It’s been five weeks since we went live on BlackBoard Collaborate Ultra at FIT. I was nervous at first, but got through three class sessions with my students, 11 contact hours in total. My biggest fear was just crashing and having to restart my computer, followed by not being able to upload the documents for my lectures, ending with annoyed students signing off in frustration half way through the sessions. It’s the jitters you get when you’re about to go on stage, knowing there are a few critical lines you don’t quite have down 100%. The last time I saw a Brooklyn Academy of Music performance was in 2004. It was an “amateur” production of Shakespeare’s Henry IV, Part One. There was silence for most of the first half. My friend and I could neither understand the concept nor the actors’ motivation. Their lines were delivered as deadpan as you could possibly imagine. You were trapped in your seat—quarantined is the word I would use today—by a simple yet invisible terror known as… the house lights, which calculatedly remained on throughout the performance, to ensure maximum embarrassment should you decide to sneak out in the dark. We sat, paralyzed, unable to go outside, afraid to break the theater protocol and heckle. Some braved the humiliation and got up to leave through the silence of the audience. Others contemplated the move, trying their best to coordinate the great escape at the least disruptive moment—when the scenes changed. But, no. Flat, cloth-painted backdrops came down with the awkward thud of an elementary school play, giving you no chance to move quickly enough. Then it happened. Hotspur kisses Lady Percy and I laughed out loud. Unfortunately, it was heard throughout the theater. I covered my mouth with my N95 mask, un-sanitized hands in shame. I turned to my friend and said, “That’s it. I’m outta here.” We got up and left, never to return again, until a 2005 Season’s dance production of Play Without Words. I figured that was a safe bet and perfect timing to come out of my theatrical self-quarantine.
Back in my spring semester distance learning sessions, I navigated through the tools, awkwardly at first, but then began to get the hang of it, as I was forced to lecture, upload the documents, respond to questions in the chat box, switch controls to make students presenters, draw on the whiteboard, answer more questions, correct drawings and point out details, all simultaneously for the hour and a half of a 3-hour class. The biggest issue the students had with me was that I kept forgetting to click on the pointer tool when directing them to look at something on the drawing. I was grandpa with the left blinker on. A student’s mic would go on like a director during rehearsals, five rows back. “Um…Professor…where are you pointing?” “What? Oh. Sorry.” “Let’s take that again, from the top of the scene, please. Thank you.” Eventually, they just wrote in the chat box, “Use the arrow tool!” “Oops! Sorry.”
One thing I did discover though was that by first Friday my students refused to turn on their video camera. I asked if something was wrong with my screen. “Can you see me?” The chat box filled with Yes. Yes. Yes. Yup. “Well, why can’t I see you?” I learned early on that in order to make that human connection when engaging online with your listeners, you look into the eyes of the participants. There is no need to be self-conscious, since the students think you are looking at everyone, not just them. In a face-to-face classroom situation, if I stared at one student the entire class, I would be arrested. But online, it’s best to have one large image of a student/participant than the Brady Bunch scenario where Mike and Carol are looking up and down the screen at their adoring six kids and Alice, the maid. This I understood, but everyone was a grey icon, not a live image. I asked them why they did this. I got no answer. I suspect they are all in their jammies eating ice cream while (hopefully) taking notes. Design Thinking Principle #1: Have empathy for your end users. I do empathize with my students staying safe and healthy at home. I really want to be in France with my family: the three of us sitting up in bed watching Netflix on my laptop. But here I am, 3000 miles away, teaching online to 23 grey figures eating ice cream, when I could be doing the same thing from France. I’ve made it a point, during this self-quarantine period, of getting dressed every day. One Friday my Studio VI students had to present their designs for New York City’s Hotel Pennsylvania, now in its 101-year anniversary. We’re collaborating with the hotel this semester on a much-needed redesign. Luckily my students dressed for the occasion. After that it was back to the grey image. I miss the face-to-face connection with my students. What will happen next semester when we are asked to teach again online?
I’ll keep you posted and you keep the house lights on. We’ll be home soon enough to find out.
