How Jesus, Therapy, & Motherhood Changed My Pedagogy (and “Others”)

This summer Poiema Visual Arts held its very first biennial art conference, “Finding Our Place: The Artist, the Church & Placemaking,” in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Though now concluded, it is still our privilege to introduce you to some of the unique individuals who presented this year. Our speakers brought together a rich mix of ecumenical experiences that blessed, encouraged and challenged those in attendance. 

In this post, Alison Elizabeth Keener, an art educator with a passion for loving others well, shares from her experiences. We invite you to lean in as she explains how the circumstances of her life have led her to a kinder view of those labeled “other.”

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As consumers of art, we often have a voyeuristic perspective as we take in the scenes around us, looking at figures within the frame while we remain outside of the image. I would argue that we far too often remain viewers in life when we encounter others. There is a certain level of distance that we enjoy. It’s safer to look than to engage. It’s safer to view someone as an “other” than as a neighbor. We’d rather keep our space separate and place those different from us in a box so that we can view, and at best, maybe learn about them from our observations about their “otherness.” 

Eurocentric art history changed drastically when the “others” in the picture plane looked back at us, the viewers (think Édouard Manet's Le Déjeuner sur l'Herbe [Luncheon on the Grass] in 1863). The return gaze challenges viewers to a relationship of sorts, and it disrupts the power balance—no longer were those being viewed powerless to our gaze. They engaged with our gaze. 

We can liken this disruption of power balance to an earnest invitation to the unlikely, a genuine conversation with the lonely, and boldly entering into the grief of another, even if you don’t understand the pain. This is radically risky, uncomfy, and quite honestly, really hard to do with patience and grace (unless you're not a jerk like me).

In some ways, being an artist allows us to engage with others with more openness. The art community often has a bent toward otherness. I have witnessed more civilized and helpful conversations within the walls of an art gallery or museum than in any other locale. There is almost an expectation that a gallery, museum, etc. is a place to seek understanding, celebrate our similarities, and engage our differences.

In my experience, there are places where “otherness” should be welcome but it’s not. For instance, some churches feel threatened by challenging questions, hard conversations, and differing opinions. While there are different expectations in each space, be it a church, an art gallery, or a coffee shop, it seems that we as the Church should champion “otherness.” After all, Jesus surrounded himself with the “others”—people with less power, less status, people who are objectified, or deemed different. He did this by not just looking from a distance and watching un-engaged, but by talking, eating, and swapping stories with others. 

As a teaching artist, it’s easier to find others to engage with but difficult to shake the view-only gaze syndrome as an authority figure in a classroom. The religious leaders of Jesus’ time (and today) had this problem, too (it’s an easy problem to have when given such a level of authority over others). As a teacher, we see how “they” (our students) could do better, try harder, hang with the right people, or change just this one thing to meet a higher mark. We do the same when we critique artwork, which is also part of teaching art. True, we want our students to learn and grow, and part of this comes from a growth mindset, but how often does this approach accidentally extend into other areas or take a wrong and legalistic turn?

While being an artist impacts how I approach teaching, there was a significant life event that rattled and shaped my broader view. On May 6, 2017, my safe little world was shaken. At 30 weeks pregnant, a bullet from an adjacent home tore through my nursery. Within minutes, my house was a crime scene, and I was escorted to my car by an armed police officer with only a few possessions. While no one was hurt and we learned later that the shot was accidental, I was traumatized and started therapy shortly thereafter. What I learned from this experience, therapy, and motherhood has shifted my artistic practice and pedagogy. Quite honestly, it humbled me, allowed me to understand Jesus a little bit more, and it taught me three very important lessons that have shaped who I am.

First, I learned the importance of rest and how to be a disciple. I was always a Martha. Do the tasks, keep busy, busyness is next to holiness because I’m serving “others.” I did not understand Mary, sitting at Jesus’ feet, and how her choice was holy. 

Second, I learned that I am not perfect (shocker!). Teaching is one of the most authoritative careers that you can have. Having so much power made me believe that I had very few faults (wrong!). I also don’t think I would have realized or admitted that I thought that highly of myself, but there was definitely not humility modeled in my classroom. 

Third, I learned about grace, forgiveness, and discipline. I needed so much grace because I could not keep doing it all and I had to extend so much grace and forgiveness to others who I felt let me down when I was so needy. In all of the messy exchanges of grace and forgiveness, I also found that there could be a balance and softness to accountability that I had previously not known.

I had always been interested in giving voice to the “other” and lifting up the underdog, but deep in my heart, I viewed “others” as lesser. Early on, when I was a fired-up recent graduate, I thought I had the answers and the license to be in charge. Truth be told, I was likely trampling the Holy Spirit. Years later, I want to challenge this “know-it-all” posture and promote genuine “otherness engagement.” How can I, as an artist and Christian, make space to listen, enter into others’ lives, and invite opportunities for relationships? 

I try my best at this every day in the classroom. The shift from assumptions about behavior and responses to curiosity about others has changed my effectiveness as a teacher regarding behavior management and relationship-building (and, consequently, confidence-building in my students). I can speak life into them by not assuming the worst and dwelling on it! 

I try my best at making space for others by sharing my stories through my art, finding spaces, and inviting others to share their art and stories alongside me. 

I get to try my best at this by instilling confidence through humility and honesty in those I interact with in the art world, to give rise to another. 

I say “try my best” because relationships and working with humans is messy. I can, in my rest, let others down who truly need me (and then as a recovering people-pleaser, shame myself back into busyness). I can model humility and get plowed over. I can extend grace and become frustrated by the lack of opportunity that is taken. I can forgive and get hurt again. I can instill discipline through boundaries and miss the mark. But alas, it is not about me, friends. I fail, own it, apologize, and try to move on because I remember that Jesus made space for others, I work to follow his example, and I lean hard into the power of the Holy Spirit—this is how we can make space for “others,” too.