Seeing the light : diet related variation in the vision of Platycercus elegans

 Poster Presentation

Seeing 'things' differently : recognition, ethics, praxis

This essay focuses on the recent introduction by the Australian Federal Government of standardised literacy testing in all states across Australia (that is, the National Assessment Program – Literacy and Numeracy, or NAPLAN), and explores the way this reform is mediating the work of English literacy educators in primary and secondary schools. We draw on data collected as part of a research project funded by the Australian Research Council, involving interviews with teachers about their experiences of implementing standardised testing. These interviews indicate that the introduction of standardised testing does not merely constitute an additional part of teachers” workloads, but that it is having a significant impact on their identity as language educators, their understanding of curriculum and pedagogy, and the relationships they seek to maintain with their students. By introducing the NAPLAN tests, the Australian Federal Government is going down the path of other neo-liberal governments around the world. No doubt the story we tell will be familiar to readers in other countries. Our aim, however, is more than simply to give yet another account of the tensions experienced by committed language and literacy teachers as they implement neoliberal policy mandates. Key questions for us include: Why is the Australian government persisting with such policies, even when they have had such dubious consequences (teaching to the test, dumbing down, and so on.) in other national settings? How might educators resist these reforms? What intellectual resources might enable us to articulate an alternative vision of language education to that imposed by neoliberal reforms?
We present an account of conversations with a group of teachers in a primary school in the northern suburbs of Melbourne, not in order to make large claims about how the profession in Australia as a whole judges standards based reforms, but because their talk prompts reflection about the possibility of resisting such policy initiatives. Our impulse is largely a philosophical one – we are raising questions about how neoliberal reforms construct teachers and their students, what they presuppose about the nature of life and its potential, and how educators might dissent from the world view that is being imposed. And rather than simply investigating how teachers are grappling with standards-based reforms, as though it is yet again a matter of putting teachers under the spotlight, we also raise questions about the responsibility of academics and teacher educators to maintain a critical standpoint within the policy environment created by such changes.

Seeing as believing – or is it?

This article explores aspects of the life and art of the Australian artist Arnold Shore, the subject of my recently published book Arnold Shore – Pioneer Modernist, Macmillan Art Publishing, 2009. The pantheon of Australian art history celebrates particular artists and their visual output. These designated artists become the celebrated and orthodox names, who are seen as defining specific cultural and historical moments. Arnold Shore is cursorily acknowledged in many Australian art history accounts, most often for his teaching at the modernist school he co-founded in 1932, The Bell – Shore School. Much about his art and life remains hidden with the National Gallery of Victoria owning thirteen of his works, none of which are on display. Whilst suggesting there are specific reasons for Shore`s place in art history not being fully acknowledged, the article further investigates why some artists are consigned to a peripheral role, only for their significance and importance to be re-discovered at a later date after historical revisionism. Why is this so? Who are the tastemakers and gatekeepers that actively suppress artists stories and their contributions from receiving wider currency? What factors potentially conspire to obscure or push aside one group to the detriment of others? These questions are increasingly prescient in the twenty-first century as globalisation and spectacle capitalism, compete with representative historical perspectives; issues raised in the latter part of the article.

Seeing the unseen : a rockclimbing experience

This article outlines a process of using critical incidents to reflect on professional practice. The process begins, in this article, by observing and describing an 'incident' in a rock climbing teaching experience. Then, through a feminist post-structuralist lens, this 'ordinary' educational experience is analysed to reveal some of the underlying tendencies, patterns and values directing practice. Particular attention is given to exposing my role in maintaining and reproducing dominant discourses relating to socially differentiated gender identities. Finally, I explore pedagogies that will help lead students to understand their own and others' identities and provide alternative ways of being and valuing.

The strange and the familiar : seeing beyond when we know

My novel is a collection of interrelated stories. Each story is framed by the idiosyncrasies and prejudices of a different first-person voice. There are gaps in narrative time and there is disparity between the narrators’ voices. The result is a ‘discontinuous narrative’; this term describes the early work of Frank Moorhouse: ‘an innovative narrative method using interconnected stories’ (Griffith University 2011).
As I draft and re-draft the stories, I am forced to assess the interaction between the voices. I am aware of the disjuncture, and I ask myself: Why not tell the story through the eyes of one narrator? Why not choose a third-person perspective, an omniscient narrator who might collect all of the voices together, in a coherent way?
As I second-guess my approach, I realise that the splintering of voices feels like the right way to tell the story and, in this way, I approach the question of methodology. I am aware that a sense of disjuncture arises out of the medley of voices, but I also realise that the disjuncture is carefully constructed; it is not accidental. This is an intuitive judgement.
If I edit my novel ethically, I ask what the discontinuity achieves, rather than how it fails in the context of logic. This means that I recognise that the narrative begins from a place that does not worry about logic, and I realise that second-guessing the surface content of the narrative, from a rational perspective, may be counterproductive.
The conscious mind, fettered as it is with inhibitions, may fail to see that the logical track is not necessarily the most productive route. The conscious mind may not recognise that going off-track is the way forward and, perhaps, the only way that the story can become something other than what I, in my rational mind, believe that it should be.
Ethical editing means that I am attentive to my intuitive response to the narrative; it means that I tolerate incongruous elements of the narrative, even if they do not fit the criteria of logic.
Ethical editing is a meeting of minds (both mine); the fully conscious mind meets the work of the subconscious mind with surprise and approval, at best, skepticism and derision, at worst. The work of the subconscious mind is elusive but it need not be subjugated to logical, rational considerations, for this means that I delimit the work of the subconscious; it means I assess the discontinuity on the basis of an external operating system; it means that I impose certain criteria upon the surface narrative, criteria that has nothing to do with understanding why the discontinuity exists in the first instance.
Alternatively, when I pay heed to a primal moment of narrative composition, a moment that is not necessarily consciously determined or logical, I apprise the surface of the narrative as a metaphorical map, I attempt to engage with the possibilities for meaning that the map encompasses; this constitutes a quest for the unstable how of meaning attribution.