Some of the OU Early Childhood team are currently undertaking a longitudinal PRAXIS project which is just entering the second year (Phase 2) where we are considering the concept of ‘mattering’ and what that means to our Early Childhood students. We are used to the ideas of provocations in early childhood pedagogy and to give us inspiration for this phase of the project we decided to take a mini road trip to Chatsworth to attend the ‘Picturing Childhoods’ exhibition, using this as a creative provocation to our thinking about writing up the report of Phase 1 and moving forward with Phase 2. It turned out to be a marvellous provocation and before we left to travel back to the various corners of the UK, we got together over a coffee to discuss some of our thoughts and reflections, and this blog captures these.
Julie’s Reflection
This was my first visit to Chatsworth House and I wondered how it would go. We met briefly as a group of 4 academics in the days before we went and discussed how we should approach the visit and what we would do, deliberating themes we could view the exhibition through. Being time poor, I had been unable to give sufficient time to reading and reflecting before our discussion. I felt like some of our degree students going to their first tutorial. Unprepared and unsettled. After our chat I felt motivated, a little excited and was looking forward to our visit. This aligned with Prilleltensky’s (2020) view of mattering as innate and Elliot’s (2009) expansion of ‘mattering’ as overlapping with ‘belonging’. I felt as if I fitted into the group and belonged and more than that; in a social sense, I mattered to this group of colleagues and from this I developed interest and confidence. I took time that night to read and reflect on the purpose of the visit. I wonder now about the skill needed by an Associate Lecturer to make a student facing time and confidence challenges feel as if they matter and belong in order to develop motivation and enthusiasm rather than less confident and a little lost.
On arrival at Chatsworth the scale and beauty was imposing but there seemed to be a calmness emanating from the surroundings and my colleagues. We had decided to arrive together but to experience the exhibition alone in order to reflect on our perceptions. We entered the house and then moved through the first room individually. I noticed some grasses arranged in a cross on a chair and found them interesting and puzzling. Why were they there? Why were they crossed? I wondered if they were illustrating a historical interest or feature, maybe a child’s plaything, after all we were in a childhood exhibition. I enjoyed this wondering as a young child might and allowed myself to reflect on it as we walked through the rooms.
After a couple more rooms I noticed that a lot of the chairs held these grasses or ‘tweezles’, as a colleague later named them, and realised that they indicated a chair which must not be sat on. This unwritten rule was not obvious to me at first and it was only through drawing on my cultural tools and knowledge of these grasses being spiky and hard that I realised the symbolism and the hidden rule. Young children face unwritten rules, but what interested me was how new to Higher Education students know how to interact with new course materials, new peers, or tutors. Do we include unwritten rules? How will a student feel when they ‘realise’ the rule, perhaps having made a mistake or even worse missed some vital aspect of study.
Jo’s reflection
Everything was so big and grand, it made me feel very small and insignificant. The lack of light and general gloominess added to this feeling of being diminished. I think I noted several times ‘I feel so small’. This isn’t necessarily a negative affective response – there is something about feeling safe, small, enclosed, not standing out, not noticed, that is calming. The miniature objects in the dolls’ house displays reminded me of this and how being small and detailed is a positive thing. It is like the feeling when you look at the horizon or the sky etc. It was interesting when I used the mirror to look at the ceiling in the Great Hall; this made me feel still small but part of the scenery as if I was swimming in it. Others talked about ideas that made me think of not belonging, of ‘spatial transgression’- I don’t think I felt like that, but I did feel quite removed from it all, as if I was standing back and wondering objectively about the secrets – who was missing, what was being concealed. I don’t think I also worried about where I was allowed to go but I did feel a little disorientated because of the grandeur and the gloom.
The room which had the greatest impact was the chapel with the Damian Hirst sculpture. I think this was because of the shock of the unexpected. As I walked in, I kind of felt that it was just another gloomy albeit grand room, with a shiny statue. I loved the shock as I approached the statue and realised what it was. I was unaware of this story but was intrigued by it. The notes said to look for the secret door to the right of the statue, but I was unable to find this and found it another irritating example of keeping secrets and withholding information. I absolutely loved the sculpture because it seemed so transgressive and shocking. I also appreciated the pain of all humanity across the saint’s face. I don’t know a lot about Damian Hirst, apart from recognising his more famous pieces of work, but I loved the creativity, the humour almost in the saint having his skin draped over his arm – humour in the grotesque. I don’t appreciate the constraints of religion – thinking about my own childhood, so to have this disruption in the middle of the pomposity of an ornate chapel appealed to my sense of resistance and pushing back. I also appreciated the lovely symmetry of ideas of the skin as clothing with the upstairs exhibition and the draping of fabric; in fact, symmetry was an idea I seemed to focus on in many of the spaces.
Colleagues talked about the ‘sewing rooms’ which also really resonated with me but made me feel both sad, thinking about childhood memories and also nervous because of the sound track; it took me a while to work out where the sounds were coming from and what they were supposed to be (cutting scissors and a sewing machine); I think I got the sense of spatial transgression here that others talked about elsewhere, even though I found these rooms captivating. The long corridor with the crystals didn’t hold my attention at all apart from the marble bath; we talked about how these crystals were more open-ended provocations but from my perspective I am not sure they are; I didn’t like the ideas they reminded me of. We are all bringing our own perspectives as academics and are as diverse as our students.
Eleonora’s Reflection
I have had several visits to Chatsworth House in the past so I approached the ‘Picturing Childhood’ Exhibition with some sense of familiarity coupled with a sense of uncertainty of how I might feel about engaging with it in my professional role. The exhibition offered ‘representations’, ‘experiences’ and ‘memories’ of childhood as the curators re-focused their collection to keep ‘childhood’ in the centre and in this way, inviting new layers of interpretation of the treasures of the House.
To me, portraiture as aesthetic representations of children and childhood have endless possibilities and I was wondering how I might perceive the many nuanced layers. Portraits could also suggest a political undertone in that they represent who is heard, whose voices are silenced, who is visible and who is not. So, I was curious to see how children appeared in the exhibition artifacts and how they were reflected or represented. As a subjective being, I could not help but engage with the exhibition influenced by my own ‘image of the child’ and my Anglo-Eastern European cultural and social capital.
Many of the somewhat ostentatious rooms and spaces in the House were awe-inspiring due to their scale and the wealth they exuded. They were certainly designed to impress, and I could not help but feel very small, which made me wonder how children might feel in these spaces. I was also struck by the multi-sensory richness of the exhibition and was drawn to the sounds and textures that were sometimes soothing and comforting, and at other times intriguing or even spooky. The positioning of exhibits and the spaces created around them made me wonder about the curators’ ‘image of the child and childhood’, their intensions and also the hidden tensions and power at play in the entire exhibition. For example, the sculpture of Lady Sophia Cavendish as a child was placed under the main stairs in the Great Hall, with cushions on the floor, the tiles of which appeared like waves licking children’s toes as they sat. The sculpture was amazingly animated, her outreached hand inviting the observer to touch her, and the explanatory text addressed children directly. Then, as I sat down on the cushions and disappeared from view, I began to wonder: am I hidden to be out of sight to maintain the order in the richly decorated elegant environment or hidden to be in a secretly private space that children often seek out? Whose agenda drove the creation of this space? What assumptions have been made?
Jane’s Reflection
When I reflect back on my visit my immediate thoughts are about invisible boundaries. As I went around the house I took photos from a child’s-eye perspective, trying to see the contents and experience the spaces from their viewpoint. This meant that I had pictures of key holes, door stops, table legs and other random items. Towards the end of the visit a security guard approached me to ask if I had been taking pictures of door handles, what my photographs might be used for and generally finding out what I was doing. During the conversation I realised that actually, there could be a malevolent reason for taking these pictures, and I also realised that the staff in each room and corridor had been watching and raising concerns with the security team. When it became apparent that I wasn’t up to no good we had a great chat about the exhibition, the work that the Chatsworth education team do and I went on my way. But when I looked back at my photographs the incident coloured my recollections, I found myself thinking ‘should I have been looking at that’? Was I supposed to be in that space? Was I doing things ‘right’?
As an adult in this situation, we know some of the unwritten rules, not to touch the exhibits and to stay in the roped off areas but in some places the rules were not so clear. Were you able to go up a particular staircase, or was that only for people to come down? Can I push that door or not? These feelings link to the feelings of being small and overwhelmed by the unfamiliar and inherent power of the place that have been mentioned elsewhere, and this led me back to thinking about children and then onto students. Young children learn the unwritten rules by crashing into invisible boundaries all the time, reaching out to touch things they shouldn’t, running into places where they shouldn’t be and then being told the rule by someone with more knowledge or power. This process is a ‘normal’ part of learning but when this happens as an adult, we feel wrongfooted and guilty, as if we should already know these things and we have done something wrong. Students will meet invisible boundaries related to the hidden curriculum throughout their studies, highlighting this as a normal part of learning and trying to reduce feelings of having ‘done it wrong’ is something we could do more.
I hadn’t expected my visit to Chatsworth to lead to a reflection on how to support students and this conversation was one of many things that I could have written about, the whole experience has a catalyst for lots of ideas, thoughts, and inspiration many of which echo the responses of my colleagues.
Final thoughts
The exhibition certainly made us reflect on the construct of childhood. We were four diverse academics from different locations in Europe and so we all brought our unique perspective, however, as we shared ideas we found common interests, triggers, and questions. It made us think about our childhoods and how we might have behaved as children at the exhibition. We were quite playful in how we captured our ideas as we moved around the rooms, making sketches, jotting down ideas, and taking photographs, not of the usual exhibits but more of the tiny features or the hidden details. We were reminded of childhood hobbies, of how you had to behave as a child, the things that had remained with you and things you had lost on the way. We compared our own childhoods, the childhoods of the children in portraits we engaged with and the childhoods of children today. We had all recognised how power manifested itself in different ways through the house, we had all felt small and we all had emotional responses to objects and to spaces where we did and did not feel we belonged or mattered. The visit certainly helped us to develop our perspectives of ‘Picturing Childhood’ and to expose and refine concepts that are already influencing the PRAXIS project.