Found reform: (Re)imagining possibilities

I originally posted this blog on September 14, 2010.

Bricolage (bree-kuh-lahzh), n. 1. a construction made of whatever materials are at hand; something created from a variety of available things. 2. (in literature) a piece created from diverse resources. 3. (in art) a piece of makeshift handiwork. 4. the use of multiple, diverse research methods.

When I was an undergrad, some of my favorite moments included sitting in my art history class with the lights dimmed on those early crisp fall mornings, looking at projected images of 20th century art. In one class about found art, my professor displayed images of Dadaism, such as Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain. I remember feeling a little uneasy, but also excited. After all, Duchamp repurposed a toilet for art. But that class also sparked my imagination. How could I re-imagine the world using ordinary objects? Since then, I’ve read and crafted a bit of found poetry, but have just recently linked that inventive spirit to the world of education reform.

A clear connection exists between art and education. Just like there is no shortage of detritus to rework into art, there is no scarcity of failed reforms to re-purpose into something meaningful. Principals and teachers bemoan the incalculable amount of reforms at a school. Lawmakers target previous failed projects to attack their opponents. And taking a long view of education history, reforms occur cyclically. But, what if, rather than replacing reform with reform and furthering the problem, we took a look at previous initiatives and re-imagined those?

The means by which this new method may be accomplished is bricoler—the cobbling together of extant resources (regardless of their original objective) to achieve a purpose. That is, innovators locate and mobilize available reforms, resources, and stakeholders to achieve sustainable reform.

“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results,” is an oft quoted expression, and yet, it is exactly what education reformers frequently do. Bricolage is not revolutionary and is, no doubt, familiar to qualitative researchers. What I want to emphasize is the spirit of bricolage, the spirit of possibility. It’s time for policy-makers to renew the contracts with the communities they serve. If solutions didn’t work then, they aren’t going to work now. It’s time to re-imagine possibilities.

So you want to be a qualitative researcher in the 21st century

Originally posted at www.21stcenturyscholar.org

A tension exists between old and new. In The Anxiety of Influence, Harold Bloom explains the generational process among writers: Old poets inspire young poets. The apprentice learns to love form by reading the work of a skilled master. The beginner writes derivative verse. Anxiety stirs as she realizes the only way to establish a legacy is to break from tradition. And, that’s the rub.

The charm of Bloom’s theory is that it extends to numerous fields. Consider the myriad movies in which young protagonists ignore the sage advice of their battled-scarred mentors. Characters fail, fail, and fail again. And then, after sweaty and bruised adversity, they triumph. Hello, Karate Kid. Or, think about athletes. Young basketball phenoms like LeBron battle the legacies of legends like Jordan and Magic. Musicians provide yet another example—thankfully, Bird inspired Coltrane. The theory extends to more quotidian examples too. Children clash with parents. Students argue with teachers. The young fight for a trophy, the ability to say, “I did things my own way, a better way.” The trophy, of course, proves elusive.

As qualitative research enters an exciting moment, apprentice and master researchers are reenacting similar clashes in classrooms and research labs across the globe. “The methods are quaint,” the initiate says, “but I think they’re a little dusty. I can do better.” The mentor winces: How many times has she heard similar boasts?

Innovative technologies and digital media are providing new tools and venues. Consider the possibilities of research-based digital media. They can reveal complex processes that contribute to elusive opportunities for low-income students in ways that peer-reviewed articles cannot. Policymakers often grimace at pedantic and esoteric research. A digital short provides fertile ground for conveying the sorts of thick description qualitative researchers seek and also improving the relevance of research for policy stakeholders.

Novel methods are alluring, an opportunity for novice researchers to shape their legacies. But, like the young poet who privately spends thousands of hours mastering rhyme and rhythm or the basketball phenom who quietly practices drills in the gym, the innovative researcher is the product of hours and hours of unheralded work: planning, collecting, analyzing, producing, experimenting, revising, and repeating.

Rigorous designs depend on the ability of a scholar to undergird the process and product with traditional methods, all the while embracing emerging opportunities. A two-minute film excites. It also requires a complex set of skills. The researcher has to be well versed in fundamentals like interviewing and analyzing as well unconventional techniques like filming and editing. She has to understand triangulation and color theory, parallelism and the rule of thirds, NVivo and Final Cut. The challenge is formidable. But, the chance to experience that inventive moment, the next adjacent possibility, is worth the work.