Plants that are not Green
I
One really has to be sitting down to
read a textbook. It cannot be done standing up or lying down. As a
rule it is something done by an individual reader although it may
also be done collectively. One common practice consists in
simultaneous reading: supervised by the authority figure and
following a rhythm marked out loud, either by the authority or in
their name, where the group advances in unison, following the same
words at the same time, making the same brief pauses at commas, or
slightly longer ones at full stops, stopping to take a breath at new
paragraphs, and feeling the same stupor at semi-colons.
Whether done as an individual or as a
group, the ideal inspiring the textbook is that of a community of
readers all taking part in the same knowledge. The uniformity of
learning is an aspiration shared amongst the most varied pedagogic
beliefs, and can be interpreted as an instrumental homogenisation of
knowledge. Study plans and curricular reforms strive to foster a
homogeneous mass of 'critical, thinking' beings, democratically
endowed with the same definitions, characteristics, examples, causes
and consequences, formulae, demonstrations... Yet it is not enough
to simply inform rather than form the mind, it must be shown that
'readers of texts' are able
to retain and reproduce the structured contents of its pages. And
the transcendental task of testing this is termed evaluation.
Thereby evaluation plays an indispensable part in our society:
through it we can confirm, evaluation after evaluation, year after
year, that neither equality nor the desired level has been reached.
We thus get extremely indignant, demanding further measures, more
programmes, more textbooks (preferably free ones), more training and
information, and more evaluation, much more evaluation. Much, much
more of it.
We have read
neither standing up nor lying down, but sitting. In silence or out
loud. Individually or collectively. And now each individual in turn
must show that they are up to forming part of the group of textbook
readers; whether they can join the homogeneous mass they aspire to
or, in contrast, fall into the ranks of that other mass of those
unwilling to assimilate their condition as equals, thereby
imperilling the educational system for all.
Let us show why we
have been reading sitting down. We do it seated, in unison and in
silence. We fix our gaze on the paper where the textbook once lay.
Although exceptionally there may be occasions where the evaluation is
performed out loud. In this case an individual is taken out from the
rest, and the authority figure requests them to stand up and submit
to questions. In this way the individual involved is doubly
evaluated: both by authority and the body of their fellow learners,
sitting silently as they await their own turn.
Whatever
the results of an individual evaluation, whether or not the learner
demonstrates a command of the memorised contents or is incapable of
proving their reading skills, the educational system imposes a
'textbookist' vision
of the world on practically all the individuals forming part of it.
From the most primitive manifestations (such as pass notes and cribs)
through to the most complex and voluminous note-taking in the higher
reaches of academia (including its virtual and electronic
derivations), this immense body of work shares the same general
principles: the systematic ordering and formulation of knowledge to
facilitate its transmission, reception and evaluation, the way in
which authority is uncontested by readers (who tend to take
everything on the page as true), and the gliding over of the fact
that the textbook is actually only a means of transmitting knowledge
rather than the knowledge in itself.
Under
the worthy auspices of democratising knowledge the textbook imposes a
simplified and simplifying vision of the world, both uniform and
superficial, in which personal experience and reflection are
substituted for accessibility and immediacy. This mode of knowledge
monopolises the mass media, moulds public opinion and configures the
political, economic and cultural opinions ruling our society with a
cascade of projects, reports and powerpoints.
II
What do we
understand and fail to understand when we look at Leire Urbeltz's
illustrations in the exhibition 'Plants that are not green'? We come
across a model of representation that is familiar to us, we can
follow its key, and have the necessary experience to infer that every
image reflects a reality and seeks to transmit some information. We
are even able to link each illustration with a science, discipline or
specific field of knowledge. In other words, we are participants in
the formal structure being reproduced, for the very reason that it is
actually a textbook.
Nevertheless,
these images of textbooks devoid of texts disturb us. They lack the
comforting narrative which lends them sense, confirming their
fictional nature and setting them in the realms of fantasy. The
spectator may take on this imaginative exercise, and act as
if these representations account
for another world with
its own laws and logic; they may take each illustration and make up
their own personal jigsaw puzzle; or they may discover an
archaeological dimension in them and wonder about the hypothetical
author, about the trials and tribulations that were lived through in
order to leave this enigmatic testimony in our hands.
If the reader
decides to head in this direction, if they join the game, what they
will be doing is to endow a consciously empty formal structure with
contents. This proactive spectator will be assuming, knowing or
unknowingly, that Urbeltz has proposed a playful activity in which
they may interact. A form of interaction that, incidentally, will
not differ much from those commonly proposed in the pages of
textbooks. An interaction that can even be itself evaluated.
Together
with this play-like dimension, the exhibition also opens up another
line of thought. This consists in questioning the model of
representation and vision of the world imposed on the masses schooled
through textbooks and the like. Is the experience of reading
the illustrations that normally appear in our children's schoolbooks
so radically different from the info-graphic diagrams of the press
and news bulletins, or from reports and presentations at work? How
close to reality is all the information, data and schemes which seem
to guide our criteria and choices compared to the works in this
exhibition? Why do we no longer seek a direct, empirical knowledge
of things and merely put up with an impoverished vision, easily
acquired and easily forgotten?
Let us ask
ourselves, then, what is it that disturbs us about these
illustrations, if they do indeed disturb us. Let us sit down for a
moment to really look at the exhibition, and not be content with
simply walking by the pictures. Let's sit down and talk.
Gustavo
Puerta Leisse
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