Let Me Be Perfectly Unclear

I teach for two reasons.

First, it keeps firing my imagination and my writing. I see little distinction at this point between producing a film, a book, or a syllabus. They all challenge and refine my ability to reach an audience.

Second, I keep getting good feedback. I want to teach differently than I was taught, and students tell me my technique is unique and valuable. I want to follow this creative thread to all of its outcomes.

Yet not all students love my methods. I hear one critique often and with real aggravation in some evaluations: I’m unclear. My courses disappoint students who want to know exactly what’s expected of them.

I should address this in writing to remove any misunderstanding. I’m not unclear; I’m intentionally interactive.

There is nothing lazy about my courses’ preparation or execution. My syllabi take students through carefully planned progressions of steps. These steps, however, are completely open to interpretation. I want students to take the lead alongside me and this technique inspires some and angers others.

I insist for four reasons.

First, I learned this way. In my fine arts masters program, I had to write my own syllabi. Giving students the freedom to tailor their graduate education to their unique goals is second nature to me. I don’t think you should enter a graduate program without a desire to influence your specialization and a few thoughts on how to do it.

Second, I teach a broad spectrum of students, from recent undergrads to seasoned professionals. Brash youth offers as much to a conversation as aged proficiency. Assignments that require student interpretation extract and illustrate student diversity and make class interaction richer. Diverse assignment outcomes also give students more ideas.

Third, at least one student every semester complains about my lack of micromanagement. They want assignments with clear instructions, measurable learning objectives, and an A for a grade. They want a paint-by-the-numbers classroom and a checklist syllabus—just do what the teacher does and win a medal.

I find this lazy—especially when these same students appear in the last two weeks of class and ask for both the checklist to complete and a solid B once they do and believe that’s both a good education and their entitlement.

I understand a few students are only in my class for the medal—the diploma gets them the promotion at work. Work is probably paying for the course too, but I don’t hate to disappoint them.

These demands have helped me understand my technique better. I want my graduate students to paint their own paintings, without numbers. I want them to make their own paint using their own paint-making process. I’m a self-starter and I expect the same from everyone else.

Here’s another way to look at it. I primarily teach students looking to get an MS in Interactive Media, where the first concern is designing interfaces. We study how to make technology user-friendly.

You can’t design clear and innovative instructions if you only know how to follow them. Moreover, you can’t write and communicate clearly if you only know how to regurgitate research. The writing and design processes are user-unfriendly.

I keep assignments open to teach students to use their imaginations. This is the greatest struggle of all, for them and me. How do I teach knowledge so it inspires students’ ideas instead of defining and constraining them?

I didn’t understand that many educators see a syllabus as a contract until I started teaching. One teacher even described the syllabus to me as “protection.” If students know what to expect, then they can’t complain later about a poor grade.

I give grades for effort, not for following orders. In my understanding of life, the important lessons come from the attempt in the face of the unexpected or unknown. The journeys we can’t look up in a guidebook become our greatest lessons.

The steps that wake us up to our habit and ignorance inspire us to discover.