Crystalline Thinking
by
Anthony Rubino
by
Anthony Rubino
I teach ceramics in a New York City public school. I enjoy walking around the West Side, near Central park, taking in the sights and sounds. I peer over at a group of garbage cans outside of a four-story walkup. “That’s a nice picture frame”, I think and I make my way over to have a closer look. As an artist, it’s my second nature to peruse. Once I found a great oil painting of Venice, painted in the 1880’s, right on the curb. That was a great find. But no luck this time, the picture frame is shabby and shakes when I wiggle it - but what’s this? Someone has thrown out a sparkling geode about the size of a half coconut. I pick it up and admire the beauty of the lilac and violet amethyst crystals. I know they sell these at the Museum of Natural History, and they’re not cheap.
But do I really want to carry it?
My book bag is already overloaded. I lift the geode and hold it; I like the feel of its weight. I mull it over. I realize that my students would get a kick out of seeing the way the crystals shimmer in the light.
Finally the splendor of the stone sways me and I wedge it into my book bag. As I turn to walk away it occurs to me that things like this only happen in New York; I mean - who throws out something as beautiful as that?
Part of my amazement with the geode is its dual nature. Looking at the hard gray crusty outside shell who would imagine its interior? Those shimmering, jewel - like crystals create a counterpoint to the crustiness of its outer shell. I read that these rocks were spewed out of a volcano, and that an air bubble forms inside them as the kava hardens to stone. That air bubble creates a hollow interior. Minerals gradually seep into the hollow and the jewel-like faceted crystals are formed. The geode I found that day became a paper weight, a show and tell object on my teacher’s desk. My middle school students enjoyed picking it up and watching its crystals dance in the light.
One day my paperweight was called into more serious service as teaching device. I was having one of those days. It seemed every student in the ceramics room were intent on shutting down anything I had to say, especially if it involved introducing the lesson. Whether it was shuffling in their seats, a distracted antsiness, or the just plain yakity yakking, I was on the verge of uttering those nasty words that are the scourge of every art room –
“Take Out Your Notebooks!”
I could already imagine the students’ groaning at the thought of writing rather than working with clay; but what’s a teacher to do? You need some quiet in order to begin. Frustrated as hell, I happened to glance at my desk. I spotted my geode and picked it up. Just holding it in my hand changed my demeanor, it gave me a sense of gravity. I held it up to the class, having no solid idea of what I was going to say, but I had a feeling. In the sternest voice I could muster, without getting loud, I began winging it.
“I know on the outside. you’re all looking like this to me.”
I held the rough crusty side of the half geode for them to see. After the previous 10 minutes of stress and strain, holding up that gray rock finally got their attention. They stared, wondering what I would say next.
“The outside of this geode is how you look to me when you’re behaving like this”,
I showed the charcoal gray, rough, volcanic looking side of the stone. Now they were all interest, trying to figure out - “What’s Mr. Teach up to, comparing us to a crusty stone?”
I continued, saying it again for effect; “I know on the outside you sometimes look like this to me”, then softening my voice, I added; “But on the inside- this is what you really look like, this is how you really are”.
At this, I turned the geode around and revealed the sparkling amethyst crystals. The kids sat still, bemused, gazing as the lavender facet of the crystals glittered in the light. A quiet aura fell on the room. I took that as a good sign and continued building my metaphor. With a gusto, I thrust the geode towards them, allowing them to see close up, the shimmering crystals. I spoke for another minute or so and explained that, although we had just been tussling, I knew their inner selves - their inner being, deep down, looked like this. I watched as they drank in the beauty of the geode’s glistening jewel like interior.
And with that, I said, “OK now let’s get to work”. I felt a non- verbal hooray exude from my students as they quietly gathered up their supplies to continue on their clay projects. We were all relieved to put our dumb battle behind us and spend our time doing something enjoyable- making things out of clay.
Teaching the ceramic shop turned out to be a real creative adventure for me. And what became of my geode paperweight? It stood on my desk for years, periodically emerging out of the sea of student drawings and teaching notes that float on my desk. The students never tired of looking at it, turning it to make the crystals shimmer in the light and asking me;
“Mr. R - can I have this? Can I take it home?”
Over the years I incorporated my “pet” crystal into my teaching. It became my visual metaphor when students were misbehaving - comparing their inner selves to the beauty of the geometric crystals seemed to win them over. When I thought about it later, I shouldn’t have been so surprised. With the growing pains they endure as teenagers, their life can be a bundle of concerns and confusion. They were probably glad to have someone notice that, within their inner selves, they held such natural beauty.
Anthony Rubino is an avid terrace gardener, just taking in the last of the cherry tomatoes. As far as reading goes, the stacks pile up…he is enjoying A Wild Perfection, the letters of the poet James Wright, whom he studied with at Hunter College. Anthony is an artist, and an art teacher, who is transitioning into writing. He lives in New York City his my wife, and trusty research assistants, their dogs.
But do I really want to carry it?
My book bag is already overloaded. I lift the geode and hold it; I like the feel of its weight. I mull it over. I realize that my students would get a kick out of seeing the way the crystals shimmer in the light.
Finally the splendor of the stone sways me and I wedge it into my book bag. As I turn to walk away it occurs to me that things like this only happen in New York; I mean - who throws out something as beautiful as that?
Part of my amazement with the geode is its dual nature. Looking at the hard gray crusty outside shell who would imagine its interior? Those shimmering, jewel - like crystals create a counterpoint to the crustiness of its outer shell. I read that these rocks were spewed out of a volcano, and that an air bubble forms inside them as the kava hardens to stone. That air bubble creates a hollow interior. Minerals gradually seep into the hollow and the jewel-like faceted crystals are formed. The geode I found that day became a paper weight, a show and tell object on my teacher’s desk. My middle school students enjoyed picking it up and watching its crystals dance in the light.
One day my paperweight was called into more serious service as teaching device. I was having one of those days. It seemed every student in the ceramics room were intent on shutting down anything I had to say, especially if it involved introducing the lesson. Whether it was shuffling in their seats, a distracted antsiness, or the just plain yakity yakking, I was on the verge of uttering those nasty words that are the scourge of every art room –
“Take Out Your Notebooks!”
I could already imagine the students’ groaning at the thought of writing rather than working with clay; but what’s a teacher to do? You need some quiet in order to begin. Frustrated as hell, I happened to glance at my desk. I spotted my geode and picked it up. Just holding it in my hand changed my demeanor, it gave me a sense of gravity. I held it up to the class, having no solid idea of what I was going to say, but I had a feeling. In the sternest voice I could muster, without getting loud, I began winging it.
“I know on the outside. you’re all looking like this to me.”
I held the rough crusty side of the half geode for them to see. After the previous 10 minutes of stress and strain, holding up that gray rock finally got their attention. They stared, wondering what I would say next.
“The outside of this geode is how you look to me when you’re behaving like this”,
I showed the charcoal gray, rough, volcanic looking side of the stone. Now they were all interest, trying to figure out - “What’s Mr. Teach up to, comparing us to a crusty stone?”
I continued, saying it again for effect; “I know on the outside you sometimes look like this to me”, then softening my voice, I added; “But on the inside- this is what you really look like, this is how you really are”.
At this, I turned the geode around and revealed the sparkling amethyst crystals. The kids sat still, bemused, gazing as the lavender facet of the crystals glittered in the light. A quiet aura fell on the room. I took that as a good sign and continued building my metaphor. With a gusto, I thrust the geode towards them, allowing them to see close up, the shimmering crystals. I spoke for another minute or so and explained that, although we had just been tussling, I knew their inner selves - their inner being, deep down, looked like this. I watched as they drank in the beauty of the geode’s glistening jewel like interior.
And with that, I said, “OK now let’s get to work”. I felt a non- verbal hooray exude from my students as they quietly gathered up their supplies to continue on their clay projects. We were all relieved to put our dumb battle behind us and spend our time doing something enjoyable- making things out of clay.
Teaching the ceramic shop turned out to be a real creative adventure for me. And what became of my geode paperweight? It stood on my desk for years, periodically emerging out of the sea of student drawings and teaching notes that float on my desk. The students never tired of looking at it, turning it to make the crystals shimmer in the light and asking me;
“Mr. R - can I have this? Can I take it home?”
Over the years I incorporated my “pet” crystal into my teaching. It became my visual metaphor when students were misbehaving - comparing their inner selves to the beauty of the geometric crystals seemed to win them over. When I thought about it later, I shouldn’t have been so surprised. With the growing pains they endure as teenagers, their life can be a bundle of concerns and confusion. They were probably glad to have someone notice that, within their inner selves, they held such natural beauty.
Anthony Rubino is an avid terrace gardener, just taking in the last of the cherry tomatoes. As far as reading goes, the stacks pile up…he is enjoying A Wild Perfection, the letters of the poet James Wright, whom he studied with at Hunter College. Anthony is an artist, and an art teacher, who is transitioning into writing. He lives in New York City his my wife, and trusty research assistants, their dogs.