Practising A/r/tography: Finding a

Voice within the Journey of a

Collaborative Arts Journal

Scott Annett

2015
Acknowledgements
My first words of thanks are to the Gadabout community. This includes but is
not limited to Ian Burrows, James Smoker, Alexandra Graham, Callum
Wayne, Lizzi Mills, Jaspreet Bopari, Becky Varley-Winter, Ollie Evans, Jamaal
Raoof, Jenni Sidey, John Stowell and Kevin Griffin.
I would also like to thank my ACEC classmates and course leaders,
specifically Tom Mellor, Frances Turnbull, Harry Peck, Mita Pujara, Morag
Morrison-Helme and Christine Doddington. The ACEC journey has been
both inspiring and challenging, and it will undoubtedly continue to inform
my work as a teacher, researcher and poet.
Finally, I would like to express particular gratitude to my supervisor
Pam Burnard. This project has relied heavily upon her open-mindedness,
support and encouragement. My a/r/tographic journey is only beginning
and I have Pam to thank for pointing me in this direction.

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Table of Contents

1. Journey One: Introduction p. 1

i. Gadabout Press p. 4

ii. Finding a Voice: Learning to Speak and Listen p. 10

2. Journey Two: A/r/tography & Autoethnography p. 15

i. A/r/tographic journeys p. 18

ii. Rhizomatic relations p. 21

iii. Practising A/r/tography: Analytical & Interpretive Zones p. 27

iv. Grammatical Ethics p. 34

3. Journey Three: A Tale of Tongue p. 41

i. Journal 1: saying “I”? p. 41

ii. Journal 2: hearing “you”? p. 53

iii. Journal 3: writing “we”? p. 64

4. Journey Four: Arrivals & Next Destinations p. 75

5. Appendices p. 82

6. References p. 91

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List of Illustrations
Figure 0-1: Gadabout Performance Night, Cambridge 2013

Table 1-1: Outlining co-founders

Figure 1-2: Example of visual response in Journal (Jamaal Raoof, October 2013)

Figure 1-3: Example of visual response in Journal (Jenni Sidey, April 2013)

Figure 1-4: Poster advertising Gadabout Performance Night (2014)

Table 2-1: Lather checklist

Figure 2-2: Outlining research questions

Figure 2-3: Artist (A), Researcher (R) and Teacher (T) perspectives

Figure 2-4: A/r/tographic overlaps and gaps

Figure 2-5: Outlining key ethical concepts

Figure 3-1: Journal 1 front cover

Figure 3-2: Poem ‘Cranes’ (Scott Annett) as it appears in Journal 1

Figure 3-3: Extract from poem ‘Kettles’ (Ollie Evans) as it appears in Journal 1

Figure 3-4: Image from Journal 2

Figure 3-5: Extract from poem ‘Babel’ (Meena Qureshi) in Journal 2

Figure 3-6: Journal 3 front cover, Writing In Space (September 2014)

Figure 3-7: View from Ian Burrows’ bedroom, as produced in introduction to Journal 3

Figure 3-8: Short story ‘Rhino’ (Becky Varley-Winter) as it appears in Journal 3

Table 4-1: Questions and Implications

Figure 4-2: ‘On Possessed’ (Meena Qureshi) as it appears in Journal 3

List of Appendices
A-1: The river of my life

B-1: Table documenting Gadabout Press through time

B-2: Process for creating a Gadabout Journal

C-1: Table of key secondary literature

C-2: The self-system

C-3: An a/r/tographic journey

C-4: Analytical and interpretative zones

D-1: Research questions, findings and next steps

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“A/r/tography does not offer a toolbox of skills and strategies for creativity or teaching
or researching. A/r/tographers are always engaged in processes of becoming. All
teachers (beginning and experienced) need to embrace the values, predispositions,
approaches, and commitments that artists and researchers bring to the critical and
creative work of pedagogy.”

C. Leggo and R. L. Irwin (2013, p. 154)

Figure 0-1: Gadabout Performance Night, Cambridge 2013

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 1. Journey One: Introduction
The absent toolbox conjured by Leggo and Irwin in the quotation on the

previous page points at once to the promise and the recalcitrance of

a/r/tographic research. The promise first: by insisting that a/r/tographers

are ‘always engaged in processes of becoming’ (Albers et al., 2013, p. 154),

Leggo and Irwin suggest the extent to which a/r/tographic research strives to

account for, and incorporate, artist-researcher-teachers in all of their

complexity; as they were, as they are and as they are becoming. In other

words, this form of research has the potential to be profoundly

transformative. And yet at the same time, it is not a methodology that can

simply be implemented, like a hammer or screwdriver. Leggo and Irwin

admit that it is ‘not really possible to spell out how a researcher uses

a/r/tography as a method to analyse data because each research project is

approached as unique and idiosyncratic, much like a poet’s approach to

writing a new poem’ (2013, p. 154). There is something difficult about

a/r/tography, something hard to explain (or ‘spell out’) that results from the

‘idiosyncratic’ nature of the work. Individual a/r/tographers need to do it for

themselves, and by virtue of ‘doing it’, they both develop the tools required

and refine research questions throughout the course of the journey (my initial

research questions are outlined in figure 2-2, see also appendix D-1). In the

this section, I will introduce my own a/r/tographic journey, before going on

to describe the activities of the Gadabout Journal in more detail, including

both the published editions of the journal and the annual ‘Gadabout

Performance’ events at which contributors have an opportunity to meet and

share work (see figure 1-5).

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 Reflecting upon my a/r/tographic journey, I have come to believe that

the photograph reproduced at the beginning of this dissertation (figure 0-1),

and taken at one of the earliest Gadabout Performance events, articulates my

own a/r/tographic stance. Indeed, stance is an apt metaphor, for the activity

of the a/r/tographer involves adopting a kind of posture; half-reticent, hiding

behind a pillar while the main action takes place, and half-performative, self-

consciously posing for a camera while the rest of the group’s attention is

directed towards the stage. In Being with A/r/tography, Irwin and Springgay

begin their introduction by claiming that the essays within their book

‘perform a/r/tographical research’ (2008, p. xix). This perfomative activity is

defined as ‘the practice of living inquiry’, concerning itself with three main

‘principles’: ‘self-study’, ‘being in community’, and ‘relational and ethical

enquiry’ (2008, p. xix). Each of these principles will have a part to play in this

dissertation, yet it is equally important to acknowledge the fact that

a/r/tography itself developed from what Irwin and Springgay describe as a

‘fluid and constantly evolving community’ with ‘various understandings and

practices inherent in this methodology’ (2008, p. xix). The methodology is

plural, incorporating a variety of ‘understandings and practices’, and as such

I will outline in Journey Two what exactly a/r/tography means to me.

Perhaps as most a/r/tographers would attest, my discovery of

a/r/tographic practice has come via a circuitous route. Indeed, I have

attempted to represent visually what Anne Jasman would describe as the

‘river of my life’ in appendix A-1, with all of the requisite twists, turns and

off-shooting tributaries (2014, p. 75). Researching and teaching within the

worlds of literary studies and Higher Education, I found myself increasingly

frustrated by the discontinuities and apparent incompatibilities between my

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identities as artist, researcher and teacher: the teacher within me had stopped

listening to his academic counterpart, while the poet was moodily scribbling

graffiti on the pages produced for the world of research. My students were

asking probing questions that I felt unable to answer: why are we taught not

to say ‘I’ in essays; what is the connection between literary criticism and

literary creation; do our opinions really matter and if so why? These were

hardly new questions for a teacher working in the humanities but I found

myself returning to them with increasing regularity, sensing that they pointed

towards some fundamental tensions at the heart of my own creative and

critical practice.

With these tensions in mind, I made two decisions. The first involved

co-founding an online arts journal called Gadabout Press

(www.gadaboutpress.com) with a group of friends, colleagues and former

students. Given the collaborative nature of the journal’s birth, I am wary of

defining its aims in isolation, but one of my concerns at the time certainly

involved an effort to understand, and perhaps reconcile, my activities as poet,

teacher and researcher. Indeed I would argue that from the outset, and

without knowing it, the Gadabout journal involved reflecting upon

profoundly a/r/tographic questions, exploring the relationships between

creative and critical activities, the significance of transitions between strands

of an individual’s identity, and the complex interrelations within a

community of shared creative endeavour. The second and slightly later

decision was to apply for a place on the Masters of Education at the

University of Cambridge, studying the Arts, Creativity, Education and

Culture (ACEC) route part-time for two years. This decision brought me into

contact with the world of arts-based research, informing both my creative and

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critical activities by providing theoretical frameworks through which I could

assess and test my own practices as artist, researcher and teacher.

In a sense then, the following dissertation is an attempt to bring these

two decisions together again, performing both creatively and critically some

of the questions, insights and remaining tensions at the heart of my practice

as a poet, teacher and researcher; it is an attempt to take seriously William

Pinar’s promise that ‘A/r/tography points the way out of the “fraught”

present, into a creative and vibrant future’ (2014, p. 63) . Yet it is also an effort

to bring the Gadabout journal into contact with a/r/tographic research,

creating a mutually elucidative dialogue between the two; for if, as Alison

Pryer suggests, ‘“intellectual nomadism”’ is ‘the phrase that reiterates, in

different terms, the praxis of a/r/tography’ (Pinar, Irwin, & Cosson, 2004, pp.

20–1), then the Gadabout journal has just such wandering curiosity at the
1
heart of its own enterprise. In the next section of this introduction, I will

outline some of the key features of the Gadabout journal.

i. Gadabout Press
Gadabout Press was founded in June 2012, with the first edition of the journal

being published in September 2012 (see appendix B-1). Its origins lie in a

series of conversations between five co-founders (table 1-1), each a teacher,

artist and researcher in different ways and to varying degrees. As the website

makes clear, Gadabout Press was ‘created to provide a space in which artists,

writers, musicians, readers, lookers and listeners [could] engage in

conversation’, with community and responsiveness being its key principles:

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1 At the top of the ‘About Gadabout’ page, the editors provide a definition of the term:
‘GADABOUT: (1) (adj.) “Given to gadding or roving, wandering”; (2) (noun) “One who
gads about, especially from motives of curiosity”’ (Annett, Smoker, Burrows, Graham, &
Wayne, 2013, "About Gadabout").

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 [Gadabout Press] is intended to encourage fresh critical perspectives as
well as the creation of new material. There is no manifesto and no
single approach, rather emphasis is placed on listening to and learning
from the creative practice and critical opinions of others (Annett,
Smoker, Burrows, Graham, & Wayne, 2012, “About Gadabout”)

In order to ‘encourage a variety of questions and responses’, the co-founders

decided to organise a regular ‘guest editor’ for the journal, occasionally taking

on the responsibility themselves but often inviting a friend, colleague,

acquaintance or student to provide their own take on the project.

Table 1-1: Outlining co-founders

Name Editor of Journal Notes

Scott Annett September 2012 Author of present dissertation; poet and

January 2014 University teacher; student at University of
Cambridge (2004-13)

Ian Burrows January 2013 Academic and University teacher; student at

September 2014 University of Cambridge (2004-09)

James Smoker April 2013 Actor, musician and teacher; student at

University of Cambridge (2004-07)

Ali Graham None to date Responsible for upkeep of website and technical
support; teacher and musician; student at
University of Cambridge (2011-13)

Callum Wayne September 2013 Student of Scott Annett and Ian Burrows at
University of Cambridge (2012-15)

Generally speaking, the editor of the journal decides upon a topic or

theme, such as ‘Snapshot’, ‘Chinese Whispers’ or ‘Tenterhooks’, asking (often

new) members of the Gadabout community to respond by a particular

deadline. Once these initial contributions are received, the editor then designs

a way for the participants to respond to one another’s work, which might

involve a literary critical reflection, a poem, a song, a painting or a short story

(see figures 1-2 and 1-3), and which at its most simple involves sending each

participant the work of another along with a second deadline (see appendix

B-2). From the first edition in September 2012 to the present, the journal has

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appeared quarterly, addressing a range of questions and incorporating a

variety of forms, styles and media (see www.gadaboutpress.com/the-

journal). There has even been an attempt on the part of the participants to

make sense of the Gadabout project (Re-Thinking Gadabout, January 2013), to

which it is hoped that this research will contribute. Finally, as I mention

above, alongside the regular publication of the journal, which has drawn

contributions from countries as distant and diverse as Australia, Italy, the

U.S.A, Ireland and England, the co-founders have organised and hosted an

annual Gadabout Performance Night (figure 1-5), at which participants are

invited to perform and discuss their work. The recordings from these events

have proved to be amongst the most popular on the website, while the events

themselves are crucial in providing an opportunity for many of the

participants to meet in person for the first time (see following link for

recordings, www.gadaboutpress.com/gadabout-night-march-2013).

In the preface to her remarkable book, The Ethnographic I: A

Methodological Novel About Autoethnography, Carolyn Ellis claims that

‘Combining literary and ethnographic techniques allows me to create a story

to engage readers in methodological concerns in the same way a novel

engages readers in its plot’ (2004, p. xx). A/r/tography and autoethnography

clearly share a number of features, which I will explore in more detail in

Journey Two. Nevertheless, and with Ellis’ comment in mind, by using three

editions of the Gadabout journal as the starting points for my reflections (On

Reading Rightly Wrongly, Full Fathom Five and Writing in Space), I hope to

highlight some of the questions raised by the journal, creating a plot from the

journal’s journeys. Of course this plot and its interpretation will be intensely

subjective: any of the other participants could make their own, very different

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a/r/tographic study based on the same material. Yet by using these journals

to form the skeleton of my work, I am attempting to include perspectives

from the wider Gadabout community within my thinking. Moreover, my own

combination of literary (poetic) writing and critical (self-) reflection is

intended to perform the questions and tensions at stake within the journal,

while simultaneously testing, interrogating and refining my a/r/tographic

practice. Ultimately my readings of the Gadabout journal, and the questions

to which I return most recurrently, are concerned with voice, and the voicing

of certain critical and creative perspectives, to which I will turn in the

following section (my initial research questions are outlined in figure 2-2, see

also appendix D-1).

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Figure 1-2: Example of visual contribution (Jamaal Raoof, October 2013)

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Figure 1-3: Example of visual contribution (Jenni Sidey, April 2013)

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 ii. Finding a Voice: Learning to Speak and Listen

Writing of ‘voice’ in intercultural arts practices and contexts, Pat Thomson

notes that the term ‘is not as straightforward as it might first appear’

(Thomson, 2015 in print, p. 1). Indeed, one of the points most easily lost in

such discussions is the fact that reference to ‘authorial voice’ is itself a

particularly slippery metaphor. Turning back to the work of Peter Elbow

(1994), Thomson points out that ‘the notion of a writing “voice” can be used

variously to describe’ the following:

[T]he sense that readers have of hearing the words on the page as they
are reading them (audible voice); the way in which the audible voice is
more or less full of character (dramatic voice); the way in which a
distinctive authorial style can be recognised by its deployment of
language, syntax, speech, metaphor and so on (distinctive voice); and
the degree of confidence and expertise that the writer asserts
(authoritative voice) (Thomson, 2015 in print, p. 1).

The relationship between voice and person, or perhaps better put, the sense in

which an author’s voice is personal, complicates the matter further. Is there

something particular about my authorial voice? As with a speaking voice,

might I mimic the voice of another? Is it possible that an author has a range of

voices, ‘which are multiple, discursive and fluid’ (Thomson, 2015, p. 1)? If so,

what are the implications for ‘personal expression’ (Thomson, 2015, p. 2)?

Carl Leggo has described his own playful experimentation with a

‘range of voices’ when engaging in what he calls ‘the process of

autobiographical writing’:

[…] I find that I often experiment with the range of voices that I use,
too. I am not interested in developing a single voice, and living with
that voice as if it is the primary or only voice available to me. Instead, I
experiment with diverse textual styles, and I often challenge the
structures of the typical expository essay, in order to try on different
voices (2008, p. 16).

The impression that Leggo creates is that of an enthusiastic shopper taking

part in January sales, ‘trying on’ different voices with little interest in

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committing to a ‘single’ or ‘primary’ style. He positions himself in contrast to

Jill Conway, for whom an author telling ‘her story straight and in an

authoritative voice’ implies that ‘she has developed her own sense of agency’

(1998, p. 88). Leggo counters: ‘I find this observation problematic, especially

because I think that Conway is laying claim to a notion of essentialized

selfhood that is not sufficient for understanding the complexities of identity

formation’ (2008, pp. 16–7). Instead, Leggo argues, ‘we need to write

autobiographically in creative and courageous ways that acknowledge how

each of us is composed in the intersections of multiple processes of identity

shaping and re-shaping’ (Springgay, 2008, p. 17).

For a researcher engaged in a/r/tographic study, Leggo’s argument

carries weight; a/r/tography, as Irwin explains, offers researchers an

opportunity to re-think, re-live, and re-make ‘the terms of their identities’

(2004, p. 29), while the ‘slashes between a/r and /t’ help to express ‘the

hyphenated identities that comprise the lives of artist-researcher-teachers’

(2004, p. 21). However, Leggo’s experimentation runs counter to much of the

advice given to young writers, whether first time novelists or undergraduate

students, as the quest to ‘find your voice’ is repeatedly associated with clarity,

precision and consistency. In other words, stability in an author’s voice is

often associated with quality, while the ‘hyphenated identities’ of an author,

whether a/r/tographer or not, are balanced by the fact that each voicing is

articulated by a particular person; the ‘slashes’ point to continuities between

‘a/r and /t’ as much as interruptions.

Indeed, the ease with which Leggo suggests his authorial voice can

shift belies the tension and discomfort inherent to such transitions. For

instance, Jasman has written of her ‘struggle to find a unique and authentic

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voice’ (2014, p. 63). Every author undergoes a process of development,

reflecting upon and refining an individual style (or styles), while in academic

circles the need to repress individual identity can be keenly felt. In my own

experience, this manifests itself most frequently in students struggling to

come to terms with what they perceive to be a ban on the use of the first

person singular (‘I’) within literary critical prose. In its place, there is often a

reliance on the first person plural (strength in numbers?), coupled with a

neutral tone or preference for abstraction (both postures of different kinds?).

Furthermore, asking students to write more personally is not in itself a simple

matter; students can be reluctant to render themselves vulnerable in this way

(judge my essay, don’t judge me!), while going too far in the direction of

personal response can result in overly confessional, uncritical prose.

As I am discovering, incorporating the complexity of personhood into

an authorial voice takes both time and practice, for language is, as Lynda

Mugglestone observes, ‘innately variable’, with ‘speakers locating themselves

on continua of formality (and “proper” language) depending on their

immediate audience and varying the way they choose to speak accordingly’

(2003, p. 5). Speakers vary their speech in order to manage the ‘impressions’

that they make during ‘social interaction’ (Giles & Watson, 2013, p. 1), which

in turn points back to Leggo’s understanding of the self as ‘composed in the

intersections of multiple processes of identity shaping and re-shaping’ (2008,

p. 17). To put the point as directly as possible, the ways in which we speak

and write depend upon the audience(s) to whom we are performing.

It is for these reasons that I have decided to focus throughout this

study on voice, and in particular, the ways in which participants perform,

discover, attend to and mishear voices (see figure 2-2 and appendix D-1).

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Attention to the performance of voice will allow for an exploration of the

various forms of expression available to a participant within an edition of the

Gadabout journal, that is to say, the different postures adopted when writing

either creatively or critically (or both simultaneously?). Moreover, both bell

hooks (2000) and Maxine Greene (1995) have written powerfully of the

plurality and complexity of voicings within the classroom, while Derek

Featherstone, Hugh Munby and Tom Russell have emphasised the ongoing,

and often painful, struggle of teachers as they work to develop (or discover?)

their own voices. For example, at the conclusion of her essay in Featherstone,

Munby and Russell’s collection, Dawn Bellamy observes that ‘I do not believe

that the quest for my professional voice has ended or is indeed in any way

finite’. She explains: ‘I still struggle to speak out in certain situations and will

endeavor to approach these in ways that will allow my voice to emerge so

that it does not compromise my identity’ (1997, p. 119).

This a/r/tographic study is ‘A Tale of Tongue’, ‘Tongue’ acting

simultaneously as character, metaphor and gateway to my own

autobiographical voice. It is a tale because it is an ongoing narrative, mapping

onto the ‘plot’ of both my story and the key questions posed by the Gadabout

journal; at the same time, it is a single version of that ‘plot’, a tale of a single

tongue amongst many. In fact, by transitioning between poetry and prose I

will perform some of these questions, pointing towards what Paul Ricœur

refers to as the ‘rehabilitation of prejudice’ within the field of literary studies

(1981, p. 68). I will write in the voices of artist, teacher and researcher, with

the transitions between these voices being marked visually by changes of font

and the use of textboxes (see Journey Three, pp. 42-75). Through these efforts,

I hope to suggest some of the ways in which literary criticism, artistic practice

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and the relationships between teacher and student intersect and can enhance

one another. However, before doing so, I will outline in more detail my

methodology, and in particular my own understanding of a/r/tography and

its implications for both community and collaboration.

Figure 1-5: Poster advertising Gadabout Performance Night (2014)

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 2. Journey Two: A/r/tography &
Autoethnography
In order to explain why I have chosen a/r/tography as my methodology, I

first need to explain some of the ways in which a/r/tography is understood

by its most eminent practitioners (see also appendix C-1). Speaking of arts-

based research in general, Ruth Leitch makes the following assertion:

Arts-based inquiry encourages the expression of multiple truths and

the interaction of these truths to make new, individual and collective
meanings. Furthermore, arts-based methods trouble the relationship
between knowledge and power in our society, exposing knowledge as
socially constructed, creating open texts that endeavor to give voice to
those who otherwise would be silenced (2006, p. 553).

As Ely et al. suggest, when writing with qualitative research in mind, the

‘messages of any data are multiple and multi-layered and blurred at times’

(Ely, 1997, p. 56). Arts-based research offers ways to explore the layers and

a/r/tographers engage with this notion by referring (metaphorically,

metonymically and literally) to fragments (Pinar et al., 2004, pp. 41–60), the

practice of weaving (Jones, 2014), and the creation of collage (Pinar et al.,

2004, pp. 75-103). In the present dissertation, I follow this practice by

incorporating fragments from the Gadabout journals, interweaving (and

distinguishing between) the voices of artist, researcher and teacher, while also

using colour to demonstrate the ways in which key concepts ‘thread’ through

the title, table of contents and dissertation itself.

Near the beginning of their work, Ely et al. ‘recognize’ that their

‘individual positions now fall along a continuum of qualitative theoretical

constructs’ (1997, p. 19). Similarly, when reflecting upon their a/r/tographic

practice, Irwin and Springgay write:

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 [Our] understandings of practice-based research are informed by
feminist, post-structuralist, hermeneutic and other postmodern
theories that understand the production of knowledge as difference
thereby producing different ways of living in the world (2008, p. xxi).

A/r/tography involves an appreciation of plurality; it is messy,

accommodating contradictions, divergences and even confusion (Law, 2004).

Furthermore, by using the phrase ‘practice-based research’, Irwin and

Springgay emphasise the extent to which their research involves the creation

of new material: ‘A/r/tography is steeped in the practices of artist-educators

committed to ongoing living inquiry and it is this inquiry that draws forth the

identity of a researcher’ (2008, p. xxv).

However, as I have already suggested, identity is neither stable nor

consistent, which in turn has implications for the ways in which we

understand the relationships between theory, practice and research. Writing

of ‘Self-Concept Theory’, Novak, Armstrong and Browne note that an

individual’s ‘most intimate reality is their self-concept, the personal picture

they maintain, protect, and enhance of who they are and how they fit into the

world’ (2014, p. 25). Later in their work, and drawing on William Purkey’s

(2000) spiral diagram (reproduced in appendix C-2), they develop this

discussion into an exploration of ‘self-systems’, examining the ways in which

individuals interact with (and are changed by) the world around them. It is in

this respect that both autoethnography and a/r/tography can provide

insights, allowing researchers opportunities to reflect upon ‘self, biography,

history and experience’ by balancing ‘the concerns of performance, of process,

and /or analysis’ (Denzin, 2013, p. 129). Keith Berry argues that

‘autoethnography is a discursive accomplishment, a spinning whose rotations

personify a commitment to experimentation, evocation, and scholarly voice’

(2013, p. 211). This would also be an apt description of a/r/tography, with the

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difference being that a/r/tography focuses more explicitly on the

complexities of identity and the a/r/tographer’s transitions between ‘A’

(artist), ‘R’ (researcher) and ‘T’ (teacher).

A/r/tography, as Irwin and Springgay explain, ‘is situated in the in-

between, where theory-as-practice-as-process-as-complication intentionally

unsettles perception and knowing’ (2008, p. xxi). A/r/tography is a

disruptive form of research, perhaps a kind of protest, but it also includes an

attempt to address what Terrance Carson and Dennis Sumara refer to as the

‘tiresome theory/practice problem’:

Who one is becomes completely caught up in what one knows and

does. This effectively eliminates the tiresome theory/practice problem
that continues to surface in discussions of educational action research,
for it suggests that what is thought, what is represented, what is acted
upon, are all intertwined aspects of lived experience and, as such,
cannot be discussed or interpreted separately (1997, p. xvii).

With the work of both Leggo (2001) and Sullivan (2000) in mind, Springgay

and Irwin go a step further by arguing that ‘knowing (theoria), doing (praxis),

and making (poesis) are three forms of thought important to a/r/tography’

(Springgay, 2008, p. xxiii). A/r/tography involves an understanding of

practice-as-theory-as-knowledge, that is to say, it is ‘concerned with creating

the circumstances to produce knowledge and understanding through inquiry

laden processes’ (Springgay, 2008, p. xxiv). As such, and again as is the case

with autoethnography, a/r/tography does not offer certain answers to well-

crafted research questions (see appendix D-1); there is an ‘emergent quality’,

which at times clarifies the blurred areas but at others points to more

entrenched, perhaps irreducible complexities (Anderson & Glass-Coffin, 2013,

p. 57).

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 i. A/r/tographic Journeys
In Irwin’s view, ‘A/r/tographers are living their practices, representing their

understandings, and questioning their positions as they integrate knowing,

doing, and making through aesthetic experiences that convey meaning rather

than facts’ (2004, p. 31). Moreover, understanding ‘theory as a/r/tography’ in

turn results in telling redefinitions of ‘art, research, and teaching’:

Art is the visual reorganization of experience that renders complex the

apparently simple or simplifies the apparently complex. Research is
the enhancement of meaning revealed through ongoing interpretations
of complex relationships that are continually created, recreated, and
transformed. Teaching is performative knowing in meaningful
relationships with learners. (2004, p. 31)

Given the emphasis on poetry in this dissertation, I would widen the

definition of art to extend beyond ‘visual reorganization’: there must also be

space for music and literature within the a/r/tographic project. However,

aside from this point, the definitions are helpful, pointing to both the

interpretative emphasis in research, that is, the extent to which research

involves an ‘enhancement of meaning’, as well as the ‘performative knowing’

at the heart of teaching.

Irwin is aware of the extent to which such definitions are themselves

simplifications; to return to Carson and Sumara, ‘what is thought, what is

represented, what is acted upon, are all intertwined aspects of lived

experience and, as such, cannot be discussed or interpreted separately (1997,

p. xvii). Irwin observes that ‘researching, teaching, and art-making’ are

‘activities that weave in and through one another’, in turn pointing once again

to the concept of a/r/t as ‘métissage’, which is to say an ‘interweaving and

intraweaving of concepts, activities, and feelings’ (2004, p. 28). The metaphor

of a/r/t as métissage is apt in that it accommodates the subjectivity of the

artist-researcher-teacher, pointing both to the continuities and gaps between

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identities: in Pinar’s words, ‘artist-researcher-teachers dwell within “in-

between” spaces, spaces that are neither this nor that, but this and that’ (2004,

p. 9). To return to Irwin’s definitions, and at risk of stating the obvious, it is

important to remember that artistic making also involves both interpretation

and ‘performative knowing’, while teaching and research rely upon an

engagement with the fluctuations between simple and complex meaning.

My earlier discussion of personhood and voice (pp. 10-11) pointed to

the complexity of individual identity, in which various strands overlap,

diverge and are in tension depending upon the audiences (or others) with

whom we are in dialogue. It is also possible to emphasise the ‘ongoing’ and

transformative nature of individual identity by reflecting upon the ‘embodied

subjectivity’ of the a/r/tographer (Springgay, 2008, p. xxv). Elizabeth

Ellsworth argues that embodiment is ‘being in motion’, putting us ‘into a

moving relation with forces, processes, and connections to others’ (2005, p.

121). As such, a/r/tography can be understood to be a way of exploring,

reflecting upon and expressing these ‘forces, processes, and connections’.

Charles Garoian and Yvonne Gaudelius write:

Embodiment is not about identity per se, a topic of earlier performative

representations, but about subjectivity. As such, embodiment is not an
immutable signifier of identity, but is a signifier of multiplicity existing
within a complex web of cultural understandings and significations
(2007, p. 9).

Within the world of a/r/tographic research, this ‘complex web’ has been

theorised by shifting ‘from questioning who an artist, researcher, or educator

might be’, to ‘when is a person an artist, researcher or educator and when is an

experience art, research or education (see Kingwell, 2005)’ (Irwin et al., 2006,

p. 70). As I have already mentioned, a/r/tography offers researchers an

opportunity to re-think, re-live, and re-make ‘the terms of their identities’

(Pinar et al., 2004, p. 29); it provides time for what Ellsworth describes as the

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‘coming of a knowing’ (2005, p. 158). Such a ‘knowing’ is fragile, temporary, a

stuttered assertion, but it can also help to elucidate the ‘web of cultural

understandings and significations’ surrounding each individual

a/r/tographer (Gaudelius & Garoian, 2007, p. 9).

The extent to which an individual’s identities are formed in fluid

relationships with wider cultural and historical contexts helps to explain

Ricœur’s reference to the ‘rehabilitation of prejudice’ mentioned earlier in this

work (1981, p. 68). Ricœur makes this comment when writing in response to

Hans-Georg Gadamer’s claim that ‘the prejudices of the individual, far more

than his judgments, constitute the historical reality of his being’ (2014, p. 245).

In Ricœur’s view, the ‘rehabilitation of prejudice, authority and tradition will

thus be directed against the reign of subjectivity and interiority, that is,

against the criteria of reflection’ (1981, p. 68). This statement may appear to

push against the kind of subjectivity central to a/r/tographic research, but in

fact it is helpful in articulating the complexity of such subjectivity. As John

Wall writes, ‘What Ricœur takes from Gadamer is the notion that tradition

means “historically effected consciousness”’, an individual’s subjectivity

being placed back within the world within which it was developed (in turn

pointing back to Purkey’s spiral diagram mentioned above and reproduced in

appendix C-2). A/r/tography is open to precisely such an understanding of

the complexity of subjectivity; each artist-researcher-teacher is unique, a

maker and reflector (as in, they reflect upon particular questions), and yet

they are also a reflector of the world in which they are working, their critical

and creative insights to be understood as instances of prejudice, informed by

the conversations, opinions and questions to which they are exposed through

time.

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 In this respect, a/r/tography is a distinctive form of research in that it

encourages research questions to ‘emerge and change over time through a

perspective of living inquiry’ (Sinner, Leggo, Irwin, Gouzouasis, & Grauer,

2006, p. 1238; see also appendix D-1 for the development of research

questions in the present dissertation). The notion of a ‘living inquiry’, or in

the words of Springgay and Irwin, an ‘ongoing living inquiry’ (2008, p. xxv),

is central to a/r/tographic research (see appendix C-3 for a visual

representation of the ‘ongoing’ inquiry undertaken in this project). In order to

explore this concept, a number of prominent a/r/tographers have turned to

the concept of the ‘rhizome’ and the ‘rhizomatic’, which I will address in the

following section.

ii. Rhizomatic relations

In Being with A/r/tography (2008), Springgay and Irwin suggest that

‘A/r/tography is a research methodology that entangles and performs what

Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari (1987) refer to as a rhizome’. Springgay and

Irwin continue (2008, p. xx):

A rhizome is an assemblage that moves and flows in dynamic

momentum. […] It is an interstitial space, open and vulnerable where
meanings and understandings are interrogated and ruptured.

In order to express this sense of openness, Deleuze and Guattari compare the

rhizome metaphorically to a ‘subterranean stem’ (1987, p. 6), as well as both

the image of crabgrass and the concept of an edgeless map: ‘A rhizome has no

beginning or end; it is always in the middle, between things, interbeing,

intermezzo’ (1987, p. 25). In the words of Irwin et al. (2006, p. 71), ‘Rhizomes

are interstitial spaces between thinking and materiality (see Meskimmon,

2003) where identities and in-between identities are open to transformations

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(see Grosz, 2001) and people, locations and objects are always in the process

of creation (see Hasebe-Ludt & Hurren, 2003)’.

At the beginning of their work, Deleuze and Guattari insist upon their

own multiplicity, speaking both as co-authors and complex persons: ‘The two

of us wrote Anti-Oedipus together. Since each of us was several, there was

already quite a crowd’ (1987, p. 3). The appeal of such a statement to an

a/r/tographer is obvious in that it combines collaboration with attentiveness

to the plurality of identity. Writing about their ‘City of Richgate’ project, Irwin

et al. take this notion seriously, suggesting that it impacts upon the ways in

which their article could be read: ‘While our work is written in a linear fashion

here, out of publishing necessity, we encourage the reader to engage with the

work as a rhizome by moving in and out, and around the work, making

connections in a personal way’ (2006, p. 72). By acknowledging the middle-

ness of a reader approaching the text, Irwin et al. attempt to make space for

the tangents, connections and disruptions inherent to acts of reading; they

show their reader that she herself is engaged in a potentially transformative,

uncertain interpretative process in which meaning-making and interpretation

depend upon various strands of identity situated within a wider community

context.

As Irwin et al. suggest, a/r/tographic studies ask to be read with an

unusual interpretative willingness; the combination of art, autobiographical

self-reflection and academic analysis could potentially frustrate readers

looking for definitive answers. In this respect, the present dissertation is no

exception, although I have attempted to present my study as clearly and

consistently as possible. As I have emphasised, a/r/tographic research turns

away from ‘reporting knowledge that already exists or finding knowledge

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that needs to be uncovered’, instead concerning itself with ‘creating the

circumstances to produce knowledge and understanding through inquiry

laden processes’ (Springgay, 2008, p. xxiv).

Patti Lather (1993) has pointed to the ‘Rhizomatic’ as one way of

validating such post-positivist and/or post-modern research, creating an

ironic, tentative and non-prescriptive checklist to assess ‘Rhizomatic validity’

(1993, p. 686). I have incorporated this checklist in the table below in order to

determine the ‘Rhizomatic validity’ of the present study (see also appendix D-

1):

Table 2-1: Lather checklist

Lather checklist Present Study

Unsettles from within, taps Prompts a/r/tographic (self-) reflection;

underground! examines previous activities and
formulates questions for future

Generates new locally determined Explicitly open-ended, tentative and

norms of understanding; proliferates
open-ended and context-sensitive
criteria; works against reinscription
of some new regime, some new
systematicity!
aware of its own limitations; conscious of
alternative readings / viewpoints;
a/r/tographic methodology is subjective,
dependent upon perspective of specific
a/r/tographer

Supplements and exceeds the stable Incorporates playfulness in the transitions

and the permanent, Derridean play! between ‘a’, ‘r’ and ‘t’; encourages
multiplicity of personal responses to texts

Works against constraints of ‘Messy text’; reader of this study

authority via relay, multiple encouraged to make new links; read
openings, networks, complexities of interpretatively and explore interactions
problematics! between the poetry, visual fragments and
academic writing

Puts conventional discursive This study is a ‘protest of sorts’, pushing

procedures under erasure, breaches against and troubling more conventional
congealed discourses, critical as well research practices; it reflects upon and
as dominant critiques current a/r/tographic practice

This list is a helpful starting point for understanding the validity, and

potential contributions, to be made by a/r/tographic research. Certainly, and

in keeping with Irwin and Springgay’s earlier suggestion that such criteria

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develop throughout the course of the a/r/tographic process (Springgay, 2008,

p. xxxii), Lather’s points have been in my mind as I have been writing,

reading, and questioning. This study is intended to unsettle, trouble and

disconcert; it is, as I have suggested, a protest of sorts.

In addition to this, the ‘rhizomatic’ also points to the collaborative

potential of a/r/tography, the extent to which we are all in the midst (or

middle) of ongoing critical and creative activities, which are themselves

informed by our relationships (see also Tullis, 2013, p. 248). Sinner et al.

observe (2006, p. 1249):

Communities of practice may emerge in formal learning sites, such as

elementary classrooms, or informal learning sites, such as community-
based artists. For a/r/tographical communities, this means the
community of practice is flexible (even interdisciplinary).

Within an a/r/tographic community of practice, a variety of voices emerge,

disturb and share within a ‘flexible (even interdisciplinary)’ environment. As

such, there are strong ethical dimensions to a/r/tographic communities of

practice. Irwin suggests in the same volume that a ‘community of practice is

the site for weaving the personal and social aspects of our lives together,

helping us make sense of our lives and the lives of others’ (Springgay, 2008,

pp. 73–4) . In other words, we can actually come to make better senses of

ourselves within a mutually reflective and reflexive community.

This is close to what Etienne Wenger claimed when elaborating upon

the notion of a ‘community of practice’, which he viewed to be ’an integral

part of our daily lives’. Writing in collaboration, Wenger and Jean Lave claim

that ‘We conceive of identities as long-term, living relations between persons

and their place and participation in communities of practice’ (Lave, 1991, p.

53). Moreover, at the heart of their conception of communities is ‘negotiation’,

or as Wenger puts it himself, ‘negotiation of meaning’ (1998, p. 53). He

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continues by observing that these ‘relations of accountability’ must determine

‘what matters and what does not, what is important and why it is important,

what to do and not to do, what to pay attention to and what to ignore’ (1998,

p. 81). In Journey Three of the present work, there are a number of instances

where contributors negotiate differences of opinion, whilst as I will explain,

my own sensitivity to the ‘relations of accountability’ within the Gadabout

community have informed a number of the decisions made in the present

study (see pp. 34-5 of present work).

Springgay et al. suggest that ‘A/r/tographers are continuously

negotiating and renegotiating their foci as the community’s research and

inquiry evolves and shifts over time’ (2008, p. 77), but this statement fails to

acknowledge the inter-personal tensions and disagreements inherent to

collaborative projects. Once again, when reflecting upon their ‘City of

Richgate’ project, Irwin et al. note:

Relationships are not free of tension. Together we planned, changed

plans, learned and relearned. It was often in these dialogical
collaborative spaces that surprisingly rich connections and ruptures
happened (2006, p. 78).

In the case of the ‘City of Richgate’ project, integral to these revisions,

disagreements and changes of direction was the fact that the community did

not develop as intended:

When we first conceptualized this project, we envisioned a community

of families very engaged in our collective efforts. Yet as the project
evolved, it became apparent that most of the families wanted some
involvement while others preferred less (Irwin et al., 2006, pp. 78-9).

The variety of enthusiasms for the project across the various families, coupled

with the researchers decision to include two of their own families within the

group, resulted in a shift from a ‘community-engaged project’ to ‘a “working

with a community” project’ (Irwin et al., 2006, p. 79).

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 There have been similar tensions within the Gadabout project (for

example, see the encounter between Stowell and Bopari discussed in Journey

Three, pp. 55-60): as the number of editions increase and the circle widens,

individuals feel varying degrees of inclusion, confusion and frustration. Their

own lives as artists, readers, writers, teachers, students and researchers

continue in parallel to the questions posed by each guest editor, muddying

the waters and paving the way to misunderstandings. The potential

challenges inherent to collaborative a/r/tographic practice have been

identified by a number of practitioners as an area in need of further attention.

Irwin et al. argue:

While much has been written in a/r/tography about the need for
autobiographical inquiry (Irwin, 2003; 2004a; Irwin & de Cosson, 2004),
more needs to be written about the challenges and insights gained
through collective artistic and educational praxis (2006, p. 85).

By moving away from the straightforwardly ‘autobiographical’ and towards

‘collective artistic and educational praxis’, Irwin et al. radically widen the

scope of a/r/tography to include an area of undoubted complexity. The

present dissertation will contribute to the field a/r/tographic research in two

ways: first, by reflecting upon and exploring the Gadabout journals, which

are themselves profoundly collaborative, focusing upon responsiveness and

the development of a shared community of practice; and second, by

imagining and performing some of the tensions when critical and creative

perspectives are brought into contact, or better put, the kinds of ruptures and

discontinuities to be found within a collaborative project. In the next section I

will outline in more detail the ways in which my material has been collected,

created and analysed.

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 iii. Practising A/r/tography: Analytical & Interpretive
Zones

Some obvious ethical implications may be forming in my reader’s mind,

particularly given that I am (in the first instance) writing to my supervisor

and examiners. However, before exploring the more philosophical

dimensions of this study, it is important to note that I have obtained

permission from all of the Gadabout participants quoted in this work, despite

the fact that the journals have already been placed in the public domain. I am

acutely conscious of the fact that their contributions were not originally

intended for this context, and that by changing the contexts in which they

appear, I have a responsibility to request their consent. Indeed, I believe I also

have a looser but no less telling responsibility to respect the spirit and

purpose of their utterances, as well as the editions of the journal within which

they initially appeared. The Gadabout project has developed upon principles

of dialogue, conversation and responsiveness, with the January 2015 edition

even going so far as to perform a conversation by way of editorial

introduction. It is crucial that this study bear those principles in mind,

attending to what Etherington refers to as the ‘ethics of consequence’, as well

as the ‘beneficence of the project and ensuring justice’ (2007, pp.599-600).

And yet there is another consideration with which I have wrestled

from the inception of this study, and with which I continue to wrestle. Given

the dialogic nature of the Gadabout project, the degree to which it is founded

upon multiple participants responding to one another, this study clearly fails

insofar as it is not explicitly collaborative. Throughout the course of my

research design and preparation, I have thought seriously about the

possibility of widening the scope to include other members of the Gadabout

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community. At one stage, I even had it in mind to solicit responses from the

co-founders of the journal. Ultimately, however, I settled on the present

design with the very clear proviso that it is a first step. I believe that by

charting my own transitions and reflections within this a/r/tographic work, I

will articulate more precisely and with greater clarity the key questions to be

found within the journal, questions which I also believe to be central to the

study (and teaching) of literature. As I have acknowledged already, this is a

tale of a single tongue where others might have been more eloquent, but it is a

starting point and it is intended to both compliment and test the reflections

and refutations of others. In the words of Lesley-Anne Gallacher and Michael

Gallagher, I am consciously adopting an ‘attitude of methodological immaturity’

(2008, p. 499).

Having said this, my ‘methodological immaturity’ does not mean an

absence of rationale or theoretical justification for the choices that I have

made. In the first place, the work of Luborsky and Rubinstein proved helpful

in outlining the significance of ‘sampling for meaning’ in qualitative research:

By sampling for meaning, the authors indicate the selection of subjects

in research that has as its goal the understanding of individuals’
naturalistic perceptions of self, society, and the environment. Stated in
another way, this is research that takes the insider’s perspective.
Meaning is defined as the process of reference and connotation,
undertaken by individuals, to evoke key symbols, values, and ideas
that shape, make coherent, and inform experience (1995, p. 6)

The present study does not select individual people as its ‘subjects’, but rather

identifies specific editions of the journal to explore (whilst excluding others).

In part, the practicalities of completing a Masters dissertation within a specific

timeframe influenced this decision, although my selection of journals was also

intended ‘to evoke key symbols, values, and ideas that shape, make coherent

and inform’ the Gadabout project. As such, this is a work written from an

insider’s perspective, with my own points of interest inflecting the directions

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in which the study progressed. In this respect, I kept in mind Thomas

Schwandt’s argument that understanding involves acknowledging one’s own

perspectives and engaging with them, even rendering them vulnerable to

change, when embarking upon research (2000, p. 207).

Ultimately, I decided to analyse three of the twelve journals published

to date, taking as a starting point a single, tentative research question and

three sub-questions in order to explore some of the ways in which the

Gadabout project might inform, and be informed by, a/r/tographic research

(see appendix C-3). The research questions are outlined below (figure 2-2),

with the colours referring to the concepts highlighted in my table of contents

(see also appendix D-1):

(Q.1) What can we learn about creative and critical

practices by reflecting a/r/tographically upon the
journey of a collaborative arts journal?

a. How can a/r/tography help to inform pedagogical

practice within a literary context by attending to
shifts in voice?

b. To what extent are the collaborative aspects of the

journal’s activities significant in the development
of creative & critical voices?

c. Has this a/r/tographic journey changed my own

voice; what conclusions can be drawn from this
study?
!

Figure 2-2: Outlining research questions

The editions chosen for study were published in September 2012 (On Reading

Rightly Wrongly), September 2013 (Full Fathom Five) and September 2014

(Writing in Space). They have been selected because there is a consistent

period of time between each edition, incorporating a variety of participants

(and editors) and also providing an opportunity to chart the evolving

questions posed by the Gadabout project. In addition to this, the September

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editions of the journal are the starting points for each academic year, and as

such tend to articulate the main issues to be explored in the editions

published in January, April and June.

Artist

Gadabout
Journals

Researcher Teacher

Figure 2-3: Artist (A), Researcher (R) and Teacher (T) perspectives

Each analysis presented in this dissertation incorporates a section from

the perspective of Artist (A), Researcher (R) and Teacher (T). As figure 2-3

demonstrates above, this allows me to identify the priorities and issues

significant to each perspective, while also considering the various connections

and overlaps between perspectives. In practical terms, the Researcher section

consists of a reading of a single edition of the journal in which I explore some

key questions, while the Teacher section relates these questions to the world

of education, focusing in particular on the ways in which students (and

teachers) read and write. By interweaving my own poetic reflections with a

focus on personal pronouns, I incorporate my artistic practice into the study,

simultaneously embedding the Gadabout methodology (responsiveness and

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attention to different modes of expression) into the structure of the

dissertation.

Gadabout Journal

Artist Teacher
!
!
!
!
!
!
!
!
! !
!
! !
!
!
Researcher

Figure 2-4: A/r/tographic overlaps and gaps

As I have already explained, I am conscious that this research is

subjective. However, figure 2-4 indicates the extent to which each edition of

the journal involves a variety of individuals engaged to varying degrees in

a/r/tographic practice, with their interests and complex identities

overlapping messily in the act of collaboration. The figure articulates the fact

that the practice of each individual also continues outside the journal, while

participants include individuals for whom the labels ‘artist’, ‘researcher’ or

‘teacher’ may not be appropriate (the blue sections). As a collaborative

project, Gadabout Press consists of multiple points of continuity and

discontinuity; there are ruptures, disagreements, discoveries and changes of

mind, all balanced within a shared desire to explore and reflect upon diverse

creative and critical practices.

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 Picking up on the collaborative nature of the Gadabout project, another

author with whom I have engaged closely while designing and theorizing my

project is Liora Bresler. Working in collaboration, Bresler and Judy Davidson

Wasser have written persuasively of the ‘Interpretative Zone’, which they

explain is a ‘mental placeholder for the conceptual location of group

interpretative work’. Wasser and Bresler continue: ‘The interpretive zone is

the place where multiple viewpoints are held in dynamic tension as a group

seeks to make sense of fieldwork issues and meanings’ (1996, p. 6). Indeed, it

is surprising that Bresler’s work has not been addressed more explicitly by

a/r/tographic researchers, for her concerns speak directly to many of the

tensions found in collaborative a/r/tographic projects:

If the interpretative zone is the crucible where researchers sift, sort,

and consider the meaning of the fieldwork, and, indeed, as we believe,
if the group is a tool for that reflection, then we will be deeply
concerned with the quality and characteristics of that reflection
(Wasser & Bresler, 1996, p. 7).

There are, as Wasser and Bresler note, ‘Multiple voices: multiple lens’, which in

turn emphasises the significance of ‘heterogeneity’ in any collaborative

project (Wasser & Bresler, 1996, p. 9). An interpretive zone is a space in which

a variety of opinions, views and perspectives meet, interact and impact upon

one another, in some cases transforming, in others bending and at times

remaining recalcitrant and isolated. It is, to return to the work of Wenger and

Lave, a site of ‘negotiation’ (1998, p. 53), which, in Bresler’s hands,

accommodates difficulty or, as Dewey would have suggested, the

‘problematic’ (1934). In fact, an understanding of the ‘interpretative zone’

helpfully complicates any simplistic (or naïve) understanding of a

‘community of practice’ as outlined by Wenger and Lave, reminding us that

there are a plurality of practices within any community. Wasser and Bresler

note: ‘The interpretive zone as we have constructed it is a metaphorical space

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where ambiguity reigns, dialogical tension is honored, and

incommensurability is seen to have special value’ (Wasser & Bresler, 1996, p.

13).

However, an interpretative zone inclusive of ambiguity, dialogical

tension, negotiation and intractable disagreements, does not necessarily result

in quality research. One of the main challenges outlined by Wasser and

Bresler concerns the ‘“fixing”’ of an interpretation (or analysis):

Having declared that an idea warrants being identified as an

interpretation, how does one go about “fixing” the interpretation?
Who will participate in the process, and how will the voices that
participated in the interpretive process be brought forth? (1996, p. 12)

These questions are obviously extremely pertinent within the context of the

present study, for while I have worked hard to incorporate the voices of my

collaborators, I have not simply reproduced the editions of the journal as they

stand. Moreover and in contrast to the collaborative work of Irwin et al.

mentioned above (see p. 26), I have not agreed a reading with the Gadabout

contributors and then adopted a plural personal pronoun (‘we’). Instead, by

selecting the journals, formulating some initial research questions,

introducing an a/r/tographic methodology, and providing my own readings

and poetic responses to the editions, I have stepped away from the

collaborative, interpretative zone to develop my own (self-reflexive) analysis

(see appendix C-4). To borrow the image presented by Wasser and Bresler at

the outset of their article, I have once again decided to become a ‘lone

researcher’ (1996, p. 5).

This complex interplay between interpretative and analytical zones

points back to some of the ethical considerations mentioned at the outset of

this section. In the first place, and following on from Schwandt’s

observations, ‘sampling for meaning’ can be more sharply understood when

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considered within the context of trustworthiness and responsibility. In other

words, and to borrow an a/r/tographic metaphor, while I acknowledge my

own subjective influence upon the study, it is also my responsibility to ensure

that the various threads of meaning are interwoven with sensitivity (or to

return to Wenger, I must respect the ‘relations of accountability’, 1998, p. 81).

As Bresler has suggested, ‘doing qualitative research with participants is

more like having a meaningful relationship than signing a contract’, for roles

‘are flexible and evolving, their negotiation requiring constant sensitivity to

other perspectives’ (1995, p. 29). The trust placed in me by my co-participants

to complete this study means that I have an additional responsibility to

articulate the multiplicity of possible truths. I have to approach my study

with tentativeness, as well as an awareness of the limitations and finiteness,

the partiality and incompleteness, of any arguments that I make. Finally, and

following on from these insights, I believe that this study also affords an

opportunity to explore several significant ethical questions, in turn explaining

my decision to structure the analysis of the three editions around particular

personal pronouns (“I”, “you” and “we”). I will introduce these questions in

the next section (see also appendix D-1).

iv. Grammatical Ethics

Although to some extent my ‘Tale of Tongue’ follows the narrative of the

Gadabout journals over time, beginning with a response to the first edition,

On Reading Rightly Wrongly, and progressing through Full Fathom Five to

Writing in Space, this study is also organised around an attention to personal

pronouns. In part, as I have already intimated (p. 12), this is because my own

pedagogic practice has involved numerous questions concerning the

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presences and absences of particular personal pronouns within literary critical

prose (‘Why can’t I say I?’). Indeed, in one sense, these questions are the true

beginnings of both the Gadabout project and this dissertation.

Barbara Kamler and Pat Thomson address this very question in Helping

Doctoral Students Write: Pedagogies for Supervision (2014). They admit, almost

begrudgingly, that when asked in workshops if the use of ‘I’ is acceptable

within academic prose, ‘we have little choice but to say that, once forbidden,

the use of “I” has now become more accepted within academic circles’, going

on to acknowledge that there are ‘epistemological / methodological and

rhetorical reasons for choosing to use the first person pronoun’ (2014, p. 59).

This study is intended to explore some of these epistemological,

methodological and rhetorical ‘reasons’, balancing the subjectivity of a

researcher with the need to make contact with other teachers, researchers and

artists. Ken Hyland makes a similar point, arguing that writers ‘need to invest

a convincing degree of assurance in their propositions, yet must avoid

overstating their case and risk inviting the rejection of their arguments’ (2000,

p. 87).

Having said this, I also believe that a study concerned with the

transitions between critical and creative utterances, as well as the voices

employed when those transitions are made, will have to pay attention to the

person or persons being addressed. As I have already stated (p. 12), the ways

in which we speak and write depend upon the audience(s) to whom we are

performing. As a consequence, attention to personal pronouns points to the

ways in which individuals exist within a community, that is to say, the

degrees to which an individual ‘I’ is composed of a range of influences and (to

return to Ricœur) prejudices, whilst at the same time addressing (and

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responding to) the language(s) and prejudices of others. Once again, it is in

this respect that voice offers a valuable starting point for reflecting upon such

interactions: the ways in which I speak offer clues regarding my identities and

the impressions that I (am attempting to) make, while the ways in which you

answer will prompt a variety of conscious and unconscious responses in me.

This in turn points to a beautifully simple question posed by Ricœur at the

outset of Oneself as Another (1994, p. 30): ‘How are we to move from the

individual at large to the individual that each of us is?’ This question,

particularly when read alongside Ricœur’s emphasis on the ‘rehabilitation of

prejudice’ mentioned above (1981, p. 68), attests to the particularities and

idiosyncrasies, the sheer differentness, that each of us presents to the other, and

which cannot be accounted for in any abstract discussion. The individual ‘at

large’ is quite different from the individual grounded in being, the individual

‘that each of us is’.

Alongside Ricœur, a central thinker to this dissertation is Martin

Buber, who observed the following:

Man wishes to be confirmed in his being by man, and wishes to have a

presence in the being of the other. The human person needs
confirmation because man as man needs it. An animal does not need to
be confirmed, for it is what it is unquestionably (1992, p. 67).

Buber’s description catches the fragility, tentative uncertainty and

vulnerability at the heart of interpersonal contact; the ways in which we are

secretive and bashful before one another. However, Buber also captures the

extent to which this requirement is utterly human. Indeed, in Primo Levi’s

view, writing of his final days in Auschwitz in a passage that I have taught

weekly for almost six years now, ‘Part of our existence lies in the minds

[original translator takes ‘anime’ to mean ‘feelings’] of those near to us’, and

it is for this reason, Levi claims, that ‘someone who has lived for days during

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which man was merely a thing in the eyes of man is non-human’ (2013, p.

178). Buber’s encounter is not simply natural for humans; rather, the ‘human

person needs confirmation because man as man needs it’ (1992, p. 67).

In this context, the present work might be understood as an

exploration of the ethical relationships developed by individuals within an

interpretative zone characterised by shared creative and critical practices (see

figure 2-5). It is concerned with what Nick Lee calls an ‘ethics of motion’

(1998, p. 475), which describes the process by which I become ethical in

response to you and which also recalls Ellsworth’s description of

embodiment as ‘being in motion’ (see p. 19 of present study; Ellsworth, 2005,

p. 121). Your presence allows me to tell my story, it elicits speech from me

and with that speech a responsibility to listen to your response:

I am not, as it were, an interior subject, closed upon myself, solipsistic,

posing questions of myself alone. I exist in an important sense for you,
and by virtue of you. If I have lost the conditions of address, if I have
no ‘you’ to address, then I have lost ‘myself’ [...] one can only tell an
autobiography, one can only reference an ‘I’ in relation to a ‘you’:
without the ‘you,’ my own story becomes impossible (Butler, 2011, p.
24)

Judith Butler’s insight helps to elucidate further Ricœur’s ‘rehabilitation of

prejudice’ (1981, p. 68), for the ‘complex web of cultural understandings and

significations’ within which each individual is located not only informs

subjectivity but is the structure upon which subjectivity depends (Gaudelius

& Garoian, 2007, p. 9): ‘without the “you,” my own story becomes

impossible’ (Butler, 2011, p. 24). Turning back to the world of a/r/tography,

Irwin and Springgay argue that ‘we need to understand living inquiry as

responsibility’, for ‘our very Being, our subjectivities, identities, and ways of

living in the world are gestures and situations that struggle with, contest,

challenge, provoke, and embody an ethics of understanding and a

responsibility’ (2008, p. xxxii).

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 Such ethics are relational and immanent rather than abstract and

absolute; they are as delicate and insubstantial as the way in which you

might cut another’s hair, or apply mascara to his eyes. Put even more

forcefully, Clifford Christians writes:

Given the primacy of relationships, unless we use our freedom to help

others flourish, we deny our own well-being. Rather than privileging
an abstract rationalism, the moral order is positioned close to the bone,
in the creaturely and corporeal rather than the conceptual (2000, p.
150).

Christians is calling for an ethics of the flesh and bone in which our ‘own

well-being’ is most truly fulfilled in reciprocal relationships that ‘help others

flourish’. It is precisely in this area that an embodied a/t/rographic practice

attentive to the transitions between voices can make a contribution: such a

practice can begin to suggest ways in which we might learn to speak and

listen attentively, developing meanings and insights through collaborative

conversation. As Henry Giroux insists, we must ‘come to view ethics and

politics as a relationship between the self and the other’, in a practice ‘that

broadly connotes one’s personal and social sense of responsibility to the

Other’ (1992, p. 67).

Yet Giroux is also helpful in explaining the significance of

a/r/tography (and arts-based research more generally) to such a discussion

because he is aware of the need for a different way of speaking, a language

that can point towards the future:

This is the language of the ‘not yet,’ one in which the imagination is
redeemed and nourished in the effort to construct new relationships
fashioned out of strategies of collective resistance based on a critical
recognition of both what society is and what it might become (1992, p.
71)

I have alluded twice to the fact that this dissertation is a protest but on both

occasions I have hedged that protest with tentativeness (‘perhaps a kind of

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protest’, p. 17; ‘a protest of sorts’, p. 24). Part of my reticence lies in the fact

that the protest is not simply a protest against but also a protest towards; this

dissertation resists modes of practice (whether artistic, academic or

pedagogic) that prioritise the abstract over the particular, the individual ‘at

large’ over the individual grounded in being.

1. Deleuze & Guattari (1987) 1. Ricœur (1981, 1994)

Rhizomatic Relations

Grammatical Ethics
Introduce the concept of the Explores relation of self to
'rhizome', which is a way of other, as well as arguing for the
understanding relationships, 'rehabilitation of
'being' and journeys. prejudice' (complexity of an
individual's relationship with
history, culture and society).
2. Irwin & Springgay (2008)
Relate concept of 'rhizome' to
a/r/tography, exploring 2. Buber (1971)
collaborative a/r/tographic 'I-thou' relationship is mutually
projects. responsive and nourishing (in
contrast to 'I-it' relationship).
Dialogue with others is central
3. Wenger (1998) & Lave (1991) to humanity.
Develop an understanding of
'communities of practice' and
their role in education. 3. Christians (2000)
Argues for an ethics of flesh
and bone that emphasizes the
4. Bresler & Wasser (1995) 'primacy of relationships'.
Introduce 'the interpretative
zone', which is a 'mental
placeholder for group 4. Giroux (1992)
interpretative work'. Ethics / politics mean attention
to self and other; working
towards language of the future
(‘not yet’).

Close Reading
I.A. Richards (1929) develops ‘practical criticism’, which emphasizes close
attention to the details of a literary text. Within this study, ‘close reading’ is a
method of reading that draws attention to a readers’ subjectivity, in turn
allowing for an examination of the ways in which the ‘personal’ voices of
students can be developed. In my own experience, practical criticism classes
provide opportunities for students to reflect upon use of personal pronouns (‘I’,
‘we’) in literary critical prose.

Figure 2-5: Outlining key ethical concepts

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 This posture of resistance is not to suggest that other forms of research

lack value, nor to imply that different types of theorization, calculation or

analysis fail to provide insights. It is simply to emphasise the space that

should be retained for the embodied, artistic, subjective insights of an artist-

researcher-teacher reflecting upon her practice. Indeed, as I have already

intimated, my efforts to speak the ‘language of the “not yet”’, to explore and

perform the accented transitions between critical and creative utterance are

themselves, as Butler puts it, ‘partial and failed’ (2011, p. 37). My ‘Tale of

Tongue’ cannot avoid being twisted by prejudice and blinded to truths that

others might feel essential. But then to turn to another author for whom I

have the highest regard, and to whom I am indebted artistically,

academically and pedagogically, the certainty of failure is no reason to stop

trying: ‘All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try

again. Fail again. Fail better’ (Beckett, 1999, p. 7).

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 3. Journey Three: A Tale of Tongue
As I have outlined, in this section I will explore three editions of the journal

from the perspective of Artist (A, presented in text box), Researcher (R,

presented in normal type) and Teacher (T, presented in bold type), with each

section also attending to a particular personal pronoun (“I”, “you” and “we”).

Perhaps even more so than the earlier sections, this journey is incomplete,

awaiting the responses and questions of my readers and co-participants.

However, as I have suggested above, I hope it will be taken as a first step,

with more explicit comment in relation to my research questions being

provided in Journey Four (‘Arrivals & Next Destinations’).

i. Journal 1: saying “I”?

Figure 3-1: Journal 1 front cover, On Reading Rightly Wrongly (September 2012)

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 (A) (R)

Tongue One In this short poem I am reflecting upon my

role as one of the founders of Gadabout Press,

This tale of Tongue spun
Split in strips and more focusing upon the circumstances in which I
Than lost it finds itself
Silent stalled still even became the editor of the first edition. As I
Says let me trace the
Contours of your eye have already mentioned, my experiences as a
Balls not nonsense let
Me speak through sight teacher, researcher and writer had brought
Sockets whispers says
I am lonely and would like me to a standstill (‘Silent stalled still’), my
To learn to teach to speak
To listen learn to write practice increasingly in tension with the urge
!
to work collaboratively, to see the world

through the eyes of others (‘let me trace the / Contours of your eye’). My

academic, creative and pedagogical interests were pointing towards the

relationships between speaking and listening in community, as well as the

ways in which students are taught to read and write. Indeed, I felt with

increasing urgency my own need ‘to learn to teach to speak / To listen learn

to write’.

Something of the complexity and difficulty of this time is captured in

my editorial introduction, which emphatically refuses to introduce the journal

in either an academic or theoretical way. I admit to both my readers and

myself that ‘writing this note presented a peculiar challenge’ given my lack of

enthusiasm for what I describe as the ‘rigors of explanation’: as I make clear, I

am determined to avoid writing ‘a quasi-theoretical introductory paragraph’

(2012, p. 2). In this respect, it is worth noting the distance that both the journal

and I have travelled, given that this dissertation is now an attempt to take the

workings of the Gadabout journals and place them within precisely the kind

of theoretical contexts that I resisted in 2012. Nevertheless, and despite my

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reluctances, I do demonstrate a willingness in the introduction to outline

some of the key features of the Gadabout project: ‘Acknowledgement of one’s

own partialness, commitment to reading attentively and a willingness to

listen to the various drifts caught (or missed) in the contours of someone

else‘s writing’ (2012, p. 2). I insist that this first edition aims to provide

‘sufficient space’ for ‘each individual reader to make up [his or her] own

mind’, because ‘these conversations are prompts and beginnings rather than

full stops’ (2012, p. 2).

In fact, when putting this first edition together I asked ‘someone else’

to write a ‘helpful, informative account of the kinds of questions that this

journal is intended to address’ (2012, p. 2). Early in her article, Lizzi Mills

introduces the significance of her own pedagogic practice:

My experiences as a comprehensive schoolteacher have undoubtedly

coloured my understanding of the critic’s role and responsibilities, and
the dangers of which the critic should be aware. When a distressed
sixteen-year-old asks to what purpose they are being required to
‘annotate and connotate’ (their words), to come up with some kind of
independent response to a poem, it becomes extremely important to be
able to answer them. I am sorry to say that many students have been led
to believe that Doing Something Difficult stimulates ‘mental discipline’;
that poetry is good for them - and the harder and more unpleasant the
experience, the better (Annett, 2012, pp. 3–4).

Mills is honest in acknowledging that her experiences as a teacher may well

impact upon her understanding of a critic’s ‘role and responsibilities’, which

in the context of this dissertation my be understood as the ‘R’ and ‘T’ of

a/r/tography overlapping and informing one another. Yet in Mills’ hands,

the pedagogic imperative presents a crucial question: ‘to what purpose’ are

students ‘being required to “annotate and connotate”’? Indeed, related to this

question is the fact that many students feel that teachers possess, and perhaps

guard, ‘the “truth”’. Mills observes that ‘it takes an awfully long time to get a

group to believe that I don’t already know the answers - that in my

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mysterious Teacher’s Planner I haven’t got the “truth” about the text in

question, against which their suggestions will be measured’ (Annett, 2012, p.

4). This is a battle that lies at the heart of literary studies, and is, as Mills

observes, to be fought with ‘colleagues in English departments as much as

with the students’ own preconceptions’ (Annett, 2012, p. 4).

Perhaps guided implicitly by my own reticence (and prejudices) as

editor, a number of the contributions to this edition of the journal evinced a

resistance to more traditional academic, literary critical prose. For instance,

Ian Burrows invented an author for his piece (‘Ludovic Lang’, ‘generally held

to be one of the most influential figures in post-Cold War Belarussian political

improvisatory theatre’), whilst comically writing himself into the text as an

(overbearingly pedantic) editor: ‘Ian Burrows is currently completing a PhD

in early modern punctuation and is the author of the article ““How now, bow

wow?”: Talking Animals in Renaissance Drama”’ (Annett, 2012, p. 10). In fact

within Burrows’ story, the mapmaker’s struggle to map ‘all the ways that

could ever be taken’, suggests impatience with the quantitative

documentation of the world. In responding to Burrows, Robin Kirkpatrick is

alert to his mischievousness, asserting that ‘Comedy’ is ‘a purely playful

activity in which our frailties and relativities become, themselves, a source of

immediate pleasure’ (Annett, 2012, p. 13). Burrows and Kirkpatrick attest to

the potential of art as a form of research, a way of attending to ‘our frailties

and relativities’, while Burrows’ story concludes with blank pages of

possibility: ‘After that the mapmaker spent his days taking, each day, a blank

big piece of paper, and in the corner he would put an 'N', and above it a little

arrow’ (Annett, 2012, p. 12).

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Figure 3-2: Poem ‘Cranes’ (Scott Annett) as it appears in Journal 1

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 Such playfulness clears the way for two moments in the journal of what

Mills describes as ‘misreading’, through which the participants emphasise the

role of the reader. Responding to my poem (figure 3-2), Mills asks, ‘Am I

alone in reading ‘Low as the light’ in line two - lulled by the sibilance and

elongated vowels of the opening?’ Quoting the relevant section of the poem,

the possible loneliness of this reading (and the extent to which she should be

worried by her solitude) is addressed:

Cranes

Slip so slow
Low as the flight

The effect of my misreading is to conjure a scene which isn’t there; by

the end of stanza one I have in my mind both ‘water’ and ‘light’ which
are not, strictly speaking, in the scene being recounted. The
consequence of this is that though I might not sense the threat which
he perceives, I am united with the speaker in seeing more than is there
in the natural world being described, projecting my own mind
outwards and reacting to it (Annett, 2012, p. 7).

This is a reading of some considerable subtlety as Mills picks up on the

ambiguities and possibilities held within the poem, charting her own

responses to the text’s aural (and visual) intricacies. Indeed, in keeping with

her own earlier definition of ‘Good criticism’, Mills’ writing is ‘illuminating

without being oppressive’; it leaves ‘room for the reader to encounter the

work of art on their own terms’ by remaining tentative, open to ‘dialogue’

and ‘response’ (Annett, 2012, p. 4).

The second moment of ‘misreading’ is more experimental, pushing at

the frontiers of what a poem might look like, as well as what a reader might

be doing when exploring a text. Burrows is responding to Ollie Evans’

contribution, which Burrows decides to call ‘Kettles’ (Annett, 2012, p. 50),

although Evans’ text actually announces itself as follows (2012, p. 32):

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 K E T
-
T
- - -
L E
- -
- - - S

In order to appreciate the full force of Evans’ experiment, it is necessary to

explore the text, with its combinations of words in boxes and its various plays

upon prepositions, in the original edition of the journal (see an extract in

figure 3-3). Nevertheless, this work poses some far-reaching questions for

poetry and the role of a reader when encountering a text. As Burrows

wonders, ‘In a case like this, how does a reader decide when/where a poem

begins and ends? – to put it another way, how do we know when a poem is a

poem?’ (2012, p. 50)

Figure 3-3: Extract from poem ‘Kettles’ (Ollie Evans) as it appears in Journal 1

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 For Burrows, ‘it seems […] to be important that we know when a bit is

a bit’, for such knowledge helps the reader to ascertain the limits to poetic

ambiguity. Burrows continues by drawing attention to a particular corner of

Evans’ work (found on p. 37 of the journal and reproduced in figure 3-3):

And ‘Kettles’ for the (not quite) innumerable moves you could make as
you read does assert what seems a clear, probably finite net of
distinctions you could make. What square are you talking about?
Bottom left. The grey one. The one with these words:

fat cult mole

shunt

Did you read ‘fat cunt’? I did, over and over again. And I giggle, but
that frisson of juxtaposition comes from two things: to relate I need to
distinguish, and to see as separate (Annett, 2012, p. 51).

Whether giggling with amusement or shocked by the implication, and it

seems to me that part of the effectiveness of Evans’ work relies upon the

ambiguity and interrelation between the two, Burrows is correct to point to

the ‘need to distinguish, and to see as separate’. However, the poem does

more than that: it demands that we recognise our own role (as readers) in the

making of the meaning, reflecting upon the extent to which we are active

participants in the game, each seeing and inflecting the text in our own ways,

noting and missing different details.

(T)

As part of his response to Evans’ contribution, Burrows asks the following

question: ‘how far removed is reading a text from making a text?’ (Annett,

2012, p. 51) This question is central to the practice of teachers working in

the arts, whether in secondary or tertiary education, as it points to the extent

to which we are attempting to develop active readers, which is to say

readers engaged with the making of meaning. In my own teaching, this

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presents itself most pressingly in ‘practical criticism’ classes, ‘practical

criticism’ being a discipline that dates back to the experiments conducted

by I.A. Richards at the University of Cambridge in the 1920s, in which a

reader’s attention to the ‘words on the page’ is prioritized, as opposed to

relying on established critical consensus or historical context. This activity

is now commonly referred to as ‘close reading’.

In the world of educational research, practical criticism continues to

stimulate debate. At both secondary and tertiary level, close reading

remains a key component of the study of literature: in the QCA’s document,

English: The National Curriculum for England, AO3 requires students to

‘show detailed understanding of the ways in which writers’ choices of

form, structure and language shape meanings’ (1999, p. paragraph 5.4),

while the QAA insist that university students demonstrate ‘critical skills in

the close reading and analysis of texts’ (2000, p. paragraphs 3.1 and 3.2). At

the University of Cambridge, the ‘Practical Criticism’ paper is intended to

encourage ‘reflective and close reading of individual texts’, indeed a kind

of reading which ‘dwells upon the artistry of particular passages and that

artistry’s implications, or which (in the case of more discursive works)

examines those works’ arguments and rhetoric’ (University of Cambridge,

English Faculty website, 2015).

In practice, I have found that practical criticism classes necessitate an

intensified engagement with several questions at the heart of literary

studies, including the degree of subjectivity acceptable within literary

criticism. Taking a specific example to which I have already alluded, a large

number of my students admit confusion as to whether they should use

either the first person singular or the first person plural when expressing

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their opinions in critical essays, the latter generally being favoured (and

encouraged in schools) because it creates a sense of so-called ‘objectivity’.

And yet, this decision is not simply a matter of stylistic taste, as some

students have been led to believe. Rather, it points to fundamental tensions

within literary criticism, and in particular the degree of ‘personal’ response

desired in a critical essay. David Bleich argues that ‘[s]ubjective criticism’ is

a ‘part of a major intellectual shift of assumptions that has been growing in

our century and that has substantially affected almost every major branch

of knowledge’ (1976, p. 455). Yet as Craig Morris remembers it, practical

criticism was actually intended ‘to develop the fundamental skill of close,

rigorous, and what was assumed to be objective, analysis’ (2006, p. 161).

Morris’s identification of the assumptions inherent to this approach

implies skepticism regarding the objectivity of practical criticism, while he

also points to a common assumption made about the practice, often

articulated metaphorically in the language of law: by reading closely, you

are able to gather ‘evidence’, and as such you can ‘put your case’ more

convincingly.

In his original study outlining the potential of practical criticism, I.A.

Richards acknowledged that there should be limits to the subjectivity of

readers, with interpretations being placed within boundaries imposed by

the text. He also pointed out that agreeing upon the ‘plain sense of poetry’

was often easier said than done:

First must come the difficulty of making out the plain sense of
poetry. The most disturbing and impressive fact brought out by
this experiment is that a large proportion of average-to-good (and
in some cases, certainly, devoted) readers of poetry frequently and
repeatedly fail to understand it, both as a statement and as an
expression (1929, pp. 13–4).

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Despite alterations to the curriculum and advances in teacher training,

many of the observations made by Richards remain all too familiar.

Moreover, in a classroom filled with multiple differences of opinion, it is

helpful for a teacher to bear in mind the ‘plain sense of poetry’ (1929, p. 13),

which is to say the fact that readers need not become isolated within

personal responses. There are, as Richards notes, basic building blocks of

meaning upon which agreement can be reached when developing

interpretations.

In The Crafty Reader, Robert Scholes argues that reading and writing

are profoundly interconnected activities, the written text being complete

only when ‘read by others’. He notes: ‘The last thing I do when I write a

text is to read it, and the act that completes my response to a text I am

reading is my written response to it’ (2001, pp. xiii–xiv). In the Gadabout

journal, Mills corroborates this view, arguing that ‘the discipline of writing

critically is a way to ensure rigorous, careful reading’ (Annett, 2012, p. 5).

And yet Scholes makes a firm (and unnecessary) distinction between ‘crafty

readers’ and ‘virtuoso readers, who produce readings that are

breathtakingly original’. Indeed he even claims that ‘the more original

these readers become, the less they remain readers’ (2001, pp. xiii–xiv).

Scholes does not quite make the argument outright, but his distinction

between craftiness and creativity is another way of addressing (and

limiting) the subjective freedom of the reader. And this brings us back to

the question posed by Burrows in the Gadabout journal and quoted at the

beginning of this section: ‘how far removed is reading a text from making a

text?’ (Annett, 2012, p. 51)

In the edition of the Gadabout journal published in September 2012,

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there is a sustained exploration of the subjectivity of the reader, as well as

the extent to which literary criticism should be placed within the context of

a wider critical conversation. As Mills observes in her article, good criticism

leaves ‘room for the reader to encounter the work of art on their own terms’

(Annett, 2012, p. 4), in turn once again suggesting Ricœur’s reference to the

‘rehabilitation of prejudice’ mentioned earlier in this dissertation (1981, p.

68). Furthermore, this edition of the Gadabout journal proved valuable

because the interplay between creative and critical work allowed the

participants to reflect upon the overlaps and distinctions between their

various practices, as well as the shifts in their own voices as they

transitioned from creative writing to more critical prose. In this respect, and

to place the discussion back within the context of a/r/tography, the first

edition of Gadabout Press suggested some of the ways in which the

practices of Artist (A), Researcher (R) and Teacher (T) could mutually

enhance and inform one another, while simultaneously confronting any

lazy dichotomy between objective (impersonal) criticism and subjective

(personal or emotional) art. The journal provided a space within which the

participants could experiment with their own subjectivity, discovering and

problematizing the relationships between first person singular

articulations and the ‘plain sense’ of the texts being explored (Richards,

1929, p. 13).

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 ii. Journal 2: hearing “you”?

Figure 3-4: Image from Journal 2, Full Fathom Five (September 2013)

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 (A)

Tongue Two
Tongue took pen from teeth, crossed a final ‘T’ and slid to sleep.
Scratched in messy strokes across paper notes like music floats
But words not crotchets quivering, half-remote, reluctant like
The secrets slipped inside a painting wet with meanings.

“Not understanding, speak Swahili, Cantonese, Persian dialects

Or Oirish accents have troubles with a vowel even saying vowel mean
Troubles take the time to learn your way of mumbling take time
Like patience hardly infinite but worth it time to listen time to speak.

A second Tongue caught in crosshairs, like the whine you hate the
Itch you scratch that tone of voice but better still take words translate
Another Tongue a way of seeing take on board the stowaways then store
Away the things you need incorporate and learn to teach to speak to read.”
!

(R)

The September 2013 edition of Gadabout Press, entitled Full Fathom Five

opened with a bang as many of the tensions (and dangers) of the Gadabout

project emerged for the first time (Wayne, 2013, p. 1). Callum Wayne begins

the edition with a short editor’s note in which he outlines the scope of the

journal, its ‘“theme”’ (‘translation’), and the fact that in his view this is ‘the

young person’s edition’ (2013, p. 1). This is probably a result of the fact that

Wayne is conscious of being a former student of mine, and for this edition he

looks quite naturally to his peers for contributions, meaning that in the

majority of cases, the participants are undergraduate students, ‘studying

language in one form [or] another’ (2013, p. 1). Wayne also hints at the bang

to which I refer in a short sentence towards the end of his note:

Needless to say (but worth saying anyway), all responses are

constructive responses, and are not intended to be taken as in any way
malicious or derisive (with the possible – probable – exception of
Jaspreet’s).

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The September 2013 edition was the fifth edition of the journal, and marked

the first occasion when an editor felt moved to state explicitly what others

had presumably taken as read: ‘all responses are constructive responses’. Not

only this, but Wayne’s ‘needless’ statement is clearly necessary, for within this

edition there is a ‘possible’, perhaps even ‘probable’, exception to the rule. For

the first time, patience and critical generosity had evaporated as the Gadabout

collaboration faltered.

Wayne was right to forewarn his readers as the exchange between John

Stowell and Jaspreet Bopari is prickly in the extreme. Stowell’s ‘Reverie upon

Translation’ concerns itself with thinking through some of the more

theoretical issues concerned with translation (‘What it means to know in a

language, and what should make another language unknowable’), while also

reflecting upon the ‘question of authenticity in translation’, which he suggests

is ‘the question of authenticity in every voice, every act or thought in

language’ (Wayne, 2013, p. 2). Stowell is writing with a specific tradition in

mind, drawing on Walter Benjamin’s The Task of the Translator, Derrida’s

différence and what he calls Adorno’s ‘dear dialectic’ (Wayne, 2013, p. 3). His is

a world of readerly writers (‘The author is left in the instance of creation as a

reader’), in which there are ‘three translative functions’: ‘The author from

nothingness to words, the reader from words to intelligibility, the translator

from words to words’ (Wayne, 2013, p. 2).

The relationships between Stowell’s ‘translative functions’ are not clear

(or clear enough), implying at face value that a translator’s work has little to

do with ‘intelligibility’, while an author creates meaning from a vacuum

(‘from nothingness’), rather than the debris of countless linguistic encounters,

whether texts read or conversations held. Nevertheless, Stowell is thinking

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about the ways in which we incorporate, maybe even consume, the language

of others, transforming words into echoes and ‘ghosts’:

Perhaps though there are only ever two plays of translation, the
translator himself is merely a reader, he acts as we all do for

“the words of a dead man

2
Are modified in the guts of the living”

(Wayne, 2013, p. 2-3)

Yet if a translator is ‘a reader’, then Stowell’s ‘merely’ causes problems as it

belies the complexity (and subjectivity) inherent to creating a ‘reading’, as ‘the

silent, wordless objects of thought are birthed into language’ (Wayne, 2013, p.

3). Indeed from this point of view, Auden’s metaphorical process of linguistic

modification (‘modified in the guts of the living’) is a more nimble way of

exploring the same thought, pointing as it does to the intrinsic, meaty

transformation (or digestion) that a specific text undergoes in the mind of a

particular reader.

Still, Stowell is correct to point to the relationships between reading,

writing and translating, noting the extent to which the activity of translation

both elucidates and complicates any belief that we do one thing after the

other: reading and writing are in flux, interdependent or, as Robert Scholes

claims, ‘reciprocals’, ‘complementary acts’ (2001, pp. xiii–xiv). The complex

relationships between these activities impact upon the formation of the

writer/speaker’s voice, the extent to which accent and tone are crucial to the

formation of voice, as well as the ways in which we mimic the voices of

others. And they also mean that when dealing with translation, nothing is

certain: ‘There can be no surety of realization […] This is the dizzying act of

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
2 W.H. Auden, ‘In Memory of W.B. Yeats (1939)’ (Parini, 2005, p. 220).

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faith that exists at the heart of every linguistic performance’ (Wayne, 2013, p.

3).

In response to Stowell’s ‘Reverie’, Bopari’s impatience with what he

perceives to be theoretical posturing, unnecessary abstraction and a lack of

commonsense is announced without hesitation:

“This is a brief essay, cryptic perhaps, but necessary.” No essay is

necessary, and this one is unnecessarily cryptic. “Translation asks us
the fundamental question of understanding.” When? Not all
translations are of Mallarmé, and it would take a neurotic of
exceptional tedium to argue that the translation “ARRÊT” on “STOP”
signs in Québec betrays any complex relationship between two
languages […] (Wayne, 2013, p. 4).

In Bopari’s view, acts of reading (and so translations) have more to do with

usage, with the intricacies of day-to-day utterance, than ‘some sort of divide

between “original” “text” and “translation”’. He elaborates: ‘Those of us who

can read in or speak more than one language, or have done any serious

translation, don’t always see this sort of problem, no matter how often we

suffer the misfortune of being told about it at length by unintelligible French

theorists’ (Wayne, 2013, p. 4). In Bopari’s view, a good dictionary, or ‘single-

language lexica’, ‘can often be handy in determining finer points of usage’,

which in turn point to his own (implied) acknowledgement of the fact that

meaning is a product of consensus, an agreement made by communities over

time.

In this respect, Bopari doesn’t disagree all that dramatically with

Stowell. Indeed, his reference to ‘unintelligible French theorists’ is significant,

for it would seem he objects as much (if not more) to the way in which

Stowell writes as to what he actually has to say (‘No essay is necessary, and

this one is unnecessarily cryptic’) (Wayne, 2013, p. 4). Bopari argues:

There is nothing wrong with using metaphor and simile as shorthand

for arguments that you’re too lazy to spell out in full, or as place-
holders for ideas and concepts that might otherwise be clumsily

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 expressed if spun out. But what sort of psycho actually believes in
them, having made them up himself in the first place, and then tries to
build a teetering argument on them? (Wayne, 2013, p. 5-6)

I suspect that Stowell would object strongly to this analysis, pointing out that

his metaphors are drawn from well-known philosophers and theoretical

traditions. I also suspect that Bopari would deem this irrelevant, for his point

is a good one, well worth educational researchers, literary critics,

a/r/tographers and artists bearing in mind: a metaphor is only useful to the

extent that it points simultaneously to similarity and difference (not

différence), just as any simile is both like and unlike the object to which it is

compared. Metaphorical shortcuts may look stylish, but they are also

obstructive, lazy and when petrified within traditions and institutions they

become a form of intellectual restriction, even oppression. Bopari’s final

question makes this point most forcefully: ‘Can nobody in Cambridge English

speak plainly – or think clearly?’ (Wayne, 2013, p. 6)

However, Bopari’s response itself raises questions about the way(s) in

which one participant (or reader?) might respond to another. His tone is

balanced carefully (and not always successfully) between outright derision

and the kind of vicious (but enjoyable?) humour created by crossing Oscar

Wilde with Frankie Boyle:

When this writer talks about ‘sensitive readers’ he likely means

monoglots who didn’t do well in their foreign-language A-levels, if
they sat any. A split infinitive suggests a lack of Latin too. Where is
this ‘nausea of uncertainty’ he speaks of, except in undergraduate
essay crises? (Wayne, 2013, p. 4)

Some readers will detect an uncharitable, perhaps unattractive pomposity in

Bopari’s prose; indeed, Bopari himself would probably admit that he is as

guilty of striking a pose as Stowell (who isn’t?). But his contribution raises an

important question: to what extent is a degree of respect owed (or to be

expected) when engaging with the writing of another? While Bopari’s

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observations are sharp, acerbic, and even entertaining, does it matter if they

are also rude, hurtful and insulting?

Later in the edition, Meena Qureshi delicately traces the fragility of

such interactions, and so the extent to which translation is simply (or is at its

most simple) another way of thinking about the moments when we catch, or

miss, another’s voice. And in these interactions we are all vulnerable:

I memorized the calligraphy of your body,

Learned the exact cadence of your sarcasm,
Observed as your voice sunk to its knees in sincerity.

(Wayne, 2013, p. 12)

For Qureshi, becoming fluent in another’s language is both transformative

and a gesture of generosity: ‘Convinced I was a native, I / Forgot my mother

tongue’, learning instead to conjugate verbs ‘So they all started with “you”’.

Foreshadowing a later discussion in the Gadabout journal, translation for

Qureshi is an act of love, and as such a risk. Qureshi’s speaker worries about

trust, and in so doing adds an additional nuance to the dilemmas and

potential dangers of trusting another: ‘You never knew / That we had

different words / For “trust”’ (Wayne, 2013, p. 12). Perhaps, looking back to

the exchange between Stowell and Bopari, there were different

understandings of the rules of the game, and so different usages of ‘“trust”’?

Or perhaps this is too generous, and Bopari’s response should be considered a

transgression, a rupturing of the trustworthiness and responsibility expected

when participating in the Gadabout community (indeed, any community)?

Finally, and this question has important implications for the Gadabout

project, is it the fault of the community itself for not making the (implicit)

rules clear?

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Figure 3-5: Extract from poem ‘Babel’ (Meena Qureshi) in Journal 2

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 (T)

Many of the tensions and challenges to be found within ‘a community of

practice’ as outlined above (pp. 25-7) can also be discerned within

classrooms at both secondary and tertiary level. Returning to the potential

of practical criticism within literary studies, and following his attempt to

reproduce I.A. Richards’ experiments, Bennett notes that ‘[d]uring the

course of the discussions on the thirteen poems, the students were forced to

defend their judgments in a more serious and logical fashion than most

critical discussions ever demand’ (1977, p. 577). This is a side effect of sorts,

at least in the sense that Richards does not explicitly identify it as one of

the results of his method, and yet within a classroom context it is

undoubtedly of the utmost value. Bennett goes on:

[F]or students, experiencing Richards’ method is more important than

simply reading him, however valuable that is, [as both] students and
teachers can learn much not only about criticism but about poetry,
aesthetic values, and even themselves through this essentially simple
but very effective technique (1977, p. 578).

Learning to evaluate and assess the ‘reasoning’ of other readers is central to

the activity of literary criticism (Bennett, 1977, p. 577); in experiencing

Richards’ method, both students and teachers encounter the differentness

of other readers’ ‘reasoning’ as they are encouraged to explain their own

responses within the context of a conversation (Bennett, 1977, p. 577).

This is exactly the kind of mutual elucidation through discussion

that the Gadabout journals attempt to stimulate, but in the exchange

between Stowell and Bopari the conversation breaks down; remembering

the image presented at the outset of this section and created for this edition,

the vampire and the werewolf are at one another’s throats. When writing of

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critical thinking, bell hooks delineates some of the tensions at play when

teachers and students engage in frank discussion:

Again and again I witnessed a communication breakdown in

classroom settings when individuals who were speaking found not
only that they had sharp differences of perspective but that
attempting to engage in dialogue across these differences aroused
intense passions […] The pressure to maintain a non-combative
atmosphere, however, one in which everyone can feel safe, can
actually work to silence discussion and/or completely eradicate the
possibility of dialectical exchange (2010, p. 86).

On the one hand, in the rough and tumble of dialogue, strong emotions can

be aroused and feelings hurt, resulting in what hooks describes as a

‘communication breakdown’. And yet on the other hand, the ‘pressure to

maintain a non-combative atmosphere’ can become problematic, as

discussion is censored by politeness and a fear of shattering the so-called

‘safe environment’ of the classroom.

For hooks, as with Bresler above (p. 34), understanding such

exchanges and the compromises (or ‘negotiations’, Wenger, 1998, p. 53) to

be made, means turning to the language of relationships (‘we imagine a

love relationship’). She argues:

[T]rust must be cultivated in the classroom if there is to be open

dialectical exchange and positive dissent […] No true supporter of
free speech endorses censorship, hence it is all the more important to
be aware as teachers and students that our speech can be verbally
abusive, that it can perpetuate domination and breed hate (2010, p.
87).

In any discussion, particularly discussions that touch on personal or

potentially sensitive issues, I am responsible for the ways in which I

express myself. I am also responsible for the ways in which my language

affects the people with whom I am in conversation. Yet, those others should

be aware of the fact that I have a right, even a responsibility, to express

myself with honesty and clarity. The ‘negotiation’ cannot have absolute

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rules: my freedom of expression is to be placed within its particular context,

‘dialectical exchange and positive dissent’ creating the environment in

which learning becomes possible. As I note in ‘Tongue Two’ above,

‘patience is hardly infinite’, but it is ‘worth it’, for by taking the ‘time to

listen time to speak’, it becomes possible to learn ‘the things you need’.

In the January 2013 edition of the Gadabout journal (Re-Thinking

Gadabout), Lizzi Mills makes precisely this point when exploring the

extent to which ‘forms of love exist between contributor and respondent’

(Annett, 2013, p. 3). She is reflecting explicitly upon the exchange between

Bopari and Stowell, and in doing so weighs questions of taste, and the

possibility of taking offence (for instance at bad language), against the

need to exchange ideas with robustness and honesty:

Let me be clear. I do not believe that my mother’s dictum – if you

can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all – should apply here.
We are not all sensitive artistic souls whose egos need massaging –
or at least, if we are, we ought to cultivate a thicker skin before we
venture into critical conversation. I am always gratified to see
uncritical acceptance of commonplaces challenged, and bullshit
exposed (Annett, 2013, p. 3).

Mills is right to point out that in the cut and thrust of an interpretative

zone, differences of opinion, and the right to articulate those differences,

should be respected. But she is also right to claim that ‘If we believe in this

journal as a kind of community, then we ought to aim for the sort of

relationships between participants and respondents which recognizes that,

as in any community, we’re all at different stages’ (Annett, 2013, p. 2). I

would only add that, more fundamentally, part of the challenge of

engaging in such a community is to learn to listen to the voices of others, to

the tones, accents, and intonations that form the fragile web within which

each of us participates. Honesty, robustness and skepticism should be

balanced by critical kindness and an allowance for alternative views.

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 iii. Journal 3: writing “we”?

Figure 3-6: Journal 3 front cover, Writing In Space (September 2014)

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 (A) (R)

Tongue Three Ian Burrows’ 2014 edition, Writing In

Space, concerns itself with context, with

A re-imagining of our
Butterfly now sprawled the extent to which we think, and speak
Half-committing to
Memory’s mind and read and write within a web of

Those unslakeable thirsts: ‘rhizomatic relations’ (Springgay, 2008, p.

A flair for the dramatic
Checked by tendencies
To drive inside and
Analyse from safety
Of detachment. Still an
Admission to be made
A sense of some sense
Mingling with pain of
Re-pulse twitch and
Jerk embarrassment as
Distant voices whisper
Is it better different
Is it something certain
Is it ever finished
Is it love?
! created that point, that view, that
xx). He observes:
When inviting submissions
around the idea of ‘writing in
space’ I was keen to stress that
contributors should send me
whatever they liked: you might
think of space as a location, I said,
or as a language. What’s striking
about what follows is that
location and language are not
necessarily separate things, and to
talk about a space is inevitably to
talk with it. Here, in their
different ways, different writers
have set shapes against other
boundless possibilities: they have
not just postulated a point of view
in relation to a subject, but have
subject (Burrows, 2014, pp. 2–3).

Awareness of the interconnectedness of language and place is coupled with

an appreciation of the fact that each writer is at least partially responsible for

creating their own subjective perspective. I say ‘partially’, because Burrows

goes on to note the extent to which participating in the journal may well have

impacted upon the writers and their works: ‘It’s not like the writers have been

performing their gymnastics in a void holly unblundered by my presence,

though; nor are their works wholly unalloyed when my greasy fingerprints

have been all over them’ (Burrows, 2014, p. 3).

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Figure 3-7: View from Ian Burrows’ bedroom, as produced in introduction to Journal 3

These writers are working in terrestrial space, cluttered as it is with the

detritus of lives lived, books read, friends made (and lost), and lessons

learned. Indeed, Burrows is quick to emphasise the complicatedness of the

journals relations with itself and its readers, as well as the ways in which

these contexts shape the meanings to be discovered:

I can’t very well call for pieces to do with ‘writing in space’ and then
absolve myself of the violences I’ve done to them through slapdashing
them into new formats and new fonts, copying and pasting them in
this order rather than that, eyebrowing them with a preface (hello)
when they were offered baldly. In other words: these pieces are
already responding to each other before the writers do anything to
respond in a deliberately formal capacity; you’re already responding to
them, and to their relationships, before you’ve read them, or after
you’ve read them, or instead of reading them (Burrows, 2014, p. 3).

The spaces in which readers discover the writing are as relevant as the places

from which the writing was sent (Cork, London, Bristol, Cambridge). To

borrow Greenblatt’s famous expression, each writer’s perspective was formed

by a complex interaction between subjective ‘self-fashioning’ and the

pressures exerted by cultural and social context (1980); similarly, the ways in

which the texts are received depends upon the interests and alertness of each

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individual reader, which is to say the various ways in which the texts are

translated into a reader’s experience, in many (but not all) instances

influenced by the actions of the editor.

To explore these ideas in more detail, I will attend carefully to a

specific exchange recorded in this edition, that being Becky Varley-Winter’s

short story, ‘Rhino’ (figure 3-8), and Kevin Griffin’s response. Varley-Winter’s

story opens by drawing attention to context, and the comedy that can arise

when context surprises:

The rhino was much too big for his small studio flat. When he walked
into the kitchen for breakfast his nose hit the wall. He had to hook
open the fridge with his horn, and the handle splintered and cracked
(Burrows, 2014, p. 35).

This opening plays on the fact that the rhino is badly suited to his

environment, too big for his ‘small studio flat’ and poorly equipped to

undertake the simplest of actions: ‘He had to hook open the fridge with his

horn’. The destruction of his flat (and fridge) is seemingly a result of both his

bad mood, he growls at his empty cupboard and the fact that ‘he would have

to go to the shops’, as well as his oversized body and ivory horn (‘the handle

splintered and cracked’).

Indeed, the rhino’s concerns are wonderfully banal as Varley-Winter

skillfully sustains the frisson between the reader’s understanding of the rhino

as a thinking character within the story, and the fact that the rhino is, for want

of a better way of putting it, a rhino:

As he trod heavily down the stairs, he thought about his life. He had to
get it together. A new job. A bigger house would be nice. Perhaps with
a pool? He nudged at his pile of post. All bills. He munched
absentmindedly on one of the envelopes (Burrows, 2014, p. 35).

The impossibility of a rhino walking down stairs is undercut by the fact that a

rhino could not tread in any way other than ‘heavily’; his absentminded

musings nuanced by the fact that he is also munching on the envelopes. This

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balance continues throughout the story, as the inhabitants react to the rhino

walking to the shops (‘people stared and scattered’), much to the rhino’s

irritation (‘This city could be so rude sometimes’), while the shop manager’s

terror seems unsurprising until the reader realises that this encounter is a

regular occurrence (‘“Oh God! Just take it, take it!” the manager screamed, as

he always did’).

Reflecting upon Varley-Winter’s story, Griffin opens his response by

acknowledging that ‘The story of the rhino at first seems frivolous, a mere self

indulgence on the part of the writer’, before adding, ‘But it is well to bear in

mind that the animal fable is a very old and noble literary form’ (Burrows,

2014, p. 37). Griffin’s way of making sense of the story is to place it within a

wider literary context, citing ‘Aesop’, ‘La Fontaine’, ‘Dante’, ‘Boccaccio’ and

‘Chaucer’, and he does so in order to clarify the way in which he believes that

the story asks to be read: ‘Likewise, parables and fables allow us to view the

story and its issues from a distance and thus it is easier to judge and draw

lessons from’ (Burrows, 2014, p. 37). This is of interest because it says as

much, if not more, about the context within which the story was read by

Griffin, as it does about the tradition within which Varley-Winter may (or

may not) have written it. For instance, when Griffin notes that ‘Many of us are

familiar with Spenser’s Faery Queene with its whole menagerie of allegorical

figures, issues and situation[s]’, it remains unclear to whom Griffin refers

(‘us’), or why he believes that ‘many’ of his readers will have read Spenser’s

poem.

For my part, rather than providing ‘distance’, I would argue that

Varley-Winter’s story requires close engagement on the part of the reader,

which in turn allows for an appreciation of the ambiguities and ironies

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sustained throughout the text. Similarly, while for Griffin the story ‘illustrates

the pressures on people in the modern world to conform to established, and

very often archaic notions of behavior that are expected of all of us’ (Burrows,

2014, p. 37), I detect an engagement with the interplay between internal and

external, how we feel and how we look, as well as the complicated

relationship that an individual has with her environment and wider context.

Varley-Winter’s story concludes:

Back in his flat, the rhino munched dolefully on his crunchy nut
clusters. What a morning. Cracks were spreading slowly through the
building like the wrinkles in his thick, grey skin (Burrows, 2014, p. 35).

For Griffin, this final image is a cause of sadness: ‘The story ends with the

great image of cracks appearing in the familiar world but unfortunately they

have also spread to the hero-rhino’ (Burrows, 2014, p. 37). I agree that this

image is ‘great’, but I believe that Griffin fails to acknowledge the subtlety and

precision of Varley-Winter’s final simile. The cracks are presented first, with

the implication being that they spread, as Griffin suggests, from the building

to the rhino, and yet the simile indicates that the cracks are an echo of the

‘wrinkles’ already present in the rhino’s ‘grey skin’; they are a response to

both the rhino’s weight (he is too big and heavy for his studio flat) and mood

(he is munching ‘dolefully’). In this sense, instead of the ‘hero-rhino’

transforming as a simple result of the ‘prejudices and misconceptions’ that he

encounters outside his house, Varley-Winter’s story demonstrates the complex

ways in which we interact with the spaces in which we read, write, listen,

speak and sometimes munch ‘crunchy nut clusters’ (Burrows, 2014, p. 35).

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Figure 3-8: Short story ‘Rhino (Becky Varley-Winter) as it appears in Journal 3

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 (T)

There are a number of ways in which Burrow’s edition might resonate

within an educational context. In the first instance, ‘writing in space’ could

suggest the importance of providing students with the space to write.

Maxine Greene observes:

Another part of the total picture, however, is that teachers are also
being asked to treat their students as potential active learners who
can best learn if they are faced with real tasks and if they discover
models of craftsmanship and honest work. Only when teachers can
engage with learners as distinctive, questioning persons – persons in
the process of defining themselves – can teachers develop what are
called “authentic assessment” measures (1995, p. 13).

In Greene’s view, students need to be provided with opportunities to

pursue their own interests, learning through what she calls ‘real tasks’ and

developing as ‘distinctive, questioning persons’. As such, ‘To teach, at least

in one dimension, is to provide persons with the knacks and know-how

they need in order to teach themselves’, though Greene emphasises that

this is not as simple as it sounds: ‘It takes imagination to break with

ordinary classifications and come in touch with actual young people in

their variously lived situations’ (Greene, 1995, p. 14).

Placed back within an a/r/tographic context, this means

acknowledging the extent to which teachers and students are engaged in

rhizomatic relationships, influencing one another in multiple ways as they

explore, discuss and discover. Andra L. Cole and J. Gary Knowles have

picked up on this point, insisting that teaching suggests and requires

alternative research methods:

Teaching is a complex, dynamic, and socially constructed activity,

sometimes impulsive, not always logical, often unpredictable,
frequently intuitive, and invariably difficult to describe and
interpret […] If we characterize teaching as a form of creative
expression – characterized as multimodal, non linear, and
multidimensional – then it makes sense to search for ways of

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 understanding teaching that are also nonlinear, multimodal, and
multidimensional (1999, p. 63).

Greene argues that ‘imagination’ is necessary because the teacher-student

(and student-student) relationships in any classroom are complex,

multifaceted, and to return to a term used at the outset of this dissertation

(p. 16), ‘messy’ (Law, 2004). A/r/tography offers an opportunity for artist-

researcher-teachers to reflect upon those relationships, and the ways in

which their own identities are influenced by encounters within the

classroom. This in turn can have important personal and pedagogical

implications, for as Featherstone, Munby and Russell argue, ‘a personal

sense of voice can make a significant contribution to the experience of

learning to teach’ (1997, p. ix).

Having said this, Burrows’ edition of the journal also explores the

extent to which individuals are actively engaged in developing their own

subjective perspectives, their own ways of reading, writing and learning.

Greene is equally alert to this fact, indicating the extent to which students

have both a responsibility and a challenge: ‘It takes imagination on the part

of the young people to perceive openings through which they can move’

(1995, p. 14). However, the imaginations of students are fragile. Writing of

student failure, John Holt wonders ‘what happens, as we get older, [to] this

extraordinary capacity for learning and intellectual growth?’ He then

claims:

What happens is that it is destroyed, and more than by any other one
thing, by the process that we misname education – a process that
goes on in most homes and schools. […] We destroy the disinterested
(I do not mean uninterested) love of learning in children, which is so
strong when they are small, by encouraging and compelling them to
work for petty and contemptible rewards (1984, p. 274).

In a similar vein, Philip W Jackson identifies the ‘distinction between work

and play’ as having ‘far-reaching consequences’: ‘doing work means that

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we are undertaking a task in which we would not at that moment be

engaged if it were not for some system of authority relationships’ (1968, p.

31). The kinds of ‘authority relationships’ described by Jackson and

implied by Holt are not the trusting, responsive pedagogical relationships

imagined by Greene, while the potential impact upon a student’s sense of

self, and development of voice is profound.

The full implications of the arguments made by Jackson and Holt

extend well beyond the focus of this dissertation, though in practice the

consequences can be discerned easily enough. Eliot Eisner suggests that

arts education might be one possible antidote:

Thus, work in the arts, when it provides students with the challenge
of talking about what they have seen, gives them opportunities,
permission, and encouragement to use language in a way free from
the strictures of literal description. This freedom is a way to liberate
their emotions and their imagination (2002, p. 89).

Eisner’s comments imply subjectivity, open-ended exploration and a

freedom for students to ‘use language’ in order to articulate what they see

and how they feel as individuals; rather than merely aping the voices of

those around them, whether peers, teachers or literary critics, students

ought to be encouraged to develop their own, unique voices. This has been

one of the most successful aspects of the Gadabout project and certainly

does not apply only to young people. As Arthur Bochner suggests, ‘through

the process of writing the authors come to acknowledge that life is not

linear, but cyclic, and that through our continuing learning we may become

wise custodians of knowledge, kinder persons, and better teachers’ (2013, p.

55).

In this respect, Burrows’ edition of the Gadabout journal emphasises

that writing ‘we’ means neither adopting a tone of cool indifference, nor

pretending to have the support of imaginary friends. Instead, it indicates

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the extent to which we are all reading and writing, speaking and listening,

in response to those around us. Writing ‘we’ means acknowledging the fact

that we all ‘write in space’, which in turn can have significant implications

for the ways in which we teach, research and create, as learning

environments transform to reflect the contours and contexts of specific

relationships. Moreover, and turning back to ‘Tongue Three’ above,

a/r/tography contributes to the world of education because it encourages

artist-researcher-teachers to ask self-reflexive, open-ended questions. These

questions will be articulated differently by each individual a/r/tographer,

with the phrasing shifting to accommodate specific perspectives, but mine

(for now) are as follows:

Is it better different
Is it something certain
Is it ever finished
Is it love?

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 4. Journey Four: Arrivals & Next
Destinations
Throughout this dissertation I have repeatedly emphasised the ‘emergent

quality’ of a/r/tographic research, illustrating in appendix C-3 the cyclical

process involved (Anderson & Glass-Coffin, 2013, p. 57). My work has

involved numerous corrections, hesitations and revisions, developing

considerably throughout the a/r/tographic process. Moreover, I have also

stressed the extent to which my study is partial, subjective and incomplete.

Space must be set aside for the diverse perspectives of my co-founders and

collaborators, as well as the more immediate experiences of my readers

(whether members of the Gadabout community or not). Each reader will

approach the present study with her own questions, doubts and enthusiasms.

With this in mind, and following Irwin et al. (see p. 22 of present study), I

would also ‘encourage [my] reader to engage with the work as a rhizome by

moving in and out, and around the work, making connections in a personal

way’ (Irwin et al., 2006, p. 72). Indeed, one journey that I have failed (for good

reason) to explore is that of a new reader encountering this dissertation for

the first time. There are undoubtedly insights to be gleaned from such a

perspective.

However, this is not to suggest an absence of conclusions. In this final

Journey, I will outline some of the findings that have emerged from this

project, as well as my possible next steps. (This information is synthesized in

appendix D-1.) In order to do so, it is necessary to return to my original

research questions:

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 (Q.1) What can we learn about creative and critical
practices by reflecting a/r/tographically upon the
journey of a collaborative arts journal?

d. How can a/r/tography help to inform pedagogical

practice within a literary context by attending to
shifts in voice?

e. To what extent are the collaborative aspects of the

journal’s activities significant in the development
of creative & critical voices?

f. Has this a/r/tographic journey changed my own

voice; what conclusions can be drawn from this
study?
!

My a/r/tographic journey has provided me with an opportunity to explore

the intricacies of collaboration within Gadabout Press, charting the journal’s

development from an initial investigation into the subjectivity of reading (On

Reading Rightly Wrongly), through the difficulties of maintaining collaborative

relationships (Full Fathom Five) and finally to the complexity of an

individual’s relationship with his or her wider context, which is to say the

‘spaces’ in which we (learn to) read and write. As such, I believe that the

present study has clearly and consistently addressed (if not answered) my

evolving research questions.

In educational terms, this a/r/tographic journey has reminded me of

the value of student-centred learning, or what R.E. Harreveld calls ‘a dialogic

pedagogy’ (2014, p. 278). With reference to bell hooks, I have come to

appreciate the significance of ‘practical wisdom’, which insists upon critical

thinking and ‘places us in opposition to any system of education or culture

that would have us be passive recipients of ways of knowing’ (hooks, 2010, p.

185). As both students and teachers, we should be striving to create

‘multidimensional democratic ways of knowing’ (Harreveld, 2014, p. 271),

and if this is to be achieved then educational spaces willing (and able) to

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accommodate the complex identities of creative, first person individuals are

essential. As Gouzouasis and Leggo observe, ’By engaging collaboratively, we

learn to listen attentively to the intersections of music and poetry, and we

learn how to shape our performative research in pedagogically innovative

ways’ (2015 in print, p. 1). In Journey Three, I have drawn out some explicit

implications for education, which are documented in table 4-1 below.

Table 4-1: Questions and Findings

Edition Questions Posed Findings

On Reading 1. How subjective (or personal) is 1. Close reading is an important tool for
Rightly reading? developing independent / confident
Wrongly readers.
(September 2. What is the relationship between
2012), critical and creative reading / 2. Close reading encourages students to
discussed in writing? reflect upon subjectivity, which in turn
Journey 3.i. has implications for voice.
3. To what extent do transitions
between strands of identity (e.g. 3. Transitions between creative / critical
‘a’, ‘r’ and ‘t’) impact upon (or writing also encourage reflexivity;
inform) an individual’s voice? greater appreciation of complexity of
identity; renewed understanding of
authority.

Full Fathom 1. What respect is owed to other 1. There is a balance to be struck

Five members of a community? Can between robust / honest expression of
(September this be extended to readers views and respect for other opinions (or
2013), /writers more generally? voices).
discussed in
Journey 3.ii. 2. To what extent is translation a 2. Translation is a useful metaphor
useful metaphor for understanding because it encourages appreciation of
interactions between difference, sensitivity to others and
readers/writers? attention to detail (and so is similar to
close reading?).

Writing in 1. To what extent do the spaces in 1. The spaces (or contexts) within which
Space which we read/write influence us? students read, write and develop are
(September How does this impact upon crucial to the formation of identities.
2014), development of voice?
discussed in 2. Safe space in which to explore,
Journey 3.iii. 2. What does it mean to give experiment and make mistakes is central
students ‘space to write’? to development.

3. What kinds of pedagogical 3. Pedagogical relations should be as

relationships should we be democratic as possible, allowing
attempting to develop? students to challenge and interrogate
authority.

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 I have placed my work within an explicitly ethical context because I

believe that no community can exist without ethical consideration (see figure

2-5). I also believe that this study points to a number of ways in which the

interactions between the participants of an arts-based community of practice

such as Gadabout Press might address ethical questions inherent to reading,

writing, creating and responding to the work of others. The rhizomatic

relationships in which we are all engaged, the very middleness and complexity

of our lives, complete with multiple acts of creativity, moments of critical

reflection and the potential fruitfulness (and failure) of collaboration can be

explored with particular sharpness within an a/r/tographic study. Indeed, I

believe that this project has afforded a valuable opportunity to reflect upon

the benefits and challenges of collaborative a/r/tographic practice.

There are no clear beginnings or endings to an a/r/tographic project,

for an ‘artistic researcher never works in isolation’ (Hannula, Suoranta, &

Vaden, 2014, p. 69). Remembering the terms generated within this project, we

are all ‘writing in space’, translating the various experiences and texts we

encounter into our own thoughts, feelings and words. And yet these

translations are not entirely successful (translations never are?), for they

necessarily involve transitions between strands of identity, including (but not

limited to) our roles as artists, researchers and teachers. In this regard, the

writing of Martin Buber is central to the development of a grammatical ethics

in which each individual is understood to live and learn within a complex

web of relationships, and in which encounters between ‘I’ and ‘Thou’ are

mutually responsive and nourishing.

This point is worth reflecting upon. As with any arts-based research,

this project has necessitated an ongoing and personal investment on the part

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of the researcher, with all of the potential risks and rewards that come with

such a project. Anderson and Glass-Coffin have noted that, while the ‘open-

endedness of autoethnographic inquiry’ is grounded in the possibility of

change, it also carries the ‘belief in agency and the hope of healing’ (2013, p.

78). My own experiences planning, developing, writing and revising this

project have pointed to a number of personal insights, most tellingly the

extent to which the various strands of my identity as artist, researcher and

teacher might be understood as productive (rather than destructive) in their

incompatibilities. I have gained greater insight into my own teaching practice,

my own artistic practice and the benefits of ongoing academic research. From

the founding of Gadabout Press in June 2012, through to the completion of this

study in August 2015, it has been quite a journey.

And the journey will continue (see appendix D-1). This study resists

‘finality and closure’, arguing for a ‘conception of the self (and society) as

relational and processual, mutably written in a moment that opens onto a

panoramic, albeit not unlimited, future of possibilities’ (Anderson & Glass-

Coffin, 2013, p. 78). As such, I have developed six questions to take forwards,

each corresponding to one of the colours threaded through this work:

1) In what ways has this project changed my own practice as artist-

researcher-teacher?

2) What can this study teach us about the potential of a/r/tography

as a form of arts-based educational research?

3) What are the pedagogical implications for the development of

creative and critical voices?

4) What might we learn by attending closely to a collaborative

project over a sustained period of time?

5) How might the challenges inherent to collaborative projects be

overcome by attending to ethical considerations?

6) How might the inclusion of visual art or music impact upon the
questions above?

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!
With figure 4-2 in mind, there are still steps to be taken and bridges to be

crossed in my journey as an a/r/tographer. And these journeys to come do

not promise certain answers, for as Maxine Greene writes, the ‘role of

imagination is not to resolve, not to point the way, not to improve’, but ‘to

awaken, to disclose the ordinarily unseen, unheard and unexpected’ (1995, p.

28). Notwithstanding this, and recalling the quotation placed at the very

outset of this dissertation (p. v), I have come to ‘embrace the values,

predispositions, approaches, and commitments’ inherent to a/r/tography,

and I believe that my own ‘toolbox of skills and strategies for creativity or

teaching or researching’ is fuller and more adequate for having completed

this work (Leggo & Irwin, 2013, p. 154). In short, and said with all appropriate

tentativeness, I am a step closer to finding my voice, complete with all of its

complexity, inconsistency, plurality and potential.

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Figure 4-2: ‘On Possessed’ (Meena Qureshi) as it appears in Journal 3

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!
5. Appendices

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!
A-1. The river of my life

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!
B-1. Table documenting Gadabout Press through time
All editions of the journal can be found on website: http://www.gadaboutpress.com

Date Title Editor(s)

June 2012 Gadabout Press Founded Committee

September 2012 On Reading Rightly Wrongly Scott Annett

January 2012 Once Upon a Time Ian Burrows

March 2013 Performance Night 1 Committee

April 2013 Responsorial Farm James Smoker

June 2013 Snapshot Flo Wales Bonner

September 2013 Full Fathom Five Callum Wayne

January 2014 Re-Thinking Gadabout Scott Annett

March 2014 Performance Night 2 Committee

April 2014 Di*rec*tive Nikki Moss

June 2014 Chinese Whispers Lizzi Mills

September 2014 Writing in Space Ian Burrows

January 2015 Tenterhooks Albi Stanley & Ruth O’Connell Brown

April 2015 Breath Meena Qureshi

June 2015 Echo Tom Mellor

September 2015 Present Study Scott Annett

* Editions marked in red font are analysed in present study

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!
B-2. Process for creating the Gadabout journal

Committee'
members'
discuss'
candidates'for'
editor'
Committee'
re8lects'upon'
Editor'selected'
and'discusses'
journal'

Editor'decides'
Editor'submits' upon'and'
journal'to'
advertises'
committee' 'theme''

Editor'puts'
edition' Participants'
together' submit'8irst'
including' contribution'
design'

Editor'sends'
out'
Participants' contributions'
respond' to'participants'
seeking'
responses'

"!85!"!
!
C-1: Table of key secondary literature
Arts-Based Research AutoEthnography
Hannula, Suoranta & Vaden
(2014). Artistic Research
Methodology: Narrative, Power
and the Public (1 edition).
Jones (2014). Weaving words:
personal and professional
transformation through writing
as research.
Cahnmann-Taylor &
Siegesmund (2008). Arts-
Based Research in Education:
Foundations for Practice.
Eisner (2002). The arts and the
creation of mind.
Schwandt (2000). Three
Epistemological Stances for
Qualitative Inquiry:
Interpretivism,
Hermeneutics, and Social
Constructionism.
Carson & Sumara (1997).
Action research as a living
practice.
Ely (1997). On writing
qualitative research: living by
words.
Dewey (1934). Art as
experience.
* Titles are organised by publication date with most recent first.
Adams, Holman Jones, Ellis
(2015). Autoethnography.
Anderson & Glass-Coffin
(2013). I Learn By Going:
Autoethnographic Modes of
Inquiry
Berry (2013). Spinning
Autoethnographic
Reflexivity, Cultural
Critique, and Negotiating
Selves.
Bochner (2013).
Autoethnography’s
Existential Calling.
!
Denzin (2013). Interpretive
Autoethnography.
Tullis, J. A. (2013). Self and
Others: Ethics in
Autoethnographic Research.
Conteh, Gregory, Kearney &
Mor-Sommerfeld (2005). On
writing educational
ethnographies: the art of
collusion.
Ellis (2004). The Ethnographic
I: A Methodological Novel
about Autoethnography.
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!
A/r/tography
Gouzouasis & Leggo (2015).
Performative research in
music and poetry: An
intercultural pedagogy of
listening.
Harreveld, R. E. (2014). The
Writer’s Journey: Research
and Transformation.
Stevenson, K. (2012).
Embodying three aspects of
my self through
a/r/tography.
Springgay (2008). Being with
a/r/tography.
Sinner, Leggo, Irwin,
Gouzouasis, & Grauer
(2006). Arts-based
educational research
dissertations: Reviewing the
practices of new scholars.
Irwin, Beer, Springgay,
Grauer, Xiong & Bickel
(2006). The Rhizomatic
Relations of A/r/tography.
Pinar, Irwin, & Cosson
(2004). A/R/Tography:
Rendering Self Through Arts-
Based Living Inquiry.
Leggo (2001). Research as
poetic rumination: Twenty-
six ways of listening to light.
C-2: The self-system (Purkey, 2000)

The self-system is a global structure comprised of three parts:

" The “I”: Self-as-subject;

" The “me’s”: Self-as-object;
" The “+” or “-“; Self-esteem

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!
C-3: An a/r/tographic journey

Articulation!of!initial!
research!questions!

Exploration!of!
existing!literature!

A/r/tographic!
practice!and!
exploration!

ReDlection!upon!
original!research!
questions!

RelDlection!upon!
more!relevant!
literature!

A/r/tographic!
practice!and!
exploration!

Articulation!of!
discoveries!and!
outline!of!new!
research!questions!

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!
C-4: Analytical and interpretative zones

Researcher!1!

Researcher! Researcher!
2! 3!

“Fixed”! interpretations!
(agreed!or!not!agreed)!

Analytical!
Researcher!!

• Interpretative zones are where researchers overlap and these zones will differ in
intensity and productivity;

• At times, researchers will collaborate as a complete group (central overlap) but at

others they will collaborate in smaller groups (where two researchers overlap);

• Individuals will then spend time analyzing alone, potentially feeding back into the
group (and then agreeing upon a ‘fixed’ interpretation);

• Alternatively, they can ‘fix’ the interpretation without further discussion, offering an
individual response to the group’s activities.

"!89!"!
!
D-1: Research questions, findings and next steps
Original Research
Questions
What can we learn about
creative and critical
practices by reflecting
a/r/tographically upon the
journey of a collaborative
arts journal?
How can a/r/tography help
to inform pedagogical
practice within a literary
context by attending to
shifts in voice?
To what extent are the
collaborative aspects of the
journal’s activities
significant in the
development of creative &
critical voices?
Has this a/r/tographic
journey changed my own
voice; what conclusions
can be drawn from this
study?
Findings
This a/r/tographic journey has
provided an opportunity to
explore the intricacies of
collaboration within Gadabout
Press; a/r/tographic
methodology has provided a
focus for theoretical exploration.
Attentiveness to the voices of
others points to crucial ethical
considerations of relevance in
classroom; ways in which
students are taught to read and
write are intimately related to
voice, personhood & subjectivity.
Over time participants are able to
respond to and shape one
another’s voices; learning to
listen is first step on road to
learning to speak fluently; trust,
generosity and honesty are
crucial to learning; at times these
values may seem mutually
exclusive.
Inconsistencies of voice are no
longer painful; transitions
between strands of identity
provide promising new
perspectives; any conclusions
point to further questions;
journey is ‘ongoing’.
As a writer, it is important that I
am sensitive to the patience and
limitations of my reader(s);
a/r/tography should not be
purely introspective / subjective.
"!90!"!
!
New Research
Questions
How might the challenges
inherent to collaborative
projects be overcome by
attending to ethical
considerations?
What are the pedagogical
implications for the
development of creative and
critical voices? What is the
nature of the relationship
between creative and
critical writing?
What might me learn by
attending closely to a
collaborative project over a
sustained period of time?
Are there any ethical
implications or pressures
that stem from longer term
relationships?
In what ways has this
project changed my own
practice as artist-researcher-
teacher? What is the
relationship between this
practice and my ‘voice’ as a
writer?
What can this study teach us
about the potential of
a/r/tography as a form of
arts-based educational
research?
How might the inclusion of
visual art or music impact
upon the questions above?
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