Wednesday, 5 December 2012
The slot: establishing dialogue between teacher and learner
We were planning a new edition of some distance learning books, when it turned out that our new tagging system for page layout couldn't reproduce some of the tables quite as they'd appeared before. The tables in question were ones with blank cells, to create empty spaces for the students to fill in themselves as part of learning activities. The technical difficulty raised the question: did we really need these responses spaces in the printed books? And if so, why?
I remembered Fred Lockwood's list of recommended features of learning activities, in which a response space or grid was one - the others being a title, a rationale ("if you cannot think of a good reason why it is worth posing the activity perhaps it isn’t worth posing at all!"), an indicative time, instructions, a example, and feedback. Though a space or grid didn't seem to make much difference to whether students actually wrote a response to the activity (as distinct from just thinking about it - what Lockwood called "degradation" of the activity), research found that students did like and prefer having one. But why, if they often did not use it?
One thing which a response space provides is what discourse analysts call a "slot". This use of the term was coined by the pioneering conversation analyst Harvey Sacks, to describe the way in which one speaker can create an occasion or opportunity for another speaker to take over or make a specific kind of response. Asking a question, of course, creates a slot; a more subtle example - the one which was the starting point for Sacks' analysis - is "This is Mr Smith, may I help you", which without actually asking the telephone caller their name (which would be inappropriate on a confidential helpline) provides a cue for them to do so. A blank response space on a printed page, in the midst of the teaching text, is in visual terms almost literally a slot, providing a cue and an opportunity for the reader to make a response.
And what a slot does is open up the possibility of dialogue. Presentational text on its own can become a monologue: a single teacherly voice telling the reader how things are. A learning activity, when embedded in the text, establishes the expectation that the reader can and will respond and that that response is a valuable and important thing. Whether or not there is a response grid on the page or screen, and whether or not a student actually writes a response in it or even thinks about a response more than perfunctorily, the slot is there: a response can be made. Even though the medium itself is one-way and non-interactive, there can still be multi-vocal dialogue: what is modelled to the student, and what is encouraged to take place in their mind, is a conversation which moves back and forth between two voices, between teacher and learner.
That back-and-forth conversation enables teaching materials to deliver what Derek Rowntree called a "tutorial in print", in which students are called on to be active participants in their learning. And it is one of the many respects in which teaching materials are not about transmission of information, but about the establishing of relationship and dialogue: the socio-cognitive environment in which learning can occur.
References
Fred Lockwood, Activities in Self-Instructional Texts, Open and Distance Learning Series, Kogan Page, 1992, p. 122, p. 129
Derek Rowntree, Preparing Materials for Open, Distance and Flexible Learning; An Action Guide for Teachers and Trainers, Open and Distance Learning Series, Kogan Page, 1994, p. 14
Seen and heard: November 2012
The Australian Voices - antipodean a capella choir, performing new (and fun) Australian music at a Milton Keynes church.
Graham Gibbs keynote address at faculty workshop - inspirational reminder of how assessment shapes student learning behaviour, unproductively or productively, from one of the gurus of learning design.
Secret State - Channel 4 drama, with Gabriel Byrne playing a decent and honest Prime Minister. The journey was better than the destination, and altogether not a patch on its predecessor A Very British Coup.
Last Tango in Halifax - BBC romantic comedy, with Derek Jacobi and Ann Reid as teenage would-be sweethearts reunited in their senior years. Great to see a drama in which the old folks are normal and its the younger people who are in chaos.
The Hour, Series 2 - BBC drama set in (BBC) 1960s newsroom; no great depth, but full marks for style and performance.
Giulio Cesare
(Julius Caesar) - video
recording of David McVicar's hit 2005 Glyndebourne production of Handel's opera, shown at The Stables as a half-day event with a long interval for picnic lunch; definite added value over watching the DVD at home.
Sunday, 18 November 2012
Turning junk into art: the Facebook song
One of the joys of
television in my childhood was watching Tony Hart - first on Vision On and then
on Take Hart - produce simple and beautiful drawings and paintings with
apparent casualness and effortlessness. He had a trick of starting with a
collection of rubbish - bits of paper, cardboard, metal, plastic, printed or
plain, "any old load of junk" as he would say" - and then
"get organised": arrange selected pieces on a backing sheet so that
when he put a frame around them they looked great. A work of 'art, you might
say.
The Australian composer Gordon Hamilton has done something similar, turning status updates from his Facebook friends into a vocal piece for his choir, The AustralianVoices. I had the pleasure last week of hearing them perform it live during a concert in Old Wolverton's Holy Trinity Church; they invited Polymnia, the choir I sing in, to do a guest spot in their concert, which was pretty cool too. The song takes its title from the first of the status updates: "Toy Story 3 = Awesome". Lee Unkrich, the director of Toy Story 3, loved it, and you will too.
I'm not sure what the relevance for learning materials is, other than the obvious one: it's not what you've got, it's what you do with it that counts.
The Australian composer Gordon Hamilton has done something similar, turning status updates from his Facebook friends into a vocal piece for his choir, The AustralianVoices. I had the pleasure last week of hearing them perform it live during a concert in Old Wolverton's Holy Trinity Church; they invited Polymnia, the choir I sing in, to do a guest spot in their concert, which was pretty cool too. The song takes its title from the first of the status updates: "Toy Story 3 = Awesome". Lee Unkrich, the director of Toy Story 3, loved it, and you will too.
I'm not sure what the relevance for learning materials is, other than the obvious one: it's not what you've got, it's what you do with it that counts.
Learning to self-assess: lessons from Graham Gibbs and Prue Leith
After he'd given the
keynote address at my faculty's workshop on assessment, Graham Gibbs was rather
worried that he'd been teaching grandmothers to suck eggs. Despite being one of
the gurus of learning design, having occupied key positions at Oxford
Brookes and Oxford University, like
many people coming (or, in his case, coming back) to talk to the Open
University, he was concerned that he didn't have anything to offer to an
institution whose practice was already good and whose student satisfaction
scores were excellent.
I reassured him that
his talk and his presence had been valuable. Even if he hadn't said anything
that was wholly new to anyone there - the principles of good assessment are,
after all, like the principles of good usability, pretty stable and have been known
for some time - these were still things of which we needed to be reminded,
because we tend to forget them in the pressure of production and delivery.
Like, for example, the principle that we should be equipping students to
self-supervise and self-assess; not only does it save on staff time, but it
gives them the ability to keep on learning and improving when we're not there
to assess them, long after their course has finished.
By way of thanks, I
shared with him - and I'll now share with you - a favourite anecdote about Prue
Leith, whom I saw interviewed back in the 1990s about her cookery school. The interviewer
asked her what was the first thing she taught her students, which was a pretty
interesting question: traditionally cookery courses have started with boiling
an egg (Delia Smith still did so in her 1970s TV series), so I wondered whether
her school would do the same, or if not what else would be the first thing she
got them to cook.
I wasn't expecting
her answer. "I teach them to taste." And of course, once said, it's
obvious: it's the fundamental skill for a cook. If you know how to assess your
food, and correct and improve it, you can do anything; and if you don't, all the
recipes in the world won't help you. I think more of our courses could begin
with teaching people to taste, or the subject-relevant equivalent, even if it's
not what students are expecting, or - they think - why they've enrolled on the
course.
Seen and heard - October 2012
Alexei
Grynyuk (young Ukrainian pianist) - playing Chopin and Liszt for a live broadcast at The Stables.
The Sixteen, "The Earth Resounds" - concert in their 2012 Choral Pilgrimage, at Milton Keynes City Church, singing Josquin, Lassus and Brumel.
Strictly Come Dancing, followed by Merlin, followed by Inspector Montalbano - Autumn Saturday evenings are complete!
Hay on Wye - the town of bookshops: a lovely place to spend a weekend.
The Sleeping Beauty, Tchaikovsky ballet - performed by English National Ballet at the Milton Keynes Theatre - feats of grace and endurance by the female and male leads, and a great super-villain with great stage presence in the evil fairy.
Skyfall - proper script, proper acting and proper direction; has James Bond grown up?
The Sixteen, "The Earth Resounds" - concert in their 2012 Choral Pilgrimage, at Milton Keynes City Church, singing Josquin, Lassus and Brumel.
Strictly Come Dancing, followed by Merlin, followed by Inspector Montalbano - Autumn Saturday evenings are complete!
Hay on Wye - the town of bookshops: a lovely place to spend a weekend.
The Sleeping Beauty, Tchaikovsky ballet - performed by English National Ballet at the Milton Keynes Theatre - feats of grace and endurance by the female and male leads, and a great super-villain with great stage presence in the evil fairy.
Skyfall - proper script, proper acting and proper direction; has James Bond grown up?
Tuesday, 23 October 2012
Lessons from Pixar (2) - storyboarding
Seeing once again
Pixar's wonderful film The Incredibles on the big screen, as I watched the
credits go up at the end I found myself having precisely the same thoughts as
when I first saw it back in 2004. Screen after screen of names, a vast army of
animators, each of whom can only have been working on a very small piece of the
film: perhaps a few shots, lasting a matter of seconds. And yet all the pieces
had worked together to make a story which is thrilling, funny and moving. Again
I found myself wondering: how on earth do they do it? When the effects they're
aiming to achieve depend so much on precise decisions about shot composition,
movement and above all timing, how do they make sure each animator's miniscule
contribution will work together with all the others?
By contrast, in my
work life, I was at that time coming to the end of a project involving the
assembly of a huge amount of web content, the creation of which had similarly
been atomised into a vast number of minute tasks. It wasn't looking good. As we
tried to put together the tiny fragments, some of which were just a single
sentence of text, we found that some of them repeated the contents of others,
some of them no longer fitted where they were meant to go because the author
had "improved" them in the writing, and some of them, we only now
realised, could never have fitted in
their designated slot. There had been a master plan, of course, in the form of
a vast spreadsheet, but it was so complex that few people understood it, and it
was so large that it was impossible to print out the entire thing and have the text
at a size which was actually readable. And now that we were starting to see the
plan realised, we were starting to see all kinds of flaws, in terms of what it
would mean for the experience of users - in this case, students. After some
frantic editing, we managed to fix the worst of the problems before it all went
live, so as to ensure that the content actually made sense when it was read together
and that student experience would be okay. But it was never going to be great.
The experience won't be like watching The Incredibles.
So again I find
myself thinking, how do Pixar do it? Are there lessons we can learn?
As is well known,
what they do is what every animation company does: they turn the script into storyboards - a sequence of graphic images to show, in rough, what the audience
is going to see. But what I think is NOT well known is just how much detail animators
go into with their storyboards. Here for example is the storyboard sequence for
the Army men scene from Toy Story - which also shows how Pixar demonstrate it
and test it out with their staff, a presenter pointing to each storyboard as
they talk through the script and explain the key story points.
But they don't stop
there. When they've a worked-out hand-drawn storyboard sequence, they animate
it using video-editing software and set it against a temporary sound track,
with the lines spoken by members of staff. This enables them to check even more
closely how the scene will work, and to refine the pace and timing - as well as
the shot composition and script - to tell the story with the proper emotional
impact. They can also judge how the scene works in the context of the entire
film, and some scenes never proceed beyond this stage. Here for example is one
scene which was deleted from Ratatouille: the heist scene, in which the rats
act as a team to steal food from the restaurant's rubbish bins, and Remy, who
is supposed to be keeping lookout, becomes distracted by the vision of the
splendid cuisine being prepared in the kitchen.
To sum it up, Pixar
use their storyboards to make an entire film in rough, before they ever switch
on their computers.
Contrast that with
the type of student-experience planning which is described as
"storyboarding" in online learning. The term was borrowed by the
producers of multimedia applications in the 1990s, for their detailed records
of the text, pictures, AV and interactions which would appear on screen
together (see the linked examples at the bottom of this page from Michael Verhaart's teaching wiki ); but these
"storyboards" were primarily used as assembly instructions for those
building the applications, and insofar as they were used for testing, it was
for testing usability, as a kind of low fidelity prototype, not for testing
higher-order user experience. Today, in
online learning, as used by the University of Leicester for example, the term
"storyboarding" seems to mean little more than putting the components
of learning design into temporal sequence - an important piece of planning, to
be sure, but quite remote from learner experience; you couldn’t talk through
one of these storyboard sequences, like a Pixar presentation, and expect the
audience to experience anything like what is supposed to be experienced by the
learners.
Of course, the
experience of studying an online course is very different from the experience
of watching an animated film, which makes it intrinsically less suitable to
storyboarding. For one thing, watching a film is strictly linear, whereas in a
course a learner will switch their attention from place to place and even in a
linear sequence will move backwards and forwards. For another, a film lasts
matter of minutes or hours, rather than the tens or hundreds of hours entailed
in studying a course, so it would be impractical to reproduce the experience in
anything like real time. A third difference
is that a film is (usually) intended for the general public, so its developers
themselves are part of the intended audience, whereas following a course
(usually) requires previous knowledge and understanding (to say nothing of
interest in the subject!) so developers are typically not able to work through
a storyboard and experience anything like an intended student.
Nevertheless, I
think we should continue to strive to find ways to prototype not just the
product, not just the usability, but the learner experience - and to prototype
it in as close and as detailed a way as possible. Otherwise, our design efforts
will focus on what is easy to plan and test, the delivery of information,
without properly thinking about what learners will do with it, let alone how
they will learn from it. Can we produce courses which are as great and
compelling as the great Pixar films? Yes, I think we can, but to do so we need
to design and craft the learner experience
at just as fine a level of detail, and not simply generate content.
Postscript
Harley Jessup, a production designer at Pixar quoted by Ian Sansom, provides some interesting details of the number of paper storyboards created for various Pixar films, for example: The Incredibles 21,081; Monsters Inc. 46,024; Ratatouille, 72,000.
Postscript
Harley Jessup, a production designer at Pixar quoted by Ian Sansom, provides some interesting details of the number of paper storyboards created for various Pixar films, for example: The Incredibles 21,081; Monsters Inc. 46,024; Ratatouille, 72,000.
Tuesday, 9 October 2012
The case for formal learning - by Millie (aged 16)
For the past few
years, the cutting edge talk has been about informal
learning and the death of formal courses and formal educational institutions,
now that the internet can provide a learner with so much information to study
and so many other learners to whom to connect. This year, with the rise of the MOOC (Massive Online Open Course - see review by John Daniels), the trending talk seems to be swinging back
towards the traditional course, even if not the traditional institution.
So I was amused to
re-discover, while clearing out my clipping collection, a brilliant statement
of the case for traditional formal learning, made by a 16-year-old schoolgirl
in 2005.
Millie Wilcox (aged
16, from Birmingham), was asked by a Guardian journalist whether she thought
English at school should be about classics such as Chaucer or about writing
skills. Her answer included the following.
The really good thing about doing literature in school is that often you have a book and you think "Oh no" but once you've been through it in class and it's been explained to you, you realise it's really good. We've done Pride and Prejudice and when I saw how long it was, I thought it would be really dull and boring. But in fact it's better than the TV programme. Some bits of Shakespeare are good, too. There are some books you just read for fun, but some you need help to get into.
All of which could
be (and has been) said at much greater length by learning theorists and by
learning and teaching consultants (such as Clive Shepherd). But I prefer Millie's down-to-earth and
learner-centred formulation. The case (or place) for formal learning is for
those things you just wouldn't study on your own ("you think 'Oh
no'", "really dull and boring"), but when you have studied them thanks to the compulsion of
a formal programme you're glad you did ("better than the TV").
Get that:
"better than the TV programme". Respect, teacher. Respect,
Austen. And respect, Millie.
Reference: The Guardian, 26 April 2005, "Multiple choice: should we study classics such as Chaucer, or concentrate on writing skills?"
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