasible for my research but Drama Education was not offered in many Primary schools. The recommendation to be selective came from the confirmation of the candidature panel at Monash University. I identified the nominations for the ‘Australian Best Schools’ series organized by The Australian in 2004 awarded best practice for Dance and Drama. The site acknowledged for best practice was then carefully chosen for a single case study to glean the most relevant, recognized and recent information about play in best drama practice. Finally, my research began to question the value of play in Drama Education in contemporary

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understanding and encompass the role and current practice of Drama in a selected school. It is acknowledged that the choice of methodology should be based on the nature of research questions and the data sought (Keeves & Lakomski, 1999; Rist, 1982; Willig, 2001). Using a qualitative, ethnographic approach, a single case study was selected as most appropriate. The strategies for data collection were observation, journal writing, interviews and a questionnaire with regard to triangulation of data. The selection of participants, the questioning of validity, ethical concerns and bias were all addressed. The qualitative data analysis method Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis (IPA) was chosen to process and interpret the data and identify the emergent themes. The importance of accuracy in the research is vital to enable the investigation to be legitimate. Authenticity As a storyteller, the history or background is of importance, as it ‘sets the scene’. Similarly researchers would indicate historical reference to place the situation into context. An understanding of the significance of a concept is greater when prior knowledge is brought to the action. How the story is told, what is included or omitted is due to the individuals’ focus and the manner in which it is imparted. Articulating characters, situations and feelings are crucial if the storyteller is to be authentic. This too is found in research, as there is much to contemplate from what is exposed as what is discretely disguised. Authenticity is the key to a good performance and as a researcher this ‘realness’ needs to be heightened, not just for the sake of the genuine account but also for the ethical reason; so the information, be it good, bad or indifferent, is viewed to consider the validity of why and how things occur. Investigation In my praxis as a drama teacher, it is the particular ‘case’ that is the reason to involve me in the process of investigation. I am intrigued by both the

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problems which need to be studied and the discoveries that are encountered. I feel like a detective who is presented with a mystery to be solved or interpreted. The clues or impartial realities that are uncovered or develop build the fabric of the investigation. Questioning the validity of the findings and analysing the situations from different perspectives enlightens the case. Through the interpretation of the phenomenon the analysis is deepened and enhanced. But research is not just based on an interpretation alone but on theories that substantiate the direction and findings. The theoretical framework tightens the rigor required in research so it can build significant findings and those interested in the particular case can understand the discovery. Intention As a researcher the qualitative approach to a case study that can be analysed through an interpretative process appeals to me and suits the person I am. It is from this stance that I have been influenced to conduct my research into an area of study that I consider important and pertinent to my pedagogy to gain insights into best practice in drama education. To present a case, so that others may glean from it what is useful to them. Thus the methodology for the study of best practice in drama education has evolved from the stance I take in both my praxis and my research training, which had the catalyst of questioning, ‘What is best practice?’ in a site that has been recommended and recognised by scholars.

Organizing life and work around the thesis During my research I discovered it was important to develop a plan of action to maintain my sanity and wellbeing. I found being a researcher was a steep learning curve because the academic language and general assignments demanded time and rigor. I have listed several points below to demonstrate what assisted me to cope both personally and professionally.

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»» Time was the most important challenging issue. Fortunately, I worked part-time and I had days to devote to the research necessary for assignments. Due to my curiosity about topics and my persistence with my learning, I actively sought answers either in the Library or from my supervisors. This strategy assisted me to develop as a researcher. »» I made the time to attend meetings at the university and elsewhere, on a regular basis, so that I felt as if I belonged and that sense of belonging was a powerful feeling to continue coming to the university and seeking help. »» I used some of my holidays to attend to research in the Library, go to conferences and have extended uninterrupted time to complete a task. I made sure I had a certain amount of thinking time away from my teaching job. »» I had an exercise routine so that I got up early and went to the Gym before going to University. I often took breakfast and lunch to eat there, so that I had healthy nutrition. Or, my supervisor invited me to the university dining club to eat with her and her colleagues. »» I kept a balance with my social life and had pleasurable events to look forward to each month enjoying theatre, art galleries and dining out. »» On two occasions I took trips to Italy and USA to visit my daughter and did absolutely nothing on my research for three weeks at a time. This cleared my head and I came back with renewed vigor. »» I had wonderful friends who cared and listened to me and distracted me for my own well being. »» The extended family duties took their toll on my time and emotional stability. During difficult times I would enlist help through counselors as I had a very close friend die of breast cancer and my mother-in-law had a long illness and also died. In the last year of my research my mother

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became ill and required assistance. The emotional distress was inarguably the most stressful element to contend with and seeking help defused the intensity of these situations. »» I outsourced all domestic jobs, cleaning, ironing, gardening so that my time was used to advantage. »» I encouraged humor into my life and took opportunities to dance and sing. In fact I took ballroom dancing classes! »» I took time off teaching to accomplish the final writing up stage in the last year. »» I employed people to write the transcripts from the interviews and record them on CD’s. I found a staff member who worked along-side of me to double check my references. I sought help with the final editing and formatting procedure and my supervisor knew of a book binder who bound the thesis within the week.

Advice to prospective doctoral candidates I consider the supervisor is the key element in the doctoral process. Forming a trusting relationship takes time and effort from both the student and the supervisor. The time my supervisor allowed me to come to my decisions was crucial in our relationship. She allowed time to think, discuss and re-evaluate information. She gave me ownership of my process as a researcher. I would make regular meetings to discuss my passion for Drama and the importance of play. Her encouragement developed my confidence and enabled me to seek out further related areas. She broadened my interest in researching different theoretical frameworks until I was confident with socio-cultural theory. She introduced me to new ways of thinking and encouraged my efforts constantly.

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The most difficult memory of the time as a candidate As often happens during the research process, a supervisor leaves. It was sad when my first supervisor’s husband died and she ceased working. Yet, before this happened she had taken a promotion and was too busy to accommodate me which made me feel inadequate. Therefore prior to the death, the supervision was altered so that my second supervisor took on the majority of the work. She nurtured me and rebuilt my confidence so that I gained ownership of my thesis. I can remember the night I gave a PowerPoint presentation about the importance of play in my research and how she had invited a colleague to support my views and how she protected and guided me through difficult situations.

The most memorable time during the research One of the most memorable times during my research was when I was recognized for my thinking. A well respected lecturer valued my ideas and accepted me for who I was and acknowledged how I expressed myself. To gain a distinction in that particular core unit helped me to believe that I could achieve the doctorate. The other memorable moment was binding my thesis as I knew that I had accomplished what I had set out to do. I stood there overwhelmed holding the evidence of years of my work.

In retrospect what I would do differently in my journey I would not change anything in the journey of my EdD as I needed the time to develop as a university researcher and I enjoyed the process. However, I would encourage all teachers to continue their own professional development to the highest level to understand their own teaching capabilities; as teachers often underestimate their worth!

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References Bloomfield, A. (1996). Dreams and destinations: The quest for excellence through educational research in the arts. Issues in Educational Research, 6(1), 1-12. Bodrova, E. & Leong, D. J. (2003). Learning and development of preschool children from the Vygotskian perspective. In A. Kozulin, B. Gindis, V.S. Agetev & S.M Miller (Eds.), Vygotsky’s educational theory in cultural context. (pp.156-176). NY: Cambridge University Press. Corsaro, W. A. (1997). Foreword. In R. K. Sawyer (Ed.), Pretend play as improvisationconversation in the preschool classroom (pp.i-xvi). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1977). Beyond boredom and anxiety. San Francisco: Jossey Bass. Dunn, J. (1996). Who’s pretending: A study of the dramatic play of primary school children. Unpublished MA (Drama) thesis. Academy of the Arts, Queensland University of Technology, Brisbane. Dunn, J. (2002). Dramatic world in play: A study of the dramatic play of pre-adolescent girls. Unpublished PhD thesis. Griffith University. Brisbane. Dunn, J. (2008a). Playing around with improvisation: An analysis of the text creation processes used within preadolescent dramatic play. Research in Drama Education, 13(1), 55-70. Dunn, J. (2008b). Play, drama and literacy in the early years. In J. Marsh & E. Hallet (Eds.), Desirable literacies. Approches to language & literacy the early years (2nd ed.) (pp.162-182). London: Sage.  Evaldsson, A.- C., & Corsaro, W. A. (1998). Play and Games in the peer cultures of preschool and preadolescent children: An interpretative approach. Childhood, 5(4), 377-402. Flynn, R. M. (1991). The drama specialist: Controlled by…controlling by… Youth Theatre Journal, 5(3), 3-10. Flynn, R. M. & Carr, G. A. (1994). Exploring classroom literature through drama: A specialist and a teacher collaborate. Language Arts, 71(1), 38-43. Goodenough, E. N. (2002). Foreword. In D. Sobel, Children’s special places. Detroit: Wayne State University Press. Hatton, C. (2003). Backyards and borderlands: Some reflections on researching the travels of adolecent girls doing drama. Research in Drama Education, 8(2), 139-156. Keeves, J.P. & Lakomski, G. (Eds.). (1999). Issues in Educational Research. Oxford: Pergamon. Kelly-Byrne, D. (1984). The meaning of play’s triviality. In B. Sutton-Smith, & D. Kelly-Byrne. (Eds.), The masks of play (pp.165-170). New York: Leisure Press. Miller, J. (2003). Audible difference: ESL and social identity in schools. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. O’Toole, J. (1992). The process of drama: Negotiating art and meaning. London: Routledge Piaget, J. (1962). (C. Gattegno & F. M. Hodgson, Trans.). Play, dreams and imitation in childhood. New York: The Norton Library. Penn, H. (2008). Understanding early childhood: Issues and controversies. (2nd ed.). Maidenhead, Berkshire: McCraw-Hill/Open University Press. Rist, R. C. (1982). On the application of ethnographic inquiry to education: Procedures and possibilities. Journal of Research in Science Teaching, 19(6), 439-450. Roberts, A. (1980). Out to play: The middle years of childhood. Aberdeen: University of Aberdeen Press.

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Rogoff, B. (2003). The cultural nature of human development. New York: Oxford University Press. Singer, J. L. (1995). Imaginative play in childhood: Precursor of subjunctive thought, daydreaming and adult pretend games. In A. D. Pellegrini (Ed.), The future of play theory: A multi-disciplinary inquiry into the contributions of Brian Sutton-Smith (pp.187-219). New York: State University of NY Press. Singer, J. L. (2006). Epilogue: Learning to play and learning through play. In D. G. Singer, R. Michnick Golinkoff & K. Hirsh-Pasek (Eds.), play = learning: How play motivates and enhances children’s cognitive and social-emotional growth (pp.251-262). NY: Oxford University Press. Sutton-Smith, B. (Ed.). (1979). Play and learning. New York: Gardner Press. Sutton-Smith, B. & Kelly-Byrne, D. (Eds.). (1984). The masks of play. New York: Leisure Press. Schwartzman, H. B. (1978). Transformation: The anthropology of children’s play. New York: Plenum Press. Taylor, P. & Warner, C.D. (2006), Structure and spontaneity: The process drama of Cecily O’Neill. Staffordshire, UK: Trentham Books. UNESCO (1973). Declaration of the rights of the child. Retrieved October 20, 2008, http://www. cirp.org/library/ethics/UN-declaration Vygotsky, L. S. (1978). Mind in society: The development of higher psychological processes. (M. Cole, V. John-Steiner, S. Scriber & E. Souberman, Trans. and Eds.). Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Willig, C. (2001). Introducing qualitative research in psychology: Adventures in theory and method (pp.50-69). Buckingham: Open University Press. Zigler, E. F. & Bishop-Josef, S. J. (2006). The Cognitive child versus the whole child: Lessons from 40 years of head start. In D. Singer, R. Michnick Golinkoff & K. Hirsh-Pasek (Eds.). play = learning. How play motivates and enhances children’s cognitive and social-emotional growth (pp.15-35). New York: Oxford University Press.

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Passion and pedagogy: Researching as reflective practitioner Helen Cahill Learning Partnerships: the use of poststructuralist drama techniques to improve communication between teachers, doctors and adolescents The University of Melbourne, Melbourne, 2008

Abstract of thesis Adults working as teachers and doctors can find it difficult to communicate well with young people about the issues that affect their wellbeing and learning and thus miss opportunities to contribute when their clients experience adversity. Drama is often used as a pedagogical tool to assist people to develop their communication skills. Dramatic portrayals however, can reinforce rather than challenge limiting stereotypes, and there is the potential for learning through drama to contribute to a patronising world-view and lead to the assumption that a set of formulaic approaches can bridge the communication divide. There is thus a need for research that

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engages both theoretically and technically with the use of drama as a tool for applied learning. In this thesis, a reflective practitioner methodology is used to explore the use of drama as a method in participatory enquiry and as a tool in the professional education of teachers and doctors. Use of the practitioner perspective permits analysis of the alignment between theory and practice. The Learning Partnerships project provides the context within which to conduct this enquiry. In this project the researcher leads drama workshops that bring together classes of school students and tertiary students completing their studies in medicine or education. The adolescents work as co-investigators with the teachers and doctors, exploring how to communicate effectively in the institutional contexts of schools and clinics. Poststructuralist theory is used to refine the drama techniques used as tools for enquiry into the discourses that shape behaviour in schools and clinics. Innovative drama techniques are used to deepen the investigation, to interrupt the tendency towards replication of the status quo within the drama, and to guide a critical analysis of the way in which young people are conceptualised. Theory is developed which addresses the way in which the selection of the dramatic form influences the knowledge that can be represented in the drama. Participants find that the methodology makes possible a new level of authenticity in communication. They value the collaborative mode of working and the critical nature of the enquiry. They find that these techniques assist them to humanise each other and to re-frame their assumptions about what is possible in their relationships. The adults value the coaching they receive from the young people who represent their future clients and the opportunity to rehearse their skills in a life-like context. The students gain a sense of pride and purpose through using their skills to make a civic contribution. This innovative approach to deconstruction through the drama contributes new methods to utilise in professional training and participatory

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enquiry. Recommendations are made about the use of drama to investigate complex professional situations. The research demonstrates the benefits of incorporating the client as coach when developing the skills of those entering the human services professions; the need to engage with investigation of discourses as well as development of skills when learning how to manage complex professional interactions; and the potential of drama as a tool for applied learning. _____

My questions grew from practice The thesis is a story. Mine was one that started in the middle and did not quite reach the end. This was because it was an investigation into my own practice. As the reflective practitioner, I had been engaged with my ‘questions’ since my career began, and I anticipated that I would continue to engage with them after the thesis was complete. In the first years of my practice as a high school drama teacher my chief concern was to find ‘what works’. I struggled with how to design the tasks, engage the students, manage the social dynamic, and direct the enquiry. With growing experience, I became more ambitious, seeking to stretch my students and press their learning into new corners, finding ways to develop their ethical and critical engagement as well as their aesthetic learning. However, as is often the case in reflective practice, addressing one question merely opened the door to another. How? hitched up to ride tandem with Why? and my assumptions were unscrambled into questions that themselves needed further enquiry. Some of my research questions were slow to take form. They appeared first as shadowy uncertainties lurking behind my classroom practice, and only later shaped into the more lucid queries that directed my subsequent research. This emergence of the questions can be tracked through the following story of my early practice.

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A classroom story The story below, set in my high school classroom, illustrates my emerging interest in two themes that are pivotal in my research study. The first is the analysis of the pedagogy that shapes the participants’ cognitive, affective and aesthetic engagement with the material. The second is the use of drama techniques as tools for enquiry into the discourses and storylines that orient our actions. This story charts my continuing interest in the function of the participatory tasks in enabling a collective exploration of social issues. More particularly, it marks the beginning of my quest to understand how the framing of the question and selection of form or genre might govern the knowledge that can be represented through the drama. It also marks my turn to the narrative form in an attempt to encapsulate and carry forward into the research text the experience of reflection within practice that was at the heart of my methodology.

Hot Air Balloons It is my Year 10 class of 1997. This day I tell them we will investigate the question: How can a young person get a romantic relationship started? Our protagonist knows that s/he ‘likes’ another person, but has not yet disclosed this to anyone. The class engages. This question is relevant. I ask them to brainstorm ideas about a how a person might signal their interest in another. A long list emerges. You can ask outright, get a friend to test the water, send a note, flirt, hint, invite. The students agree – this is a scene that you could play badly – stuff up. You might make an idiot of yourself, get rejected, or get laughed at, and everyone would get to hear about it.

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On the other hand – this could be the beginning of something really good. So it is a scenario about risk – but risk with promise. I ask for volunteers to enact various versions of a scene in which one character asks the other out. We will try some of the methods listed in the brainstorm and have a look at how they might work. Romantic scenes are glamorised in the fairytale world of popular media. I anticipate the need to peel into the stereotypes if we are to deal with the reality of ungainliness or missed moments – the nonstories of everyday life. There is a ripple of excitement as the first volunteers step forward and a reserve bank of players stands by. They will be ready to role-rotate, to appear as additional characters, or to re-play the scene using a different approach. I position the play as an experiment. We are in a human laboratory. We can change the actors or the characters, or rearrange entrances or exits, location or time. We can re-assign the sex, sexual preference or personality of the character. There is a sense of transgression as we prepare to play ‘as if ’. I produce two balloons and ask the first two actors to improvise the scene whilst sitting on an inflated balloon. I charge them with two goals – to play into the intent and concerns of their character, and to preserve their balloon. I choose the balloon device (a form of clowning or physical theatre) to place the performance in the anti-naturalistic domain.

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This way the actor’s challenge will be embodied. I want the actors to be as physically uncomfortable as their characters are socially uncomfortable. I hope this constraint will invigorate their performance and cut into the anticipated soap opera. The improvisations begin. The actors struggle for the ‘right’ things to say. They grapple simultaneously with the balloons, first perching, protecting the balloons, and then gradually sinking, bobbing. Everyone waits for the burst that doesn’t come. Everyone waits for the smooth pick up line – that doesn’t come. The effort to preserve the balloon parallels the effort to protect the ego. The balloon symbolises the vulnerability, the risk of making the first move, the delicacy of the counter-move, the lack of useful scripts to fall back on, the promise of future prospects. This is both a playful and a serious business. As the actors play on, everyone laughs. It is OK to laugh because of the balloons. The participants are aware of the tension between the real context and the fictional context. The two actors (class mates) are really doing this – though only in pretence. What if this was to spill over into real life? What if this was more real than pretend? Can things that happen in the fiction in some way ‘cast’ the future? The balloon constantly draws the spectators’ attention away from what is being said. This, in the Brechtian sense, distances the audience from the narrative. It has them focus on how the scene is being played; reminds them that it is only a game. The scene is re-played. Different actors step forward to take on alternative approaches, or the same actor plays again – to take up

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the coaching or advice of the audience. There is more laughter. But actually – it is funny because it is serious – something is at stake here. We want to learn. We like also to be entertained. We want to swap parts. We want to both watch and play in the scene. We want permission to learn through play. The balloon is associated with play, parties, and the ‘innocence’ of childhood. Now it is a reminder that the ‘children’ (teenagers) are playing at ‘grownups’. The balloon foreshadows the condom and a possible future conversation. Thus the balloon symbolically conjures both past and future lives into the present of the scene. I remove the balloons. They have helped us break into the enquiry. Now, via the coaching and re-play, the asking for a date game becomes a sport. Will she play well – or fumble the pass? I stop the play and we re-start, playing with variables – What if she/he said/ did X instead? What if their friends appeared right at that point? Actors are replaced. New characters appear. The audience coach and comment. Soon we note that advice is easy from the outside. You can be allknowing out there. Inside the scene it is different. Some things cannot be said even when you are coached to say them – even when you intend to say them. What is the block? – I ask. What makes it so hard to do what you intend? What are the invisible rules that tell us what we can and can’t do? I organise for players to use the ‘hidden thoughts’ device. Additional actors are interviewed to voice what the characters are thinking or feeling but not saying out aloud in the scene. We collect layers of possible thoughts, feelings, beliefs, fears, hopes. We find the scripts that might be in the head.

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The new players work at speaking the sub-text that will not be spoken in the naturalistic version of the scene. The characters become richer, more vulnerable, less distinguishable. The class is in the grip of the process. The bell rings too early. Miss – Can we do this again next week? Following the class, I think back. Our work had existed in a tension created in the rub between the real context and the fictional context. The friction created an excitement. But it had been hard to bend the rules of reality within the fiction. Why was this so? Is the fiction separate from reality? If so, then how does it influence reality? And how does reality moderate what can be said or done in the fiction? The aesthetic choices had structured the enquiry – the clowning (balloon), the forum theatre devices, the hidden thoughts – each provided different ways to treat the material. It seemed that they had brought forward different sorts of responses, and invited different sorts of thinking. What was the association between the enquiry tools and the responses given? Did the selection of form govern the meanings that we created? What would have happened had I selected a different form? _____ These questions recurred as I continued to lead different workshops with different participants. As this stage I worked in an inductive way, threading

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from instance to generalisation. But I lacked a theoretical framework through which to interrogate my conclusions, and it was not until I engaged with my doctoral studies that I began to grapple with the theoretical frameworks that would assist me to deepen my enquiry,

Changing location but keeping the questions As the teacher-researcher my questions did not dissolve with continued experience. Indeed, they moved camp with me when I left the school and began to work in a university research centre, using the drama methodology for different purposes. I had lost my ready access to the classroom as a site for critical engagement in the art of practice. However, I began to use drama pedagogies as a method to elicit data from young people and as pedagogy in the health promotion curriculum I was developing. I began to find that drama workshops could produce a more richly variegated set of stories than those I could gather via conventional survey, interview and focus group methods. It seemed that if I used drama as a research methodology, many layers of story could be accessed – but only when I employed specific techniques to ensure that this happened. Most commonly, the first tale told would simply sketch in the stereotype. The students would create worlds in which the young people were the rebels, victims, or nerds, and the adults were the ogres, judges, or doormats. These scenarios, which were purported to represent their reality, had a prefabricated ring – they hummed with soap opera storylines. I came to suspect that these were the shrink-wrapped tales, learnt in the lap of the television, and that fiction had colonised reality. However, given that these tales were so readily offered, I began to consider that they must warrant attention rather than negation. Perhaps they were important because they housed the assumed norms. Perhaps they provided a subliminal benchmark against which the students would assess their own experience?

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I experimented with modifying drama conventions in order to facilitate a critical engagement with these stories, and discovered that when the drama pressed them in certain ways, the students would disclaim these first stories, and present more mundane versions of their reality. If I pressed the enquiry further again, using alter-ego devices to invite them to voice the thoughts, fears, and hopes of their characters, they would overlay their characters with more richly nuanced stories of the self, bringing a layer of complexity to mundane lives. I began to note that the framing of drama, and the selection of genre in which it was to be played, seemed to influence the sort of knowledge that the players could access and represent. Not only did the answers that the students gave seem to change in response to the methodology used, but it appeared that the children themselves changed. In giving different accounts of the world they seemed to become different people.

Time to study I took on my masters by research, and then once that was complete moved into my doctoral studies. I chose The University of Melbourne as the place to conduct my higher study for a number of reasons: it was my place of employ, it was the university in which I had conducted my under-graduate studies and masters by research, and it also houses a strong drama in education department.

The focus of the study As illustrated in the classroom story, I sought to understand how the enquiry conducted through the drama might be shaped by the medium. Hence my question in this research became: How is the knowledge of the self confined or enabled by the dramatic form and its associated performance discourse?

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I located my work within the tradition of transformative research that seeks to influence change through the research process itself (Davies, 1996; Fine, Weiss, Weseen, & Wong, 2003; Greenwood & Levin, 2003; Kemmis & McTaggart, 2005; Park, 2001; Schultz, 2001). Given this interest, it was particularly important for me to understand how participating in the collective enquiry might enable insight and ethically driven change. I wanted to know how the drama methodology could contribute to the work upon the self, and enable participants to shape lives and worlds in accordance with their values. Thus the underpinning question relating to the epistemological and ethical purpose of my work was: How can the collective engagement in fictional play enable work upon the self? I carried forward a concern about the potential for the drama to simply experience and become a re-enactment of the dominant and the known, and for it to inadvertently solidify assumptions, rather than to invite critical thinking and open the possibility of change. Therefore I sought to understand how the characters that we create (and learn from through the fictional play) might be shaped by the societal discourses. This required that I set aside the notion that the drama occurs in a ‘protected’ space and look to see: Is the fiction separate from reality? How is it influenced by the heritage of storylines, positions and relational games that we absorb as part of our culture? I wanted to know how the various drama conventions that I had modified might function as poststructuralist research tools. I was searching for devices that might facilitate engagement with the shaping expectations that influence our sense of how and who we should be. This concern sharpened as the question: Where are the theoretical frameworks I need to help me to understand the complex interplay of the social, the critical and the aesthetic? Because I was interested in the function and validity of the tools themselves, I studied their application with multiple cohorts addressing the same curriculum, as well as with multiple cohorts engaged with different curriculum goals. The replication of the work within the one curriculum enabled me to investigate the patterned nature of the responses that the

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drama-based tasks evoked from different groups. Working with a similar methodology, but addressing different material, allowed for a further point of comparison about the nature, rather than the ‘topic’ of the enquiry. This permitted me to pay ongoing attention to the dramatic form and its relationship with the creation of knowledge. Thus my enquiry did not focus chiefly on whether drama can stimulate thinking, learning and enquiry. This is already well discussed in the canon. Rather my interest was in how the form or genre could be manipulated to generate critical thinking, and to invite a poststructuralist engagement with the discourses that shape thinking and behaviour. I went on to construct a layered research methodology encompassing three frames of enquiry that would provide a structure through which to examine these questions. The primary and overarching methodological frame was that of the reflective practitioner engaged in an ongoing study of the pedagogy I employed. My secondary research frame was that of facilitator of a participatory action research project (the Learning Partnerships Project) in which the players were positioned as co-investigators using the drama as a method to investigate how to improve communicative practices between students and teachers, or patients and doctors. My tertiary research frame focused on the use of drama-based processes as tools through which to investigate social practices. In this I focussed on the way in which the selection of aesthetic tools played a role in determining the types of knowledge that could be constructed.

The need for a theorising of the form Whilst the use of form is pivotal to drama practice, it remains curiously under-theorised in the field. Taylor (2006) notes that as late as the mid 90s, epistemological and ontological questions were sidelined in drama research gatherings and it has been only more recently that researchers have explored

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and critiqued their theoretical interpretive frameworks, turning to critical, post-colonial or poststructural theory as a lens upon practice. Ackroyd (2004) perceives that this may be because dramatists have tended to focus on the meaning making function of the drama rather than upon the relationship of the structures to the creation of knowledge. ‘While interested in form, it has been its relationship with the content that has concerned the field’ (Ackroyd, 2004, p. 21). My aim was to bring the lens of poststructuralist theory to investigation of the use of drama as a method in participatory and transformative enquiry. Poststructuralist theorists tend to focus on the shaping nature of the social text or discourse, examining the way in which social and cultural metanarratives and available storylines influence the subject positions that people adopt or negotiate. They take an interest in the challenge for individuals of ‘recognising the powerful shaping (or constituting) of their bodies, of their desires, that take place through language, and of finding ways to counteract that force’ (Davies, 1996, p. 13). The interest in the construction of identity that is pivotal in this tradition is particularly relevant to my critique of drama practice as a means through which to work upon the self.

Site of Investigation I used the Learning Partnerships project as my field site. This project uses drama as a teaching methodology in the training of teachers and doctors. It places university students (pre-service teachers and doctors) into a curriculum of shared drama workshops with secondary school students. The concept behind the workshops is that teachers and doctors need to learn with and from (as well as about) young people if they are to become effective practitioners. I had initiated the Learning Partnerships project in the year prior to commencing my research (2002). I built the idea from my earlier involvement in the use of drama as a methodology in training projects in

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which I involved school students as both actors and coaches in dramabased workshops designed to help adults (teachers, parents or doctors) to learn how to relate more effectively with adolescents. I had contributed this methodology to an earlier research project which had demonstrated that experienced General Practitioners gained a significant and lasting improvement in their ability to conduct effective consultations with adolescents as a result of engaging in drama workshops in which they practised with adolescent actors and received feedback and coaching from them (Sanci et al., 2000; Sanci, Day, Coffey, Patton, & Bowes, 2002). I approached the Deans of Medicine and Education at The University of Melbourne (my workplace), and the Principal and drama teacher of a local secondary college. I proposed that a program of shared workshops be located in the core curriculum for each of the parties and invited key stakeholders to a demonstration workshop held at the University. Representatives of each of the stakeholder groups attended the workshop. Following the workshop the program was adopted for all final year medical students as part of their study of adolescent health. I also attained permission to trial the methodology within a class I was teaching within the Diploma of Education. .

Design features of the learning partnerships project I designed the Learning Partnerships project around four principles. The first relates to the notion of learning in partnership. The operative assumption within this principle is that of reciprocity. Each of the parties has something to contribute and something to gain. The second principle relates to purposeful learning. The workshops serve specific curriculum goals for each of the participants. They are designed to impart key concepts and skills, and to inform committed action (Cahill, 2005). The third principle relates to the choice of pedagogy. Specific drama techniques structure the interaction, and house the critical investigation of pertinent scenarios (Cahill, 2006b). The

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fourth principle relates to the positioning of the participants. The participants are positioned to straddle the traditional divides of student/teacher, and child/adult, and school/university, engaging in a form of participatory action research in which they investigate matters of shared concern and equip themselves for action (Cahill, 2006a). They work as co-investigators, as well as actors, exploring issues of shared concern.

Housed in the core curriculum The stakeholders engage in the Learning Partnerships workshops as part of their curriculum. The pre-service teachers (in groups of 30) complete three ninety-minute workshops with the students as part of their semester-long compulsory subject called Education Policy, Schools and Society. In this subject the teachers focus on how societal issues and school policies and practices can impact on student engagement, behaviour and learning. They explore how schools can best assist students to deal with social problems such as racism, bullying, family pressures, learning problems and mental health concerns. The Medical students (in groups of 25–30) complete one two-hour workshop with the students as part of their study of adolescent health. A key finding in adolescent health is that young people are relatively free of disease, and are most likely to need medical help in relation to issues such as sexuality, substance use and mental health. Thus the doctor needs to be able to assist adolescents to talk about sensitive issues and to learn how to question and respond in such a way as to support the patient in telling their story (Bonomo & Sawyer, 2001). The high school students (aged 14–16) engage in the work as part of the Community Drama elective. They spend four ninety-minute sessions preparing for the Medical program, and an additional four sessions preparing to participate in the Education workshops. They learn a range of naturalistic and anti-naturalistic drama techniques, and develop case-

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characters for use in the shared workshops. These investigatory role-based techniques are later used to structure the enquiry. Thus the Learning Partnerships project served distinct but mutually enhancing curriculum goals for each of the parties. The pre-service teachers explored the impact of social problems on student engagement in learning. The medical students learnt to take a psychosocial screening of a teenage patient. The drama students developed skills in the use of dramatic form and understandings about how drama can be used as the medium through which to contribute to their community.

Data collection I used the drama methodology within two different programs (in Medicine and Education) and with many different cohorts (as different groups of secondary and tertiary students participate in the program). This enabled me to research the application of the drama techniques both as a mode of enquiry and as a tool for professional and social learning. During the active data collection phases of this research (2003–2004), I worked with three cohorts of Year 9/10 Drama students (aged 14–16) at a local secondary school and together we provided Learning Partnerships workshops for eighteen classes of 5th year medics, and six workshops with two classes of pre-service teachers in the Education Policy, Schools and Society (EPSS) core compulsory subject in the Diploma of Education. I collected interview data from the adult and youth participants to provide an additional lens through which to consider the mechanisms that structured the learning that took place. This included of 28 drama students (16 F and 12M) drawn from three different classes of student as they engaged with the project, and 19 pre-service teachers (14 F and 5 M). In writing up this empirical work I used three detailed case stories of my practice, drawn from different phases of the Learning Partnerships workshops. These case stories provided the context within which I analysed

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the use of various drama techniques and their function as a tool to structure poststructuralist participatory enquiry. In my review of the literature I considered how the way we conceptualise young people influences the roles we allocate to them. Poststructuralist theory provided a lens through which to consider how societal discourses shape our sense of who we are and who we can be (Butler, 2004; Davies, 1994; Fine, 1994; Foucault, 1980; Richardson & St. Pierre, 2005; St. Pierre, 2000). This discussion provided a theoretical platform upon which to consider the use of drama as a tool through which to engage in deconstruction of the discourses influencing behaviour in schools and clinics. In this discussion I explored how the choice of medium might govern the message, or moderate the knowledge that can be accessed through the drama.

Structure of the thesis One of the challenges following such a rich field project resides around how to bring the data forward into the thesis and how to represent myself within the study. I chose to use my first chapter to locate myself as the reflective practitioner and to introduce my applied work. In working as the reflective practitioner it was imperative to discuss the orienting paradigm and research traditions that informed my research, and to focus on how my ontological assumptions would inform my epistemological approach. My methodology chapter follows immediately upon the introduction and presents a discussion of the ontological, epistemological and methodological choices which shaped my work. I presented my literature review across four chapters. In the first of these I discuss how the concepts of ‘youth’ and ‘adolescence’ inform approaches to educating them. I review the way in which the concept of ‘risk’ has come to dominate current understandings of young people. In the second and third I discuss how poststructuralist theory about identity, agency and change

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might inform a re-thinking of key assumptions about how we learn through engagement in the drama. In the fourth of the literature chapters I review the drama canon discussing some of the different assumptions that are made about how learning occurs through dramatic play. I dedicated three chapters to narration and analysis of detailed case stories of my practice, using a poststructuralist perspective to chart the mechanisms through which drama can be employed to engage participants in a form of identity work. This analysis of the drama-based pedagogy culminates in a chapter in which I present a theoretical analysis of the use of modified drama conventions as tools through which to engage in poststructuralist enquiry into the discourses that shape thinking and behaviour. In the penultimate chapter I draw upon the interview data, analysing the participants’ views about what had contributed to their learning. In my final chapter I draw together what I have learnt through applying poststructuralist theory to analysis of the use drama in personal and professional learning. I highlight the way in which the ethical, political, technical and ontological foundations of the work inform the learning that takes place and present my recommendations about the use of specifically refined drama techniques as tools for social and transformative enquiry. I was able to share my doctoral research in a number of publications in my field (Cahill, 2005, 2006a, 2007, 2010a, 2010b, 2011). In this way I have found to my delight that my research becomes part of the canon upon which others will stand as they launch into their own enquiry. Thus the researcher threads their own quest into the heritage of knowledge.

Advice My advice to those seeking a research question is: »» Research that which you love but feel you can never fully know. I researched as the reflective practitioner because teaching and enquiry

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through drama was my passion. I was driven by my fascination with the relationship between pedagogical design and the emanating learning experience. »» Research in an area in which you want to make a difference. The social, instrumental or moral contribution of your work will fuel your sense of its importance. I use my work as a drama educator to address issues of personal and social wellbeing. Thus my arts-based work is a vehicle for change. »» Don’t be surprised to find yourself returning to a question that you have asked many times before. If you are still asking this question, it is worthy of further exploration. The questions that sprung from my early experience as a classroom teacher informed both my masters and my doctoral research. »» Allow your questions to evolve and grow up as you spend time in the literature. They may coalesce, they may fracture, and you may have to give some up while you pursue others. Unlike children, you cannot love them all equally and at some stage it will be important to invest in some whilst you leave others for your future attention. I have found that one enquiry hatches another, and that the answer to the question comes in the form of yet another question. My advice to those thinking about how to manage the life/work/study/ relationships is: »» Enrol those you love into an understanding of how important this is for you. They have to get generous with their access to you! »» Think of it as your self-expression activity. I called it ‘my hobby’ – much to my husband’s mirth as it never looked like one to him. It certainly

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displaced any time for hobbies and leisure pursuits however, so it seemed important to construct it as an act of pleasure – like getting fit – that must be worked at in an ongoing manner. »» Take on a more tolerant attitude to grime. You won’t have as much time for cleaning. »» Find opportunities along the way to present your work, for it is in sharing it with others that you will get clearer about it yourself. I chose to present at conferences for drama educators and researchers and to publish in drama journals. I found the experience to be encouraging. It maintained my hope that my work might make a contribution. Think of the nooks and crannies in time as your friends and allies. I squeezed my research between full time work and family life. Each time I staked out a crack in time, I was aware I was doing something for me – it was my project, just mine! On a practical level, stealing time for research meant putting in a couple of hours before leaving for work in the morning, sneaking in a few hours before the family got up at the weekend, paralleling their TV time in the evenings with my study efforts, investing in bursts whilst on vacation, and taking drafts to read on my bushwalking and cycling vacations. Whilst on one level this was a struggle, it was also a thrill and a validation to find myself working on the thing that I care about. I framed my research as an indulgence. And in the end that is what it became – a long engagement with my passion for pedagogy. Of course I hated it sometimes – and like any intimate relationship, it had its ups and downs – but – that is what a thesis is made of. No struggle, no story. No grind, no find.

References Ackroyd, J. (2004). Role Reconsidered: a re-evaluation of the relationship between teacher-in-role and acting. Stoke on Trent: Trentham Books.

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Bonomo, Y., & Sawyer, S. M. (2001). How to Motivate and Counsel Adolescents. Medicine Today, April 2001, 69–75. Butler, J. (2004). Undoing Gender. New York: Routledge. Cahill, H. (2005). Profound Learning: Drama Partnerships between Adolescents and Tertiary Students. Drama Australia Journal (NJ), 29(2), 59–72. Cahill, H. (2006a). Research Acts: Using the Drama Workshop as a Site for Conducting Participatory Action Research. Drama Australia Journal (NJ), 30(2), 61–72. Cahill, H. (2006b). Sensitive Issues: Supportive Structures. Drama Australia Journal (NJ), 30(1), 7–22. Cahill, H. (2007). Powerful Roles: Kids as co-investigators, coaches and key informants in communication training for Education and Health professionals. Paper presented at the Are We There Yet? YACVIC conference Melbourne. Cahill, H. (2010a). Drama for Intergenerational Dialogue: Researching Youth Views about the Future. Drama Australia Journal (NJ), 33(2), 7–20. Cahill, H. (2010b). Re-thinking the fiction/reality boundary: investigating the use of drama in HIV prevention projects in Vietnam. RIDE, 15(2), 152–172. Cahill, H. (2011). Drama for Deconstruction. Youth Theatre Journal, 25(1), 16–31. Davies, B. (1994). Post-structuralist Theory and Classroom Practice. Geelong: Deakin University Press. Davies, B. (1996). Power / Knowledge / Desire: Changing school organisation and management practices. Canberra: Department of Employment, Education, Training and Youth Affairs. Fine, M. (1994). Dis-stance and Other Stances: Negotiations of Power inside Feminist Research. In A.D.Gitlin (Ed.), Power and Method. New York: Routledge. Fine, M., Weiss, L., Weseen, S., & Wong, L. (2003). For Whom? Qualitative Research, Representations, and Social Responsibilities. In N. K. Denzin & Y. Lincoln, S. (Eds.), The Landscape of Qualitative Research: Theories and Issues, 2nd Edition (pp. 107–132). Thousand Oaks: Sage. Foucault, M. (1980). Power/Knowledge. Selected Interviews and Other Writings 1972–1977. Brighton: Harvester Press. Greenwood, D., J, & Levin, M. (2003). Reconstructing the Relationships Between Universities and Society Through Action Research. In N. K. Denzin & Y. Lincoln, S. (Eds.), The Landscape of Qualitative Research: Theories and Issues, 2nd Edition. Thousand Oaks: Sage. Kemmis, S., & McTaggart, R. (2005). Participatory Action Research: Communicative Action and the Public Sphere. In N. K. Denzin & Y. L. Lincoln (Eds.), The Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research (third ed., pp. 559–604). Thousand Oaks: Sage. Park, P. (2001). Knowledge and Participatory Research. In P. Reason & H. Bradbury (Eds.), Handbook of Action Research: Participative Inquiry and Practice (pp. 81–9). London: Sage Publications. Richardson, L., & St. Pierre, E. A. (2005). Writing: A Method of Enquiry. In N. Denzin & Y. Lincoln (Eds.), The Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research (third ed., pp. 959–978). Thousand Oaks: Sage. Sanci, L. A., Coffey, C. M. M., Veit, F. C. M., Carr-Gregg, M., Patton, G. C., Day, N., et al. (2000). Evaluation of the effectiveness of an educational intervention for general

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practitioners in adolescent health care: randomized controlled trial. British Medical Journal, 320, 224–29. Sanci, L. A., Day, N., Coffey, C. M. M., Patton, G. C., & Bowes, G. (2002). Simulations in evaluation of training: a medical example using standardised patients. Evaluation and Program Planning, 25, 35–46. Schultz, K. (2001). Stretching the Boundaries of Participatory Research: Insights from Conducting Research With Urban Adolescents. The Australian Educational Researcher (AER), 28(2), 1–28. St. Pierre, E. A. (2000). Poststructural feminism in education: An overview. Qualitative Studies in Education, 13(5), 477–515. Taylor, P. (2006). Power and Privilege: re-envisioning the qualitative research lens. In J. Ackroyd (Ed.), Research Methodologies for Drama Education (pp. 1–14). Stoke on Trent: Trentham Books.

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Destination know-where: A road map of a PhD journey in theatre for young people Sandra Gattenhof Young People and Performance: The Impact of Deterritorialisation on Contemporary Theatre for Young People Creative Industries Faculty, Queensland University of Technology, 2004

Abstract of thesis Within contemporary performance arenas young people are fast becoming part of the vanguard of contemporary performance. Performativity, convergence and openness of form are key animating concepts in the landscape of Theatre for Young People (TYP). To ignore what is taking place in the making of performance for and by young people is to ignore the new possibilities in meaning-making and theatrical form. This thesis investigates the contemporary practice within the field of Theatre for Young People. Pivotal to the study are three hallmarks of contemporary performance – shifting notions of performativity; convergence articulated in the use of

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technology and theatrical genres; and Umberto Eco’s realisation of openness in form and authorship. The thesis draws from theatre and performance studies, globalisation theory and youth studies. Using interviews of Theatre for Young People practitioners and observation of thirty-nine performances, this thesis argues that young people and Theatre for Young People companies are among the leaders of a paradigm shift in developing and delivering performance works. In this period of rapid technological change young people are embracing and manipulating technology (sound, image, music) to represent whom they are and what they want to say. Positioned as ‘cultural catalysts’ (McRobbie, 1999), ‘the new pioneers’ (Mackay, 1993) and ‘first navigators’ (Rushkoff, 1996) young people are using mediatised culture and digital technologies with ease, placing them at the forefront of a shift in cultural production. The processes of deterritorialisation allows for the synthesis of new cultural and performance genres by fragmenting and hybridising traditional cultural categories and forms including the use of new media technologies. Almost half of all TYP performances now incorporate the technologies of reproduction. The relationship between live and mediatised forms, the visceral and the virtual is allowing young people to navigate and make meaning of cultural codes and cultural forms as well as to engage in an open dialogue with their audiences. This thesis examines the way young people are using elements of deterritorialisation to become producers of new performance genres. The thesis considers the contemporary situation in relation to issues of performance making and performance delivery within a global, networked and technology-driven society. _____

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Introduction All interesting projects require you to go on a journey. And like all good journeys you must begin with a road map, knowing that some of the most engaging features of the journey happen when you detour from the plan. For the purpose of this reflective narrative I will employ journeying metaphors as the epistemological frame to house the adventure. ‘Since the earliest times, the act of travelling, of proceeding from one place to another, has been seen as a natural metaphor for learning, for the acquisition of experience and knowledge’ (Hunt, 1976, p. 44). Such a journey needs to be undertaken with a spirit of adventure and as the adage says it’s the journey, not the destination that must be fully enjoyed at every moment using all the resources of senses and intellect. For me this is best captured in the poem ‘Ithaka’ by modern Greek poet, Constantine P. Cavafy: Ithaka (extract) As you set out for Ithaka hope your road is a long one, full of adventure, full of discovery. … Keep Ithaka always in your mind. Arriving there is what you’re destined for. But don’t hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you’re old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

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… And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you. Wise as you will have become, so full of experience, you’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

The sentiments in the poem allowed me to steer a course to explore the contemporary account being written by Theatre for Young People (TYP) and to contribute to a greater understanding of how new conceptions of performativity, convergence and openness of form are key animating concepts in the landscape of Theatre for Young People. This study could have been achieved without undertaking formal postgraduate study. However, part of my purpose for the journey was partly to career shift and gain the necessary qualification for full-time employment at a tertiary institution. Since 2000 I had been employed across a number of Queensland universities as a sessional tutor in the areas of drama education and performance making and on completion of my Masters I had decided that the academic pathway was of sufficient interest to make this commitment. The leap was not that huge. I had until 2002 been employed in a number of positions that engaged my teacher training – primary classroom teacher, education officer, primary drama specialist, drama teacher, curriculum designer and curriculum coordinator. Learning and teaching was in my DNA.

Finding the Place on the Map The genesis for the study realistically, began long before I committed to undertake a Doctor of Philosophy. In the preceding two years I was undertaking a Master of Arts (Research) in a related field of arts education. During this research I was continually drawn into the debate about the nature and efficacy of theatre for young people and theatre by young people. This study arose from a personal interest in contemporary performance and Theatre for Young People. The idea for the study was not contrived.

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It emerged from personal interactions with performance companies, live performances in both adult theatre and youth theatre and my involvement with a number of performance events involving young people. For me, this study was intrinsically driven, derived from personal experience and allowed me to give witness to a somewhat marginalised field. My interest in the art form of theatre extends back into my childhood. I had a mother who was a voracious theatre-goer. I have many happy memories of being taken to Saturday matinees of block-buster musicals in Sydney’s Haymarket, which in the mid to late 1970s, was the epicentre of Australian theatre. I saw No No Nanette starring Nancy Hayes, Pippin with John (then Johnny) Farnham and Jesus Christ Superstar with John English, Trevor White and Australia’s first black Mary Magdalene Marcia Hines. My father had a friend who was a Duty Manager at the Sydney Opera House and as a family we got freebies to Roy Orbison, Shirley Bassey and Kamal. At Christmas there was always a pantomime in the church hall next to the Sydney Town Hall and in January arts-based activities in the children’s section of the Festival of Sydney (now the prestigious Sydney Festival) in Hyde Park. I got to squiggle with Mr Squiggle, dance with Humphrey B. Bear and artistically run riot. But I remember as a young child wanting to do it, not just be on the receiving end of it. Weekends were spent devising performances with the neighbourhood kids that I can now claim as being a protean form – some drama, some dance, some music. And of course I inevitably joined a children’s theatre group. A big turning point occurred for me in year 3 at Bronte Public School. My teacher Mr Baynham let us write adaptations of well-loved stories and put them into the end of year school concert. He also acted as the director of class productions. In that year I became Alice from Alice in Wonderland, a witch’s cat called Fluffy Bum and the jabberwocky. We even made a ‘film’ using still slideimages to the hit song of ‘Billy Don’t Be a Hero’ that had an opening night as part of the school’s open day activities.

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As teenager-dom struck, my family moved to Brisbane and I joined the Brisbane Youth Theatre at Highgate Hill acting in four to five productions a year. By the time I was directing the ‘juniors’, children in the theatre aged 7–12 years. My involvement in theatre continued and increased as I worked with amateur and professional theatre companies, sang light opera and continually sat in darkened performance spaces watching, always watching. In the ensuing years worked less as a performer but instead pursued work in allied performance areas, such as Education Liaison Officer at Queensland Arts Council where I auditioned and accredited performances for young audiences which toured Queensland primary schools. This has led me to being sought out by Queensland and interstate companies to write performance support materials or to sit on reference groups to inform professional theatre company choices. I guess what I have become is a performance commentator. For the sake of clarity it should be noted that a performance commentator is not a recognised profession, unlike reviewers who commentate on performance for daily broadsheets. I use this term, performance commentator, to describe the work I do, usually free of charge, when Theatre for Young People companies and adult professional theatre companies invite my advice on a performance in regard to educational issues, suitability to target audience and in the process of the creative development of a new performance work. In undertaking this research I was taken back to my heartland of youth performance, and more specifically youth performance that positions young people as the performers. The doers and not the watchers, just like a younger me.

Choosing a travel companion The choice of university and supervisor for the PhD was a process of natural selection. I wanted to remain with the same supervisor who trekked with me

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through my Master of Arts (Research). We had established, over a period of almost three years, a robust relationship and during that time we had a dialogue about possible PhD topics that were of mutual interest. The value of a strong supervisory relationship cannot be underestimated. As the last bastion of the Socratic act between the learner and the learned the heart of the partnership lay in the relational learning. That is, the partnership is cemented in a deep dialogue to understand and define people, contexts and situations. I believed (and still do) that it was important for the study to have a supervisor with both interest and some level of experience in the field to which the study can be attributed. So, it was important that my supervisor have profound understandings about the nature of drama/theatre and its intersection with young people and the contemporary world. More than fortunately my supervisor had been a secondary school teacher and researcher for over thirty years pursuing his fascination with the aesthetics and forms of contemporary performance and pedagogy. The other influence that informed my choice of both university and supervisor was the fact that Queensland University of Technology (QUT) Creative Industries Faculty was pioneering Research Higher Degrees (RHD) in the emerging research field of creative practice as research. As Haseman (2006, p. 98) states; ‘historically, the practice of enquiry through research has been divided into two main categories; quantitative research that seeks to capture and use numeric data ‘which measures and quantifies phenomena, constructing them in terms of frequency, distribution and cause and effect’. Practice-led research, summarily known as ‘creative practice as research, performance as research, research through practice, studio research, practice as research or practiceled research’ (Haseman, 2006, p. 3) is according to Gray (1996, p. 3) ‘initiated in practice, where questions, problems, challenges are identified and formed by the needs of the practice and practitioners; and that the research strategy is carried out through practice, using methodologies and specific methods familiar to us as practitioners’.

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Orientating into a research frame I knew from my Masters that my preferred research approach was through the lens of constructivism. Constructivism can be defined as an epistemological framework based on the notion of human beings (and human systems) as proactive meaning makers and language users. Jonassen and Grabowski define constructivism as the individual researcher forming knowledge themselves, and not ‘relying on what someone else says is true’ (1993, p. 11). In the constructivist paradigm, the researcher acts as the creator personal meaning. Constructivism is opposed to what Paulo Freire (1972) defines as the ‘transactional’ or ‘banking’ model of learning in which the participant is viewed as ‘tabula rasa’ or an empty slate to be filled with knowledge. Denzin and Lincoln point out ‘constructivists value transactional knowledge’ (2000, p. 158). That is to say, the constructivist approach is based on researcher’s active engagement in problem-solving and critical thinking regarding a learning activity that they find relevant and engaging. One of the major theorists in this field, Jerome Bruner (1990) posits that learning is an active process in which researchers construct new ideas or concepts based upon their current and past knowledge. This study required me to use my existing knowledge about the nature of theatre for young people and go out into the field to challenge what was know to assemble a contemporary story. I also knew that I was a bricoleur. A bricoleur uses a variety of empirical materials to provide solutions to a problem in a concrete situation. Bricolage is a French term meaning ‘puttering around’ or ‘doing odd jobs.’ Claude Lévi-Strauss (1966) in his text, The Savage Mind gave the term a more precise anthropological meaning by stipulating that it refers to, among other things, a kind of shamanic spontaneous creativity accompanied by a willingness to make do with whatever is at hand, rather than fuss over technical expertise. The ostensible purpose of this activity is to make sense of the world in a nonscientific, non-abstract mode of knowledge.

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A bricoleur acts in the real world, ‘in natural settings, attempting to make sense of, or interpret phenomena in terms of the meanings people bring to them’ (Denzin & Lincoln, 2000, p. 2). The notion of bricolage dovetails well with a constructivist approach to research. This methodology invites researchers to acknowledge and use their own previous experience and understandings to the frame and analyse their findings. In the constructivist paradigm researchers construct their own knowledge by testing ideas and approaches based on their prior knowledge and experience, applying these to a new situation, and integrating the new knowledge gained with pre-existing intellectual constructs. Whilst it is important to acknowledge previous experience within the research frame, for it to truly be research and of academic value, one must maintain a degree of objectivity in order to maintain validity and not relegate the data to conjecture or pontification. I knew that I wanted to represent the authentic voices from the field. This was particularly important as the field of youth performance is marginalised and often under-represented in theory and commentary. Like most PhD students at the beginning of the journey I was overly ambitious about what I wanted to achieve in the study. Initially I wanted to create a new performance work with young people as well as undertaking a survey of the field in practice and in theory. I wanted to harness the opportunity to embed creative practice in the study as a research anchor. This idea remained as part of the study up to the point of the PhD Confirmation Seminar. In response to both verbal feedback at the seminar and written feedback received in the confirmation report the issue of scope and scale of the study had to be addressed. The confirmation panel, rightly argued, that doing creative practice, a survey of performances and interviews with key practitioners in the field was too large, in fact large enough for two PhDs. Choices had to be made. In discussions with my supervisor a new map for the journey was drawn. I chose not to undertake the creation of a new performance work even though it was one of the reasons I was drawn to continue postgraduate study at QUT Creative Industries Faculty. I

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chose instead to interrogate the position of theatre for young people in the pantheon of performance and related theory. Historically the TYP sector has been on the margins of recognition. I was (and still am passionate about theatre made for and by young people) so instead of making a new performance work the revised research map set out to reappraise of the work and cultural position of Theatre for Young People. Traditionally TYP has been regarded as a stepping-stone to real theatre work in what John Butler (2003) calls ‘second class theatre’. What the sector was (and still is) demonstrating is that is does not require the performing arts industry to carve out a niche or ghetto called the youth performing arts sector. Instead it needs to be recognised as part of the performance field within the industry. From my previous experience of theatre for young people, I believed that it was possible to argue that the work being made was at the cutting edge of contemporary performance. Feedback was a true friend. The redevelopment of the study provided greater rigor and depth. It more appropriately aligned the nature of the study and the selected research lens to fit into the arc of qualitative research. The study changed to employ the methodological approach of case study, whilst positioning the researcher as a bricoleur. Data collection was undertaken using the devices of artistic audit, observation of performances and interviews with key practitioners in the field of theatre for young people.

Wayfinding and taking a detour Defining a methodological approach to carry out the study was not difficult once the scope and scale of the study had been augmented. The real problem was finding a conceptual framework to house the study. The more I read in the fields of theatre and performance theory and youth culture, the more I came too realise that theoretical constructs offered in these fields did not capture what I was witnessing on the ground through observation of youth performance and interviews with practitioners. As part of the literature

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review I needed to articulate how artistic practice, and in the broadest sense cultural practice, was being changed through the process of globalisation and the employment of new media technologies. At this point the journey necessitated a detour. Ah, ‘there be dragons’, as the old medieval maps have writ large in the areas of unchartered territory. So, into globalization studies I went. Whilst reading in the area I deviated into economic theory and the concept of deterritorialisation came to light. This concept is used to describe the international money market in which currency, stocks and shares are traded through permeable borders that are usually unseen due to the nature of electronic transfer. The money market is able to move effortlessly through countries and over borders for intercultural exchanges of currency. Reading further into this theory I discovered that the notion of shifting borders is also being applied to cultures and the applications of technologies within our globalised world. This was a light bulb moment. Globalisation disturbs the way in which we conceptualise culture. Culture has long had connotations tying it to the idea of fixed locality. The idea of culture implicitly connects meaning construction with particularity and location (Tomlinson, 1999, p. 28). In anthropology, James Cliffords’s (1992, 1997) work on ‘travelling cultures’ has focused on prising culture apart from location. Clifford demonstrates how the practices of anthropological fieldwork have contributed to the localising concept of culture; ‘centering the culture around a particular locus, the village, and a certain spatial practice’ (1997, p. 20). Cliffords argues that culture cannot be thought of as having conceptual ties to a location any longer, ‘for meanings are equally generated by people on the move and in the flow and connections between cultures’ (1997, p. 21). Within this swirl of shifting boundaries, contemporary performance mixes genres and diverse cultural experiences to express and reflect the complex organisation that humans experience as contemporary life. It is a condition of post-modern arts practice to reject hierarchical divisions

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between high and low, serious and popular art, and the refusal to be bound by a single aesthetic tradition. Fredric Jameson (1984) defined postmodernism as a movement in arts and culture corresponding to the new configuration of politics and economics. Artistic practice within the postmodern paradigm is characterised by the hybridisation of forms and genres, the mixing of styles of difference cultures or time periods and ‘the erosion of the older distinction between high culture and so-called mass or popular culture’ (Jameson, 1984, p. 56). I set out to define how deterritorialisation could be applied to contemporary performance, which is not limited to the field of youth performance. The concept allowed me to investigate convergence as it applied to performance through the use of live and mediatised cultures and articulate the way in which cultural appropriation is changing the way in which performance is constructed. What became clear is that deterritorialisation in a live performance work allows both performer and audience to experience and play with shifting cultural boundaries in effort to construct meaning both individually and collectively. Deterritorialised performance works are grounded in the use of hybridity – across art forms, across cultures, across live and mediated forms within a performance work, and between division of audience and performer. The identification of the conceptual frame for the study was key as it them became the basis for analysis of the performances I was witnessing and allowed for categorization of data to occur. It was only at this point that I knew I had a viable study.

Estimated time of arrival The postgraduate students at QUT are supported by seminars at both university-wide and faculty level. The seminars are part of QUT’s commitment to a learning community. Each year research staff and selected supervisors delivered in a half-day seminar about the milestones in a PhD

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journey. At one of these seminars the Dean’s first piece of advice was to treat the PhD as a job not as a hobby if you wanted a timely completion. I had received a faculty scholarship to undertake the research. The scholarship in monetary terms was more than the standard Australian Postgraduate Award (APA) so I was not scrapping to hold my life together. I could indeed make the PhD a job. This was another light bulb moment. I had three paid years read and investigate my chosen field. This was a luxury that I couldn’t toss away. This was a three-year contract with myself, and the university, to deliver new knowledge in the field of theatre for young people. Part of this contract with myself was to change my career path and if this was going to happen it needed my full attention. The Dean’s second set of wise words asked the RHD students at the seminar to think of PhD chapters as journal articles. Writing 100,000 words is no mean feat. Thinking about it as a monolith could paralyse you into inactivity. Prior to commencing the PhD I was already publishing in refereed journals and other publications so thinking about the chapters as journal articles put me into a familiar territory. Telling yourself you have to produce 6,000–8,000 words to create a number of chapters turns the mountain somewhat into a molehill. Along the way I found the importance of writing and reflection in preparation for meetings with my supervisory team. Being a perfectionist and disliking criticism I was hesitant to deliver written work that was not finished or fully formed. However, I knew that not providing some ‘marks on a page’ to my supervisors at least a week prior to a meeting would result in superficial discussion and feedback. To overcome this fear I created a semi-finished piece of written work to submit that I colloquially called a ‘crapter’. Sometimes these ‘crapters’ were almost fully formed, sometimes they were a mix of fully written sections, dot points, key quotes and relevant data. Whatever they were they became a point for discussion and proved invaluable for getting ideas down on the page in an effort to move forward towards completion. Another key piece of advice about the writing process

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came from a drama academic not part of my supervisory team on a day when I must have looked forlorn. She told me when she writes books that she never begins the day with a blank page. Instead, she said, the key was to review what you had written the day before or better still leave a section purposely unfinished so that you had to complete it the next day. She stressed for this to work you must not to forget to write a short list of key points and ideas that you want to include before leaving the section unfinished just in case the muse was absent when you returned to the writing the next day.

Approaching the end of the road Ernest Hemingway famously said; ‘Never go on trips with anyone you do not love’. The same could be said about undertaking a PhD. You have to love the journey you are taking for at times it can be lonely. For me the last six months towards completion was a joy. I strategically decided on not to take on any tutoring at the university or consultancy work. Rather I made the decision to completely focus on the study and immersing myself in the world of words. I became a bit of an academic hermit. I know this doesn’t happen to everyone, but the pleasure of surrendering to the journey was blissful. This act of cocooning with my data allowed me to fall in love with the study and to want to complete it. What I had underestimated was the length of time needed to editing the document for examination. This was a most painful process. The editing involved close examination of text for meaning and clarity, finding all the reversal of letters (form instead of from is my common mistake), formatting to the university requirements for submission and of course giving it to and external proof-reader, an old English teacher with a judicious red pen. Then there was the process of the final seminar, making final amendments and finally the submission for examination. Now, honestly the day you hand it over it should be all bells and whistles, balloons and champagne, but it was a lonely process. I walked into the research office, was met by an administrator officer who took my baby and whisked it away with

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a polite ‘thank you’. I remember walking out into the afternoon light and crying. Sad it was almost over and glad that it was almost done.

Arriving home There is a line in Tom Stoppard’s play Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead (1967) that goes; ‘Every exit is an entry somewhere else’. This was certainly true of my journey. At the end of my candidature a two year fixed-termed position became available the same university in which I undertook the PhD. I applied and won the position of lecturer in Drama. So the goal of a career change and teaching full-time in a university drama program was achieved. Ticked off the list. As the poem Ithaka says; ‘Arriving there is what you’re destined for.’ Two years after completion I was asked to rework the PhD study into a research monograph for publication. I was still in love with the study and took the opportunity to update and rework the document for a broader audience, including fixing that one spelling error I found the day that I handed over the leather bound document. There is always one!

References Hunt, B. C. Jr. (1976). Travel Metaphors and the Problem of Knowledge. Modern Language Studies, 6(1), 44–7. Retrieved July 1, 2011 from http://www.jstor.org/stable/3194392 Bruner, J. (1990). Acts of Meaning. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Butler, J. P. (2003). Second Class Theatre: Theatre for Young People in Victoria 1966–2000 (Unpublished doctorial dissertation). University of Melbourne. Cavafy, C. P. (n.d.). Ithaka. The Official Website of the Cavafy Archive. Retrieved 29 June 29, 2011 from http://www.cavafy.com/peoms/content.asp?id=74&cat=1 Cliffords, J. (1992). Travelling Cultures, in Cultural Studies, London: Routledge. Cliffords, J. (1997). Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century, Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press. Denzin, N. K. & Lincoln, Y. S. (Eds). (2000). Handbook of Qualitative Research, (2nd ed.) Newbury Park: Sage. Freire, P. (1972). Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Harmondsworth: Penguin.

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Gray, C. (1996). Inquiry through Practice: Developing Appropriate Research Strategies. Retrieved 12 January, 2005 from http://www2.rgu.ac.uk/criad/cgpapers/ngnm/ngnm.htm Haseman, B. (2006). A Manifesto for Performative Research. Media International Australia incorporating Culture and Policy, theme issue Practice-led Research (118), 98–106. Jameson, F. (1984). Post-modernism, or the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism. New Left Review, 55–95. Jonassen, D. H. & Grabowski, B. L. (1993). Handbook of Individual Differences, Learning and Instruction. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Lévi-Strauss, C. (1966). The Savage Mind. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Mackay, H. (1993). The New Pioneers. The Australian. 18 March, p.21. McRobbie, A. (1999). In the Culture Society – Art, Fashion and Popular Music. London: Routledge. Rushkoff, D. (1996). Playing the Future. New York: Harper Collins. Stoppard, Tom. (1967). Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead. London: Faber. Tomlison, J. (1999). Globalization and Culture. Cambridge: Polity Press.

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PhD Mountain Janinka Greenwood Journeys into a third space: A study of how theatre enables us to interpret the emergent space between cultures Griffith University, Brisbane, 2000.

Abstract of thesis When two cultures meet within one national identity, their interaction invites accommodations, contestations and transformations of consciousness. Some theorists call this dynamic and evolving interaction ‘the third space’. This thesis explores the role of theatre as an agent of understanding that emergent space. I argue that theatre, in a range of forms, not only offers a distinctive tool for analysis but also is a means of strategically changing the society we live in. The study is based on New Zealand experience and focuses on interaction between Maori and Pakeha cultures. Three distinct sightings are taken on the role of theatre in this process. The first is an examination of a significant educational arts project, Te Mauri Pakeaka, that took place in the 70s and 80s. The second is a mapping of the history of theatre that addresses Maori and Pakeha relations. The third is a report of a workshop I conducted with teacher trainees in Panguru, a remote Maori community.

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Te Mauri Pakeaka involved schools, educational administrators, community, artists and elders in an exploration of Maori culture and of bicultural possibilities, using art making as a catalyst. The history of New Zealand bicultural theatre begins with the epic extravaganzas of the late nineteenth century and explores successive changes in perspective and in participation through the twentieth century. Current issues are examined through interviews with a group of significant contemporary artists. The workshop in Panguru was designed to introduce teachers in training to drama. A significant proportion of its context involved study of the Treaty of Waitangi through drama. Considerations of ritual, social drama and of performative enactment in the public arena emerged as important to all three investigations. The conceptual framework that underpins this study is drawn from scholarship in two discrete fields that I seek to bring together. The first deals with biculturalism in New Zealand, particularly with the Treaty of Waitangi, Maori sovereignty and questions of Maori and Pakeha identity. The second deals with theatre and drama, particularly with performance theory, drama in education, intercultural theatre and postcolonial theory. The study draws on oral and written sources of scholarship and is informed by both Maori and Western approaches to knowledge. It utilises a range of qualitative research methods, including historical reconstruction, unstructured interviews, interpretation of documents, and documentation of reflective practice. The findings that emerge in the study fall into two broad categories: those that relate to an understanding of the emergent space, and those that relate to reconceptualisations of theatre as a result of dual cultural perspectives. These findings have a number of implications. Firstly, they inform our understandings of ownership, appropriation and borrowing, of social and intercultural role, and of value systems, spirituality and pragmatic expediency. Secondly, they point towards new developments in educational policy and practice. Thirdly, they suggest new formulations of aesthetic and semiotic frameworks.

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_____ In the last year of my doctoral journey my husband created a narrative map of the PhD Mountain. It was based on the layout of the Mt Gravatt campus of Griffith University, which he had come to know well as a result of often driving me there and waiting, and its pictographs were drawn from Aboriginal and Maori traditions. The road curling up and around the mountain became the carpet snake, the totem of the north Brisbane area where we lived. In one area was a cluster of women talking. Elsewhere men talked. In another area were three emu eggs, paralleling the New Zealand concept of the three baskets of wisdom. And of course though Mt Gravatt rose high above the city and its surroundings, the mountain was still steeper and more arduous in its metaphorical sense. I have to admit to having no clear vision of the doctorate as part of my professional career path when I began it. I had played with the idea for some time, but I was afraid such a big project would absorb too much of my time and would prevent me from pursuing my own writing goals, which at that time included plays, poetry and several draft novels. It was only when the politics at the polytechnic where I was working reached what felt like a crisis point that I decided I needed something different in my life. Perhaps I lacked the courage to simply quit and go beachcombing; instead I left to start a doctorate. At that time I felt it was the end of my academic career rather than the beginning of a new stage. I chose Griffith for two reasons: one was that I had attended an international congress of drama in education there; the second was that, of the several Australian universities I called, the drama people at Mt Gravatt were the only ones that replied. It was only later that I found just how much my two supervisors were leaders in the field of drama research. On the surface it might have seemed as if my topic was one I should pursue within New Zealand. Much of my work had been in making theatre in the space that involved both Maori and Pakeha and in developing a

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tertiary programme in that field. My colleagues convinced me that my background experience qualified me to attempt to record academically the history and intentions of bicultural New Zealand theatre. I worried about both the political correctness and the practicality of doing this research in another country. However, my friend and mentor, Don Selwyn, the ‘godfather’ of Maori theatre and film, encouraged me to go overseas. He suggested that I would have too many people looking over my shoulder if I stayed at home, that distance would give me new perspectives, and that I would always have him and others to turn to if I needed support. He was right. Working in Australia gave me a lot of intellectual freedom and at the same time provided constant challenges. My supervisors knew a lot about theatre and drama processes, and were trailblazers in developing appropriate research approaches. However, they knew very little about the New Zealand socio-cultural context and were both sincerely puzzled by my insistence on biculturalism instead of multiculturalism. I found I had to move into the driver’s seat. At the beginning that was unnerving because I was new to research and had no idea of what shape my study should take. Before leaving I had interviewed some of the people who I had seen as significant movers in developing a bicultural theatre and I had some thoughts of developing a history crystallised in some way around their values and ideas. One of those I interviewed was Arnold Wilson, Maori artist and educator, who for over ten years had led an influential programme using the arts as a catalyst for cross-cultural understanding. I had become involved in the programme in its later years and as our discussions progressed he asked me to write a book about the work when I finished my doctorate. For a while I saw the two projects as separate, but as I spent more and more time working through the paper documents of the programme, interviewing past participants and revisiting my own experiences, I began to see that programme as an important part of my thesis, though I still had no idea of how it would all fit together. A third element came in when I was invited to

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work with a remote rural community in the far north of New Zealand in offering a drama course within a distance teacher education programme that had recently been set up. I was asked to show how drama could be used as a cross cultural tool. For the first half of my doctoral journey I was unsure how I could fit all these elements together or indeed if I could use them all. Each part had drawn on different methodological approaches: Arnold’s programme involved historical reconstruction, my own teaching project drew on reflective practice, and the history used unstructured interviews, literature review and document analysis. I looked for ways to integrate not only the material but also the conceptual approach. That was where the cluster of women talking came in. There were a number of us who were doing doctoral research in drama, mostly women, and we talked to each other about our projects. I also got to know other doctoral students on the campus. Our conversations over coffees helped me explore my topic and the growing mess of discoveries from a constantly moving range of angles, and slowly the separate pieces slid into relationship with each other. In one of these conversations a friend pointed out how often I used the metaphor of journey in talking about my research and suggested I should try and tell the story of the journey. I had always conceptualised the engagement between Maori and Pakeha histories and cultures in terms of space and now I saw the possibility of separate exploratory journeys into that emerging and shifting space. At this point one of my supervisors helped me unify my methodological approach, stressing the importance of describing my collage of methods in terms of a cohesive plan for collecting, analysing and reporting information. While it might be fair to say I stumbled into a relationship with my supervisors rather than strategically selecting them, I realise in hindsight how very important their style of supervision was for my capacity to develop a thesis I could feel good about on its completion. Both supervisors were non-directive and encouraged me to find my own direction. My first supervisor in particular was very generous in encouraging my ideas as

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well as offering me strategic critique (particularly in terms of my bicultural focus). From the start he encouraged me to think of my doctoral study as an opportunity to explore knowledge. I think that if I had appeared about to fall off the rails, he would have explored ways to fence me in a bit more, but as it was I felt encouraged to play with my material until I felt ready to give it shape. And after all the critique, that forced me to be increasingly explicit about why I had made my choices, he accepted my bicultural focus. The legacy of both supervisors for my own supervision practice was to place value on creativity and artistry within the research as well as within the topic. One of my real disappointments in my study was that I could not get a scholarship. Initially I applied in every six-monthly round (there were no limits at that time on the number of times a candidate could apply and there were no published criteria) until the administrator finally took pity on me and told me straight that scholarships usually went to bright young graduates from whom the university could expect a lengthy future of publications and that I was wasting my hope and my time. The lack of a scholarship meant I had to work for a living, but at least my teaching qualifications allowed me to find constant work and earn reasonable money. So I took whatever sessional work the university would offer me and I worked as a supply teacher in primary, secondary and special education schools throughout the northern suburbs. The supply teaching brought unexpected advantages: I got to see a great range of schools, I learned to be more explicit in my class leadership than I had ever had to be when I had long term relationships with my students, and I found to my relief and pleasure that I could still ‘hack it in the marketplace’ as the work was never guaranteed and my place on each school’s calling list depended entirely on how they had viewed my previous performance. Working as a supply teacher carried a fair measure of insecurity, but I turned down the offer of longer term contracts because I wanted to keep my head clear for my own research. I valued the right to switch off from the school when I walked out of the gate at three o’clock.

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By half way through my second year I felt I had lost my ability to engage in small talk. Workload and a restricted budget meant I had not seen movies, read fiction or joined in leisure activities that I could offer as social currency. About this time also I began to question my decision to do the doctorate. I was afraid that I was an older woman with no career, an alien in a Queensland I had too little chance to explore. I had a lot of data, a computer that occasionally failed and a dwindling sense of direction. Some of my new doctoral friends told me it was normal to feel this way midway through the process, and I hoped I could believe them. I plodded on because giving up seemed equally hard. By the beginning of the third year I was too busy trying to force free-wheeling ideas into consecutive paragraphs to consider whether I believed in what I was doing or not. I wrote the thesis in the third year. None of the writing seemed to flow; I felt I had to wrestle with every sentence. Now that I’m a supervisor and a more experienced researcher I realise that the wrestling is perhaps inevitable. New thinking needs to break free from the language patterns we have already learned to use, and research in the arts often pushes us to struggle on the outside borders of what we know how to say. My husband was my chief consultant. He is an artist who had worked primarily in sculptural and ceramic modes. While we were in Brisbane and far away from his studio he turned to painting. He is not an academic and has little intrinsic interest in academic debate. But we shared a house and I would often storm out of my study and pour out an account of whatever problem I was struggling with. Often the telling would itself suggest a solution and as soon as he opened his mouth to offer an opinion, I would shut him off, tell him it was okay, and go back to my writing. Sometimes he was not let off so easily and I would beleaguer him for days with some idea I needed to fine tune. He climbed the doctoral mountain with me. Towards the end of the writing I seemed to run out of motivation. It was no longer just the wrestling with word that challenged me; I seemed to have run out of desire to write the last sections. I found more excuses at this time than

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I had ever allowed myself before. Some of my doctoral friends talked about a fear of closure and perhaps there was an element of that, but looking back I think it was because by that stage I had already solved most of my conceptual and structural problems and so the last stages had become a chore. The month between my completion of the final draft and its return from my supervisors after their last reading was a time when I could become a little involved in what was happening in the world around me. Throughout the three years I had managed to engage at a fairly minimal level with developments in Australia that paralleled my research themes, particularly indigenous theatre and the Reconciliation movement. In this month I had time to attend the Reconciliation workshops that were taking place in my local district. Queensland is sometimes called a red-neck state, and history does give some evidence for the accusation. However, through the Reconciliation movement I became aware that there were thousands of white Queenslanders, many of them women of my own age, who were actively working to identify and challenge racism, overt and institutionalised, and to achieve social justice. I felt a sense of regret that just as I was beginning to engage with what seemed like one of the most important movements for decades I was about to pack up and go home. Somehow, despite the restrictions on my time and the fact that my research was focused quite exclusively on New Zealand, I had begun to plant roots into Australia and it was going to hurt to wrench them free. Now I often notice similar tensions brewing in the international students I work with. Many of us find our souls a little divided because we have chosen to study and live overseas. During the last six months of my candidature I was feeling increasingly uneasy about not having a ‘real’ job and so had begun to apply for jobs back in New Zealand. I applied for every teaching job that came up in my home town of Whangarei and failed to win any of them. I felt I was living the cliché of ‘over-qualified, over the hill and over there.’ I also applied for a visiting drama lecturer position at the Christchurch College of Education and a head of department position in a large multi-site school down the road from

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where I was living and where I had sometimes worked. Christchurch was in the wrong island from where I wanted to be, but the College was the one who had run the distance programme in the far north and that seemed like a strong point in its favour. My application to the local school was an indicator of how tempted my husband and I were to stay. As it turned out I was offered the job in Christchurch and on the day I accepted it I was also offered the local job. And eleven years later, after a merger, several changes of role and some earthquakes, I am still in Christchurch. In the last thirty-six hours of my candidature I printed out my thesis in the silent night corridor of the university, handed it in at the postgraduate office (with no trumpet calls or beating of drums), was treated to a champagne lunch by some of my doctoral friends and my supervisor, packed the last of our belongings, slept a little, locked the front door of our house, drove our car to the container that already held the rest of our belongings, and boarded a plane back to New Zealand. In my hand luggage was a small square diskette that unbelievably held the whole output of three intense years. It took nine months for the examination results to come. I remember being very anxious. Strangely enough I was relatively confident about the value of the work I had done, but I was not at all confident that the examiners would also value it. From stories told among the doctoral students and my own observation of conferences and journal publications, I was becoming aware that, at the doctoral level as much as at any other, examiners brought their own subjectivity to the task. And now as I coordinate postgraduate programmes I have new and acute concerns about the sometimes big difference in grades given by examiners to the same Masters thesis. As it turned out the Maori examiner, whose judgement I thought most important in terms of my New Zealand credibility, gave his unqualified approval to my thesis. Of the other two, one considered it had somewhat too much socio-cultural material for a drama thesis and the other thought it needed more. However, they all agreed to pass it. I feel they were all very fair, even scrupulous, examiners, but the differences in

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their perspectives prompted some of my future research interest in the located-ness of knowledge. It turned out that the doctorate was not in fact the end of my academic career. My passionate interest in the relationships between drama, culture, learning and change remains and has grown. It shapes a large part of my research and my teaching. The book I promised Arnold Wilson took a few more years to write because we made it a collaborative project and that in itself invited further exploration of how knowledge is partial and situated. And my own doctoral students take the fields of exploration still further. Arts-based research is now gaining a mantle of legitimacy alongside more traditional methodologies, and the approach offers those of us who have worked in the arts and learning new challenges in harnessing, and explicitly identifying, both the holistic, evasive and perhaps even magical aspects of such research as well as the specific frames of reference within which we intend to work, and the specific tools we plan to use. If I am to offer open advice to prospective doctoral students, it would be: choose to research something you are passionate about because you are going to live in very close quarters with it for a long time. Then I would add: choose your supervisors for the degree to which they will allow you to use methodological approaches you can believe in rather than for their expertise in your exact field of study because you are going to grow into the expert and you need the kind of support that gives you the freedom to grow. And finally I would say: enjoy the adventure of the journey, including the loneliness and bewilderment as well as the company and celebrations. It is not only the view from the top of the mountain that counts, it is also the sweat and the breathlessness of the climb.

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My dramatic playbuilding story Sarah Lovesy Drama Education Secondary School Playbuilding: Enhancing imagination and creativity in group playbuilding through kinaesthetic teaching and learning. University of Western Sydney, 2003

Abstract of thesis This research investigates the drama education form of playbuilding, and particularly the phenomenon of kinaesthetic teaching and learning which is aimed at enhancing group imagination and creativity. Playbuilding is a dramatic art form with its own established set of structural principles which require all students to become the playwrights, directors, actors, designers, and critics of their ensemble work. The playbuilt or devised work is created from scratch. It is an original work derived in the main from those who participate in the creation of it. These participants collaborate to fashion out a play through experimenting and critically shaping a whole piece of dramatic art for an audience. The starting points and creative processes used in playbuilding are varied, experimental and because they result from collaborative art making, playbuilt works are by nature, multiple in perspective, multi-layered in nature and multi-vocal in

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the sense that they represent a collective composition of stories, ideas and images drawn from the particular group of devisers (Hatton & Lovesy, 2009). This research explores the playbuilding learning experiences of two secondary school drama classes and the playbuilding teaching experiences of four drama teachers. The research underpins current drama and theatre education praxis that relates to learning through embodiment, symbolic creativity, and the purpose and function of metaxis in a secondary drama classroom. The study relies on qualitative research grounded theory techniques, focus groups, student workbooks, classroom practices, closed questionnaires, face-to-face interviews and videotaped materials. Central to this research are the phenomena of imagining and creating that occur in secondary drama playbuilding groups learning through a group kinaesthetic paradigm. The study addresses the following questions: »» What are the links between imagining and creating in playbuilding? »» What impact do kinaesthetic teaching and learning practices have on imagining and creating in playbuilding groups? »» How do phenomena such as group imaginative divergence and group metaphoric devising contribute to playbuilding success? »» How do phenomena such as group kinaesthetic knowing, empathy and the use of drama properties enhance the teaching and learning practices of playbuilding? »» What teaching practice would optimise imagining and creating in secondary school playbuilding groups? These questions are considered in light of the data analysis and literature review.

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This study concludes that there is a paradigm which identifies secondary drama students as group kinaesthetic learners, and that kinaesthetic teaching and learning practices open up pedagogic spaces in playbuilding that significantly improve the effectiveness of group embodied learning in drama education. _____ One who has imagination without learning has wings but no feet. (Joubert, 1983, p. 10)

I have started this reflection with the above quote as it encapsulates why I decided to do a doctorate in drama education and why I kept persevering throughout the whole incredible experience.

The journey that led me to undertake my doctorate From a child who lived in an imaginary world, who dreamt of ideas beyond her juvenescence world, who devised and created her own performances, to a young woman who immersed herself in the performing and creative arts, to a secondary and tertiary drama teacher, the imagination, and how it facilitates creativity in performance, has always fired my curiosity. When I became a drama teacher, albeit one who came late to the teaching profession, I thought that secondary school students would also feel this same imaginative curiosity, and yes they did, but I learnt that in order to release their imaginings they needed a pedagogical process that provided dramatic structure and freedom to explore their ideas. My initial experiences of facilitating young secondary drama students in devising their own plays were in a school that was struggling to maintain discipline among students with a variety of different cultural and socioeconomic backgrounds. The school staff worked tirelessly and with great

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dedication to enable their students to experience the joy of learning. Within this environment I took my first tentative steps to helping groups of young students build their own drama plays. The students came with limited skills or knowledge of how to build plays, but they did have an enormous desire to tell their own group’s stories. The process of students devising their own plays in the drama class was challenging; the students had no previous drama education or theatre discipline, nor did they consciously understand why a drama class should have a structure and discipline, yet subconsciously they understood that to achieve their ideas the group had to be working towards a common dramatic purpose. The students worked spasmodically, they laughed, they played, they fought each other, and sometimes they didn’t turn up to class. They had no concept of rehearsals, and yet when they eventually performed their own original work for their friends and families they were ecstatic, and I was exhausted. Reflecting on this early experience, I questioned why this group devised work was such a powerful force in these young peoples’ lives; I felt that it had something to do with the links between imagining and creating in the drama aesthetic. From these tentative early experiences my drama education journey began. As my years of secondary drama teaching continued I worked in collegial situations with other drama teachers and with students who were as passionate about drama education as I was. Through this emerged an observation that, even though there are many aspects of drama education, the one area that seemed to excite students most was the creation of their own plays; this is known in New South Wales (Australia) education as playbuilding. Playbuilding, as a drama form, elicits a myriad of ideas within a group; these diverse responses tend to excite the students’ imaginations. Furthermore, it appears that the personal stories, history and culture of individual students consistently influence the drama style and narratives, merging with other group members’ personal experiences, resulting in a richly creative drama process and performance. I felt that this experiential and experimental learning reached beyond everyday teaching pedagogy.

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My first steps into the world of a doctorate These teaching experiences were complemented by undertaking a Masters of Education which was inspiring. At that time I was asked by that university to continue on to a doctorate, but due to the pressures of work and a young family I felt the time was not right. A number of years later the notion of doing my doctorate was still with me, and combined with the fact that New South Wales Primary, Junior and Senior Drama syllabi had included playbuilding as a form in its own right, and as I, with others, were part of this official decision making process, I knew that the time was right to do my doctorate and that playbuilding was the area I wanted to examine. I did not immediately decide on a university but asked a couple of colleagues how they decided on a particular focus to start their research process; their advice was to follow the area I was passionate about and to examine my own drama teaching praxis in this area. I kept a journal for a term and posed the following questions: »» How can a drama teacher facilitate a pedagogical playbuilding journey for their students’ which is exciting, vibrant, perceptive and intuitive? »» How can a drama teacher stimulate imagining and creating in playbuilding? Over that busy term I confess that I did not write much in my journal, but it did help focus my mind on how much I assumed and how much more I needed to find out about playbuilding in the drama aesthetic. Eventually this process led me to decide that the nexus between imagining and creating in a playbuilding group was to be my doctoral focus, and this in turn led me to decide on a university that was immersed in the Performing Arts as well as Drama Education. Also there were two lecturers at this university that I greatly admired and both were willing to become my supervisors. I was thrilled, and daunted, but this meant that I was on my way.

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Myself as a qualitative researcher I looked around at the types of research methodologies I could undertake and my explorations led me to grounded research which I instinctively knew was the right approach. This was because its qualitative methodology was closer to the experiential and experimental pedagogy of drama education and suited my style of working. My research setting lasted for 15 months over two research sites; these were the students’ research site and the teachers’ research site. Students from my Year 9 (13–14 year olds) and Year 12 (17–18 year olds) drama classes were partners in the first research site and four drama teachers were partners in the second research site. My student playbuilding research work was conducted first while I worked as a drama coordinator for a secondary independent girl’s school in Sydney, New South Wales and took place over a year. The two participating playbuilding classes were my drama classes, and I examined the similarities and differences in how these three playbuilding projects were approached by each group. The other research site followed my classroom research, covered a six month period, and involved telephone calls and personal interviews with four collegial drama teachers. This part of my research involved the exchange of ideas on the theory and practice of playbuilding with these drama teachers. Again, my own professional experiences impacted on this research site, as I had known and occasionally worked with all these teacher participants over a period of 15 years. Both sites provided different insights into the research subject of playbuilding. Each site had a different focus; one was student-centred at my workplace, and the second was teacher-centred and informed by other secondary school settings. Thus the two sites provided me with the ability to compare and contrast my own playbuilding teaching and learning strategies with the experiences of others. As a qualitative researcher, subjectivity was considered when teaching the participating students during the research period and when interviewing the teacher participants; subjectivity was also considered while analysing and interpreting the research data. Through being conscious

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of my simultaneous professional and personal endeavours I was able to gain an awareness of the intrinsic subjectivity of my research, and of what I understood to be the meaning of the various participants’ data (Searle, 1992). Qualitative researchers, such as Glaser (1992, 1998) and Janesick (1998), state that to research in your own professional environment is a valid approach. Moreover, research undertaken in one’s own professional environment can continue to open up a professional collaborative encounter, and the validity of this encounter rests on self-awareness and informed judgments. Thus the grounded theory process enabled me to investigate within my professional environment. One of the difficulties I had throughout the entire process was pinning myself down to one key question. As the reader can see from the Abstract I never solved the problem. I did devise a visual way in the actual thesis that I felt simplified this difficulty. I have inserted the visual question here, as to create diagrams, drawings and visual representations of my concepts, provided me with a clarity of thinking as I travelled through the process and this way of delivering information might be of use to a reader. I must add that not one examiner remarked on my visual concepts!

(Lovesy, 2003, p.14)

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Organising my life The adventure of completing my doctorate took me four long years. Experiencing a doctoral process was in some ways was a ‘life unto itself ’, where my life strategies had to be flexible yet rigid, and my continuing learning in the field was developmental, exciting, creative and totally overwhelming. Firstly I had to come to grips with a software package that was supposed to help me analyse the data, this software took months to understand because of its complex nature, but when I understood its function I found it a very useful tool. Simultaneously to processing the data I had to constantly analyse, synthesise, reflect, evaluate, draft ideas, draft more ideas, do more research, more writing, all of which involved deep thinking, worrying, ‘light bulbs’ going off in my head in the middle of the night, finding satisfaction in the process and a few more tears of frustration than I had anticipated. The first two years I was working full time, and this suited my family life and research commitments. To be immersed in the working environment of my doctorate was liberating as the empirical possibilities that were emerging where being played out in front of me on the classroom floor. On the other hand I felt emotionally and intellectually exhausted as I was pursuing the duality of the everyday working life of a busy drama coordinator with the everyday unfamiliar life of a researcher. I did at times wonder why on earth I was persevering, as drama education is so practical and the theory is embedded on the classroom floor, and here was I heading into academia. At the end of the second year, I took leave of absence from my school as I knew I had to concentrate on completing the analysis of the data to a point where I could start developing my draft writings. Luckily I got a part time job teaching drama education to pre-service student teachers at a university as well as a scholarship, so I did not have to worry too much about money and I was still engaged in the profession I so dearly loved. My family and friends were also very supportive throughout all these years. My husband read all my drafts, helped me create my PowerPoints for

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the thesis, talked through issues with me, held my hand when I cried about the horror of all that writing or felt like giving it all away and going back to actually devising plays and not analyzing the pedagogic process. My son and step children, were always there to remind me that there were other things in life besides getting a doctorate and my friends, most of whom had no interest in academia or drama education, seemed always to be around for a chat or a night out. Nevertheless I did have to re-arrange my life. I had to be extremely disciplined in those last two years, beginning by getting up at an unreasonable hour five mornings a week to start the work and not letting my household life intrude during the day. The vastness of the doctoral work nearly overwhelmed me; I had mountainous notes, a cupboard full of analysis, hundreds of hours of transcribed video and audio tapes, a bookcase full of academic texts, and a few unpublished papers waiting completion, but I did try to break each week down into something achievable so that I felt I was going forward. I also tried to have my weekends off so that I had space to think and reflect, as well as be with my family. Of course it did not always work this easily, sometimes I couldn’t let go what I was doing and just had to carry on day after day until my thinking process made some sense of the analysis; other times I just had to get away for a few days to rejuvenate my spirit, and all the while I sorely missed teaching my secondary school students playbuilding.

My most memorable times There were many memorable times, but the most memorable were when ideas started to crystallize because of some tangible or ephemeral moment which provided connectivity to my research or generated a contrast or different possibility to what I had been pursuing. Grounded theory opened up the human nature of my research problem, which required an interpretive approach, and provided freedom for the data

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to speak for itself through the processes of coding, selecting, and sampling and I found this part of the work fascinating. I grasped the grounded theory concept that my research was not findings but rather an integrated set of conceptual hypotheses where incidents often presented themselves sequentially and then simultaneously (Glaser, 1998), and this allowed me some creative freedom in my thinking and overall approach, albeit still governed by the rigours of the project. Earlier on in the journey one of my supervisors recommend a book to me that was enlightening and had a somewhat different focus from what I had been exploring; this led to reading more diverse textbooks, reports, articles, which provoked different ideas and different ways of thinking. This journey culminated in writing a literature review that was designed to give the reader of my thesis an understanding of the multidisciplinary nature of playbuilding. The literature review pointed out salient ideas, facts and concepts, encouraging the reader to imagine that all the theorists, artists and/or educators I mentioned collectively left part of their own creative legacy in that chapter and in my thesis. Completing this chapter was a great breakthrough, but I still had the major problem that I was dealing with some rather esoteric ideas that had to be solidified through the written word in the other chapters. Actually what I was trying to solve was how could I write about an active and physical playbuilding process whose principal characteristics were tied to the phenomenological pursuit of the mind-body relation (Macann, 1993), and which presented themselves practically on the classroom floor. I pondered and worried over this problem for many months until at last one of those ‘light bulb’ moments came to mind; I would simulate a metaphoric playbuilding journey that a secondary drama educator would undertake whilst teaching group devised work within my chapters. This meant I was attempting to bring the body, emotion, cognition and context into coexistence when writing the chapters in my thesis. On reflection I do not think this was clear to the examiners, as not one remarked on this approach, but it helped me to formulate the thread of the thesis, as

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in my mind I arranged it like the scenic incident in a dramatic plot line, culminating in my penultimate chapter which posed new methodologies to teach drama students essay writing skills through playbuilding an essay, and this was like the final denouement for me. Other memorable moments were the collegial symposia held by the university where doctoral students from different disciplines got together to discuss, debate, and present their work. I found this daunting and liberating but we were all very supportive of each other and it was very interesting to see the vast range of research being carried out by people whose professional passions were so vastly different from mine. My main supervisor also provided me with many memorable moments. She pushed me to think, and rethink, to argue my case critically with her, to assess, judge and justify my ideas. I used to have a Far Side cartoon on my study wall where the young person in the picture asks to be excused from class because his brain was full, and this was exactly how I felt at times. I enjoyed that cartoon as it brought a wry smile to my face on many occasions. Ultimately I was so pleased that my supervisor pushed me forwards and would not accept second best. Finishing the thesis was the pinnacle of the memorable times, but it was like a double edge sword. When I handed it in I felt I never wanted to see it again yet I was so proud of it. Luckily my husband took me away for holiday immediately after the handing over, and I tried to make sense of all the years of study and research, without much success I should say. The thesis was rather like an adolescent child that I wanted to continue to nurture but simultaneously was so pleased they has just reached adulthood. It took many months for that feeling to disappear.

My most difficult times and what I would have done differently The writing of the thesis was the most difficult. To put that thought into context I had left school when I was 16, with little or no formal education,

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let alone any idea how to structure or write essays. In my first degree, 15 years later, which was a Bachelor of Performing Arts, I, with a number of other students, had to attend what we termed ‘vegie’ essay writing classes as we had no idea how to go about this side of the course, in fact I remember being in shock when I was told I had to write an essay. This concern about structuring and writing essays still remained with me when I started the doctorate. As mentioned, my penultimate chapter examined the methodologies of performing a playbuilt essay (Lovesy, 2002, 2003, 2005) and this had been developed and refined from pedagogical ideas that I explored in my Masters of Education. In essence the concept behind this methodology was that many drama students struggle to write drama essays because of their predominant kinaesthetic learning styles (Gardner, 1983, 1993, 1994, 1999), and through specific teaching strategies students can be given the opportunity to devise a playbuilt essay on the classroom floor. This means that groups of students are given an essay question to answer through performance so as to affect their audience as if they were the readers of a senior drama written essay. So just as in an essay, points or aspects of argument need to be made and backed up by evidence. All this is acted out in the form of playbuilding and the students transfer their embodied learning to their individual drama written essays (Hatton & Lovesy, 2009). During my doctoral journey I used this method myself as I would get up out of my chair and physically improvise my thoughts, then sit down and write about it, and as a kineasethetic learner myself this helped me enormously. This brings me to a major regret in my thesis. I wish I had been brave enough, and had made the time, to have presented a small part of my thesis through the methodology of performing a playbuilt essay. I know I would have found it very satisfying to have taken this path and the examiners could have seen as well as read the essence of my discoveries. I certainly toyed with the idea of doing this but the logistics seemed insurmountable at the time, yet on reflection they were not, only my way of thinking made it so.

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What I have gained This paper began by describing my personal journey as a researcher and the influences on my playbuilding pedagogy that led me to research imagining and creating in playbuilding. This type of qualitative research work can never result in absolute proof, but it illuminates probable knowledge where I shared my empirical analysis with others, knowing that other people’s observations about playbuilding were no less tied to their perspective than mine. Nevertheless, my thesis analysed what I consider to be justified beliefs within the field of drama education and so I gained a depth of knowledge, understanding and skill from the process. Philip Taylor (1998) argues that the perspective of drama education research is slowly shifting to one where he would advocate the replacement of a rigorous research process with a process that trusts the participants’ voices, and that can generate a flexible and transformative approach (p. 85); the process is one that I modelled and valued. Taylor further argues that ‘the power of the art form is that it unsettles and disturbs, it raises and confronts consciousness’ (p. 86), and this was true of my work as the research allowed me to see where I had pushed teaching boundaries, providing opportunities for me to explore outside my range of teaching ideas. I believe my research has made a significant contribution to the field of drama education as it investigated the validity of playbuilding in drama education through the roles of embodiment, group imaginative divergence and metaphoric creating, and connected individual kinaesthetic learning to group kinaesthetic learning. Furthermore, the research explored approaches to teaching drama in an empathetic mode and found that this necessitates a high level of trust between the teacher and their students because of that very special, personal, and imaginative creating that occurs (Arnold, 1998, 2000). The journey also provided me with the opportunity to write an international textbook about playbuilding. Throughout my four years of study I could only find one other person in the Southern Hemisphere who

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was investigating playbuilding at a doctoral level and this led to a collegial collaboration after our doctorates were finished. We were able to secure an international publisher and write a teacher’s textbook about this important dramatic form (Hatton & Lovesy, 2009). I also know that I learnt valuable skills, knowledge and understanding from my journey which I have taken back into the classroom and other workshop arenas within the national and international drama community. I now deeply understand how playbuilding and drama education praxis places the students and their creativity central in the learning process and how it can offer a safe and structured process for imagination to flourish (2009).

References Arnold, R. (1998). The drama in research and articulating dynamics: A unique theatre. In J. Saxton & C. Miller (Eds.), Drama and Theatre in Education: The Research of Practice: The Practice of Research (pp. 110–131). Victoria, Canada: IDEA Publications. Arnold, R. (2000, August). Educating for empathic intelligence. Retrieved August 18, 2001 from the University of Melbourne’s Faculty of Education Website: http://www.edfac.unimelb. edu.au/LLAE/new/Lecture.html Gardner, H. (1983). Frames of mind: The theory of multiple intelligences. New York: BasicBooks. Gardner, H. (1993). Multiple intelligences: The theory in practice. New York: BasicBooks. Gardner, H. (1994). The arts and human development: A psychological study of the artistic process. New York: BasicBooks. Gardner, H. (1999). Intelligence reframed: Multiple intelligences for the 21st century. New York: BasicBooks. Glaser, B. G. (1992). Basics of grounded theory analysis. Mill Valley, Calif.: Sociology Press. Glaser, B. G. (1998). Doing grounded theory: Issues and discussions. Mill Valley, Calif.: Sociology Press. Hatton, C. & Lovesy, S. (2009). Young at Art: Classroom playbuilding in practice. UK: Routledge. Janesick, V. J. (1998). The dance of qualitative research design: Metaphor, methodolatry, and meaning. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln. (Eds.), Strategies of qualitative inquiry (pp. 35–55). Oaks California: Sage Publications, Inc. Joubert, J. (1983). The notebooks of Joseph Joubert (P. Auster Ed. & Trans.). USA: NorthPoint Press. Lovesy, S. (2002). Performing an essay. NJ Drama Australia Journal, 26(2), 83–91. Lovesy, S. (2003). Drama Education Secondary School Playbuilding. Unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Western Sydney. Sydney, New South Wales: Australia.

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Lovesy, S. (2005). Performing an essay, in Drama NSW Big Book of Ideas – Australian Government Quality Teacher Programme, Drama NSW & Australian Government Quality Teacher Programme Publication, Sydney. Macann, C. E. (1993). Four phenomenological philosophers: Husserl, Heidegger, Sartre, MerleauPonty. New York: Routledge. Searle, J. (1992). The rediscovery of the mind. Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press. Taylor, P. (1998). Beyond the systematic. In J. Saxton & C. Miller (Eds.), Drama and Theatre in Education: The Research of Practice: The Practice of Research (pp. 73–88). Victoria, Canada: IDEA Publications.

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Sitting down with uncertainty: A PhD journey in drama education Christine Sinclair Giving Voice and Being Heard: Searching for a new understanding of rehearsal processes and aesthetic outcomes in community theatre The University of Melbourne, 2005

Abstract of thesis This thesis is an examination of rehearsal processes and aesthetic outcomes in community theatre practice. It is a qualitative study, focusing on a community theatre project in a small outer suburban primary school near Melbourne, Australia. The researcher is a highly involved reflective practitioner, taking on the multiple roles of researcher, community artist and community member. At the heart of the thesis is a novella embodying a range of perspectives and experiences from the case study. The study began with the questions: how is it possible for a community theatre project to satisfy the participants’ artistic and community needs and what are the factors which contribute to the achievement of these ends? The tension between the contrasting needs and experiences of different participants, ranging from theatrically trained artistic facilitators to the children who struggle to be heard, to the parents looking to

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connect with the school community, informed the study. The inevitable challenges and difficulties of the fieldwork propelled the study into a wider exploration of questions of community participation in the arts as a means of individual and collective expression and as an experience of cultural democracy. Drawing on an extensive review of theoretical foundations underpinning the practice of community theatre, and a review of practice itself (both the researcher’s own and a range of exemplars), the study proposes an analysis of the key stages of development of community theatre practice. This analysis has been synthesised into a Community Theatre Matrix. At the core of the matrix is the notion that collective community art-making takes place within an Engaged Space, where key elements of Artistry, Agency, Pedagogy, Pragmatics and Critical Reflection shape and inform the practice. Those who choose to participate in the collective art-making process become a temporary community of art-makers. This Engaged Space is based on the conceptualisation of a ‘community aesthetic’ – participants engage in collective art-making processes predicated on an invitation to aesthetic and social engagement. Such a space is charged with the potential for a politicising experience as well as a community one. This new understanding is framed by an appreciation of the interplay between artistic invention (and intervention) and pedagogy. In order to give voice to the silent community, the artist employs the tools of emancipatory pedagogy along with modernist and post-modernist theatre understandings. The thesis concludes with the proposition that community theatre offers individuals and communities the possibility of a shared experience of artmaking and the social and artistic possibilities associated with ‘giving voice and being heard’. _____

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Prologue There was a ritual, although some saw it as an ordeal. Every six months the Faculty required its Research Higher Degree Students to gather and talk about their work – to be called to account, I think is a more accurate description of this event. I can remember the mildly excruciating experience of noting the slickness of fellow student’s presentations, their power points, their carefully constructed timelines, their aptly chosen quotes, and of course, the air that they carried with them, that they knew where they were going with their study. Envy. Who has certainty when they are doing a PhD? The only really good thing that emerged for me out of this experience is that I could embrace and share the truly wonderful catch phrase ‘embrace the ambiguity, sit with the uncertainty’. That’s what I shared when my turn came – my questions, my latest blind alley, and the brilliance of my most recent wisdom in hindsight. I invariably chose to talk about my process, rather than my study. I remember one of my more memorable presentations was entitled, Writing Blocks I have known, and another Why do I encounter my PhD everywhere I look? It was important to me that I understand that I was inside a process, and if all else failed, at any point from first draft proposal to final edit, my one certainty was to trust the process. And now, quite a few years later, I have the chance to reflect on that process, from first draft proposal to final edit, and I can’t wait.

Beginnings Like many others of a certain generation, I owe my PhD to Peter Dawkins. When the Dawkins green paper became the white paper that transformed tertiary education in Australia in the mid-1990s, I found myself transformed from teacher educator, theatre educator and practitioner to university academic. I discovered that the daily praxis of my College of Advanced Education world was now to become ‘research’, accredited and published of course.

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At that time, I was the parent of two young children and the partner of an actor whose fortunes were in the fickle hands of ad executives and TV producers, so my full-time employment was not only important to my professional future, but to my family’s stability, to our mortgage, and to our weekly grocery bills. In other words, I needed to hold on to my job. And so, in my late 30s, I embarked on a Research Masters degree. If anyone had suggested to me at that point that beyond this lay a PhD, I would have rolled my eyes and greeted them with a wry but confident smile, an ‘I don’t think so, not if hell freezes over’ kind of smile. By the time I finished my Masters in Education, I mopped my brow, prepared to get reacquainted with my somewhat older children, and surveyed the academic landscape, waiting for the pat on the back. How clever, you’ve done your Masters, have a promotion. However, I quickly discovered that not only had the landscape changed, but also the goal posts had shifted. I was working in PhD land now – this was the new bottom line. I still had the mortgage, the family, the grocery bill, and, I quite liked my career – I loved the teaching with its myriad creative challenges, I enjoyed my colleagues, and, amidst the chaos of working parenthood, I enjoyed going to work. Slowly, as the memory of all the pain associated with doing my Masters while working full-time and looking after a family faded, the idea that I could, possibly, one day, do a PhD started to grow. It was a daunting prospect, but along the way I’d made a useful discovery. I liked research. When I began to tentatively call my reflective activities ‘research’, I found that it flowed naturally from what I had already been doing. Most important of all, I discovered that the work that I did on a daily basis, teaching, directing, working in theatre, could sit at the heart of a research project, that I could be both practitioner and researcher, and that through appropriating this dual identity, I could be a better practitioner. That’s what sold me on research. My Masters experience was a significant precursor to my PhD experience, for three key reasons.

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For a start, after my Masters experience, I knew that I couldn’t do my PhD while continuing to work full-time. So, my PhD journey was dependent on gaining a scholarship – I needed to buy the time to study, to not be stretched so thinly that there would be no joy, in the study, and in my family life. Fortunately, this eventuated. I consider the 3½ years of the APA scholarship to have been the most privileged of my adult life. Also, I chose to study at the same University for both Masters and PhD. With enormous good fortune, I was able to continue a supervision relationship established in the Masters into the PhD. This was one of the key reasons I chose to stay at the University of Melbourne. This was the place where I had discovered that I could be a practitioner researcher and this was also the place where I found a supervisor who believed in my research, in my capacity, and was prepared to take the time to tutor me in the tools that would ultimately lead me to autonomy and confidence as a researcher. And finally, while the research masters that I undertook was very arduous and required much more than many current iterations of a masters by research program, it was invaluable research training. Within the framework of the masters program I undertook, I was required to complete two small research projects and a major research project, leading to a 40,000-word thesis. By the time I had completed these three projects, I felt very prepared to enter a PhD program (once I had forgotten the pain associated with all the hard work!) I knew what kind of research I wanted to do, I understood some of my strengths as a researcher and I had a strong grasp of the relationship between my chosen methodology and my chosen practice. In order to do my PhD, I made the difficult decision to resign from the University that I had worked at for the previous twelve years. It seems ironic, considering my original reasons for studying. Although there was an expectation that I complete a PhD in order to progress, the university was not prepared to give me the leave I needed in order to study full-time. So, I chose study and severed the links with my secure employment. I mention

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this only because it contributes to the context of my PhD journey. It was the start of something new. The stakes were high. I had thrown all my chips onto the PhD train and asked my family, my mortgage, and my grocery bills to get on board. But it was timely. I was ready for the unknown, for embracing the uncertainty – I thought.

The topic – seeking out memorable learning. I’m not sure if I have a particularly masochistic temperament, but the things that I most wanted to understand about working as a community arts practitioner were the things that hadn’t gone well, the glorious failures. Well beyond any certified learning I achieved in my several years of PhD study, I aspired to memorable learning. Psychologist Phillip Zimbardo describes the experience of memorable learning as occurring through a ‘disruption of expectations’ (Zimbardo cited in Kuftinec, 1997, p. 172). I was drawn to the surprises, the unexpected events which shaped the work of the community artist – I wanted to understand this practice more, to be better at it, to subject myself to a systematic disruption of expectations. This was my starting point for a topic. I was settling on this line of inquiry before I had even located a site or a specific focus for my study. I looked for opportunities for quite a while and then, with a little prompting from a very experienced researcher and mentor, I stumbled upon the blindingly obvious – I could research my own community.

And now, for Belbrook Primary School One of the intriguing aspects of this writing project has been the opportunity to reflect. When considering the genesis of my research project, I returned to my field journals, and found that a section of my very first entry held many clues to how my topic emerged.

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Field Journal: First Entry 15/3/01 I think the idea for this project came when I was working with the School on their Year 5/6 production of Midnite, in September last year…I jumped in boots and all, and attempted to help shape the rehearsals and the performances. Time was really tight, so there wasn’t a lot I could do, although the children showed a lot of potential at times. The end result was that the play went on, the parents enjoyed it, the houses were full, and nobody died. However, most of the children hated the experience (except for those fortunate few who had major roles or enjoyed the challenge of their minor role.) The teachers also, hated the experience. They felt pressured and ill-equipped to deal with staging a ‘proper’ play. It was this experience that prompted me to want to engage in another theatrical endeavour with these same students and teachers, this time keeping the data, and attempting to find a way to create a more productive and satisfying process, leading to a more productive and satisfying outcome.

Clearly with these goals, my research project would build on an interventionist model. As a qualitative researcher I was going to be at the far end of the spectrum of involved participant observation. I would be both observer and observed. Like an ethnographer, I wanted to understand more deeply the lived experience of the participants (including me) in my study, but at the same time, I wanted to effect change. I would offer myself as the community artist in my own community, base myself at my son’s primary school as a proposed hub of this community endeavour, and then I would set about transforming the performing arts landscape and by

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implication transforming the community as well. Even many years later, I am astounded at the arrogance of my ambition and the naïveté. And, I guess, the blind courage. The culmination of my project was a one-day performing arts festival run in combination with the school fete. All 180 children in the school were involved with an original play or series of short plays to be created and then performed by each grade – 10 performance events. And an Adult Drama Group to bring parents into the mix. There was no drama program at the school, so I would work with each grade for a term, introducing them to drama and to the idea of play-building, and then I would change hats from drama teacher to playwright to collaborate with the children on the writing of each play. Then, I would change hats again, and become theatre director, working with the teachers to rehearse and stage each of the plays. In my ‘spare’ time, I would be the researcher, keeping my field notes, writing up my journal, meeting with my supervisors (an hour away in the city). Did I mention that I would also hold down a part time job so that I could attend to that pesky grocery bill? Did I mention that I was a parent with two school-aged children? That I had a husband, and that my father who lived 1500 km away had a serious chronic illness? Did I mention that I was perhaps deluded? Actually, I wasn’t deluded. I was enrolled in my PhD and I was doing what many have done before me and since. I was going into the unknown, and with joyful ignorance, was momentarily unafraid. My aspirations to know more about the practice of the community artist, and about my community, about theatre making, and about research, all led me to construct a research question and project that was a grand ‘what-if ’. Of course the scale of my endeavour was huge and there would be too much data and I would have to find ways to reduce and clarify the focus of my study, but what an opportunity. How rare it is in one’s working life, unless you’re Peter Jackson making the Lord of the Rings trilogy or Peter Brook staging the Mahabharata over nine hours, do you have the opportunity to embark on a project with questions you cannot possibly know the answers to, take risks, learn to

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tolerate uncertainty on the largest of scales and to know that even glorious failure is acceptable, because it will generate wonderful data and you will experience memorable learning. For me that was one of the great gifts of the PhD – the invitation to risk, to inhabit that area outside my comfort zone, to see what was out there. With all the wisdom of hindsight, however, I do wonder how I could have been so naïve about my relationship to my own community and so presumptuous, not about the scale of ambition for the project, but about my self-appointed role as purveyor of change, where I had invited myself in, rather than being invited. I suppose I thought I had some kind of propriety over the community due to my membership of that community. Not necessarily. I was part of a geographic community, a school community, but in my role as artist/researcher, I was an outsider. Field Journal: Second Entry 21/3/01 Everything thing I do has implications for the project. That makes this journal writing task rather daunting. What can I possibly leave out? Cleaning my teeth? Perhaps I should try to be systematic. The question becomes, if everything has implications how can I discriminate between that which is important, and that which is inevitable? Already, the location of the participant observer at the centre of the work becomes a theme in the work. How do I draw on experiences outside the project in a way that is helpful to the project, and more importantly, to the questions I’ve posed?

Researching at home Even at the earliest stages of my PhD research, there were some powerful lessons. It’s not such a simple thing to research in one’s own community.

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I guess one of my motivations for choosing this community was not my sense of belonging, but my sense of frustration. I didn’t fully understand the human dynamics of the place I lived and I certainly didn’t understand the educational community of the school my children attended. My response was to overlay this complex, layered and demanding research project onto that context. Of course, as researchers, we are never without our own agendas, but I suspect, the closer to home we conduct our research, the harder it is to see those personal agendas that sit right in front of us. Making the familiar strange is one of the great research mantras for qualitative inquiry – it’s incredibly important when the research site is 500 metres from one’s house. (Greene, 1988, p.133)

It’s also not such an easy decision to research one’s own practice. Not only do you have the issue of perspective that I’ve alluded to earlier, but you have the issue of ego. Working as a director or a writer, having the audacity to call oneself ‘an artist’ carries with it some significant questions of ego – it’s necessary to believe in one’s own capacity to work artistically and to deliver an artistic product. Even the most generous and humble community artist has to have an awareness and an investment in the artistic work they are creating. For lesser mortals such as myself, it is difficult to subject one’s own artistic production to even greater scrutiny than usual – not only the public gaze, but the unforgiving lens of the researcher. But then again, that is the great opportunity of practitioner research – to understand one’s own practice better through reflection and analysis. Added to the everyday work of the researcher, recording field notes, writing up one’s journal, is the noting down of the failures as well as the successes in the work, of the wrong decision, of mis-interpreted interchange, of the great idea translated into pedestrian practice. Of course, these issues occur for any practitioner researcher – particularly classroom teachers as reflective practitioners. The difference, I suspect, and this is not substantiated by research (that I’ve done anyway),

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is that teachers learn early on to reflect on their practice as an essential component of good teaching. As for the ego, well, it too becomes a subject for the reflective journal, objectified and examined as an interesting influence on the work. The most useful tool I acquired in managing this ‘up close and personal’ component of the research, came from reading Harry Wolcott, the noted educational researcher. Wolcott writes eloquently and persuasively about the role of ‘description’ as a tool for the qualitative researcher. Learning how to describe what happened, as clearly as I could, without sliding into interpretation, or a defence of my practice, was highly significant for me. It’s also something that I’ve continued with – when I need to understand what has happened in a class, or a workshop, I will attempt to describe it, with close attention to the detail – place, atmosphere, who said what to whom, ‘the vibe’. When I read over the description, I can better see what I didn’t know when it was happening. This is not news for ethnographers, and qualitative researchers generally, but it was powerful learning for me. Somehow, by concentrating on the process of description, by separating out the explanations and excuses for why something might have happened the way it did, I became better able to set aside the intrusive force of ego or any temptation to ‘blame’– myself or others. It was all good data and in the end, it was more important that I honoured the integrity of the research than to make myself look ‘good’ as an ‘artist’ working in a school community.

Dark days The time spent in the field collecting my data, conducting my participatory research – part reflective practice part action research – was by far the darkest days of my research journey. It was difficult in every sense of the word. In practical terms, I was working hard. I spent three full days each week, for two school terms, in the field, working with the children and the teachers, and the parents, on creating the community event. When I wasn’t in the field, I was

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writing up my journals, preparing workshops, writing drafts of the various plays, or working in my part time teaching job. One of my children had just started high school; so there was some important time to be spent being a supportive and involved parent. And, I lived each day with the frustrations of the fieldwork, of my own limitations or a perceived lack of involvement or commitment from members of the school community. Some days, I’d just be too exhausted to be the positive supportive force I felt the project and the school needed me to be. In the midst of it all, literally, the planes flew into the World Trade Centre and the Pentagon. My husband is an American and we met in New York, living not so far from those towers. It was a strange and confusing time. When the final day of the project arrived, and the Country Fair, complete with an all day performing arts program played itself out, I was relieved more than elated. I struggled to see past the disappointments of where I had miscalculated or fallen short with the children, even though, when I honoured the words of Harry Wolcott and wrote my descriptive accounts of what happened on that day and in the succeeding days, I knew we had achieved a great deal. Almost every child in the school participated in the performances. Parents, grandparents and family friends walked through the school gates to join in the Country Fair – this in itself was a significant achievement in this particular school community. On the first school day following the Fair, the Year 5s came in ready to begin planning the next production (only to by stymied by the Principal’s overwhelming disinterest).

Let the data tell you how it needs to be written It took me a year to be ready to come back to my data. In the intervening time, I read and reflected on the principles I thought I had understood going into my fieldwork, but only on paper. I revisited the theory and sought out accounts of practice. I clarified some important questions. What was this thing called community? I was interested in the aesthetics of community

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practice, but realised I needed a stronger grasp of the notion of aesthetics, problematised in ways that I could apply to my own work, when I was ready to return to my analysis. In a serendipitous turn of events, I had chosen to do my fieldwork before conducting my lit review. Now, emerging from the field, more than a little battle scarred, the lit review became a rich and dynamic part of my research. I read with purpose. I read and wrote my way back into love with my research. Wolcott says: Qualitative researchers need to be storytellers. That, rather than any disdain for number crunching, ought to be one of their distinguishing attributes. To be able to tell ... a story well is crucial to the enterprise. When we cannot engage others to read our stories – our completed and complete accounts – then our efforts at descriptive research are for naught. (Wolcott, 1994, p. 17)

I needed to find a way to tell the story of my research. I’d written my way out of despair and into understanding through my lit review and this had enabled me to return to my data with some clarity and some very useful distance. I discovered in my journals many useful clues to understanding the community, the needs of the children and their teachers, my oversights and my insights. Since my Masters, I’d developed a little maxim that I actively invoked – no doubt I read it somewhere and appropriated it as my own – but this was it – let the data tell you how it needs to be written. All along I had assumed that I would provide a narrative account of my time in the field, in order to contextualise the findings which I hoped would emerge. But as I came closer to this task, I hit a very notable wall (referred to later in the presentation: Writing Blocks I have Known). I found myself at the centre of the narrative, and as much as I had embraced this positioning in designing the study, I felt uneasy about the narrative that would unfold,

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with me at the centre, written by me. It felt self-serving and I feared that it would read as a justification of my actions rather than a description and an analysis of the work of the community artist in the field. Also, this was a story about a community. My role in it may have been pivotal to this research, but ultimately the focus was on the work and the people of the community. I have never shied away from writing in the first person in research reporting, but in this instance, my sense was that it wouldn’t serve the data. This was not how the data needed to be told.

The joy of the form Eventually, I found my form – I would write a third person, narrativised account of my time in the field. It would be a novella. It would tell the story but also provide the touchstones of key findings, to be discussed in a subsequent chapter. It would sit within the PhD, in contrast to other artsbased dissertation structures such as a practice-exegesis model. I found Polkinghorne’s (1995) work very illuminating. He observes: A storied narrative is the linguistic form that preserves the complexity of human action with its interrelationship of temporal sequence, human motivation, chance happenings, and changing interpersonal and environmental contexts. (Polkinghorne, 1995, p. 7) As the plot begins to take form, the events and happenings that are crucial to the story’s denouement become apparent. The emerging plot informs the researcher about which items from the gathered data should be included in the final storied account. (Polkinghorne, 1995, p. 17)

I wrote the novella over one summer. It was a joyful experience. Whereas during my time in the field I felt that I was constantly at odds with my own artistic impulses, second guessing my decision making, as artist

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and teacher, this was a time when my impulses and my intentions were aligned. It was as if the layers upon layers of research work – in the field, analysing data, reading and writing from the literature – and, most important of all, having time to spend in deep and considered and sustained reflection, all came together in this synthesis of artistic and reflective meaning making. I had found the form which would allow this research story to be told. The analytical notes on the margins of my journals became the cues for ‘chapter’ headings, brief descriptions of encounters became dialogue, and descriptive accounts of individuals became the building blocks to the creation of the characters. I created an identity for myself, Pip. As I wrote each section of the novella, it was as if I could stand back and watch what Pip was doing and know what she was thinking, without having to relieve the emotional intensity of that difficult time in the field. I could see her journey emerging. The children and the teachers came to life as I gave voice to their many contributions to our shared work. I speculated on what they were thinking and in doing so, this gave me, as researcher, as new perspective on familiar events. When it was done and placed delicately at the heart of my thesis – Chapter Seven – I could see the glimmers of light at the end of the tunnel. I turned with gusto to the more formal writing still left to do. The many metaphors of the PhD all seem to evoke struggle – the long journey, the dark tunnel, the tallest mountain – and I wouldn’t dispute any of them. For me, the writing of the novella was like getting over the hill they talk about in marathon running – I think it’s somewhere about the 26th mile. On the downward side of that hill, I felt more energised and confident than I had at any time in my own PhD journey. I think it was because I found a way to reclaim the story, to find writing it for an audience of one, for me. It’s not that I felt I’d written a great novella or a great thesis, but I felt that I had done the work and earned the epiphanies and I felt enormous pride in myself for this. I’d found a way to unify my beginnings with the endings without selling short the journey between the two.

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The rising balloon I remember the last three months of my PhD candidature as a time without weekends. I would go into the university on Saturdays and Sundays to work on the tedious final editing: chasing the lost references, cutting and revising, learning how to format a 100,000-word document (I know, I know, there are Master Documents, but I never able to manage that function in Word). My friend Jane and I walked the finished document over to the Graduate School office at lunchtime on the 23rd December. They gave me a balloon. A nice touch I thought. That night was all night shopping, so I did all my Christmas shopping from the hours of 11pm to 1am. My Christmas present strike rate wasn’t great that year. My daughter still wonders why I thought an alarm clock and a cookbook would have been ‘just the thing’ for a fourteen year old. She’s right. But she forgave me. So did my son, who’s still waiting for the bike I promised him right after the Country Fair in 2001. Are there things I would have done differently? Absolutely. I would have taken some of the advice I now get to give beginning RHD candidates: think about your personal agendas; where possible, road test your ideas; when you are given advice by your supervisor, read between the lines – what is really being said reflects what your supervisors are hearing you say; and, embrace the uncertainties. With all of this wisdom in hindsight, I probably would have done it all differently. But I would have done it, nevertheless. I’m grateful for every day of it, even the hard ones – especially the hard ones.

Coda My calculated risk of leaving my job to do my PhD had many ramifications. It took me six years from leaving my job to get another tenured position, and it’s only now, nine years on, that the risk seems to have finally paid off. I am in a tenured position where I get to teach and research in my field of drama education. I work with colleagues and students who I respect and admire. My children are now grown and my actor husband has become a drama teacher

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and loves it. My PhD journey is part of the fabric of all our lives. It informs my work and gives me faith in my own resolve. Julie Salverson suggests that community-based drama can promote a ‘relationship of attention’ (2000). She develops her argument as follows: even when the theatre form doesn’t succeed with its more lofty aspirations, to create an attitude of attention is a fundamental recognition of others and their meaningful contributions to the making of community. When I revisit this idea, I think it could be said to apply not just to my community theatre practice, but to the PhD experience as a whole. I am reminded of the need for humility and humour, and, as practitioner and researcher, you need to be listening very closely, to hear what those you are working with, are trying to tell you.

References Greene, M., 1988, The Dialectic of Freedom, New York, Teachers College Press. Kuftinec, S. (1997). Odakle Ste (Where are you from?) Active Learning and Community Based Theatre in Former Yugoslavia and the US Theater Topics, 7(2), 171–186. Polkinghorne, D. (1995). Narrative configuration in qualitative analysis. In J. Amos Hatch & K. Wisniewski (Eds.), Life History and Narrative. London and Washington DC: Falmer Press, pp. 5–23. Salverson, J. (2000). Risking Friendship in a Play about Land Mines. In T. Prentki & J. Selman (Eds.), Popular Theatre in Political Culture: Britain and Canada in focus. Bristol: intellect books, pp. 23–9. Wolcott, H. (1994). Transforming Qualitative Data: Description, Analysis and Interpretation. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications.

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