Professional Documents
Culture Documents
I
keep looking for a term – the opposite of ‘a perfect storm’ – to describe the
synergy when a series of good events and people accidentally come together to
create an outcome that none could predict. That is what happened as a result of
the rare combination of creative energy and intellectual rigour in teaching visual art in
New South Wales. I was a school student in 1962 when the state’s great education
revolution, the Wyndham Scheme, began to make an impact. Teachers were anxious
but intensely focused as they faced huge changes in the curriculum. We were the first
students to spend six years in high school, and the first to have major works of art
marked externally. A generation later, when my children were at school, it was more
relaxed and more methodical. They learnt about art through different frames of
reference and produced process diaries to accompany their major works. Visual arts
had become a pathway to thinking about concepts well beyond my adolescent
experience.
As Australia inches towards a national curriculum in English, maths, history and
science, arts education is put in the too‐hard box. The arts may be increasingly
important, but the challenge of designing a curriculum that covers the visual and
performing arts, music and screen at varying levels of skill and analysis is daunting. A
patchwork of different approaches has evolved in Australia – some world leading. A
national curriculum needs to draw on the best, and find a way to navigate the
jealously protected differences between states.
Over the past three decades, the teaching of visual arts in New South Wales has
diverged from the rest of the country to become an international leader in linking
cognitive development to visual understanding. Paradoxically, one reason for this
innovative approach was the decision not to create a specialist art course until well
after other states. Instead, a series of serendipitous events supported the inverse
perfect storm: a shortage of qualified staff; an artist who was a teacher and arranged
for his students to be exhibited in commercial galleries; an innovative head of art in a
teachers’ college who was not prepared to see the discipline downgraded; a group of
education scholars who were able to apply their passion to creating an art curriculum
and an annual exhibition of students’ art that became a high‐profile media event.
T he centralised education system administered one of the largest curriculum
authorities in the world with an almost Stalinist rigor, and art had to take its
place in the system. ‘The Art Branch’ was created to supervise, control and support
the influx of teachers. Because the making, teaching and external assessment of art
needs space and creates mess, it was more convenient to locate the branch, first at
Blackfriars and later at Five Dock, away from apparent centres of power. Specialist
teachers with sufficient seniority to be head inspectors were thin on the ground, but
the fledgling subject was fortunate in that one of the first appointed was Bob Winder,
formerly a teacher at Sydney Girls’ High and later director‐general of education. He
D espite its language of high moral purpose, the Wyndham Scheme was, as the
education historian W.F. Connell notes, ‘an administrator’s reform’ closely
aligned to related reforms in other states. The art curriculum documents from the
1960s and ’70s demonstrate a belief in the psychology of creativity, an approach that
still shapes the visual arts curriculum in other states. In New South Wales, the
curriculum was ‘aimed at developing in the child the ability to think imaginatively, to
express his ideas adequately and confidently and to appreciate as far as possible what
the artist has to offer’ according to an early syllabus document. Images from art
history were to be studied to enable ‘a broad understanding, tolerance, appreciation
and the discovery of new directions’. However, sample lessons were more likely to
direct the students to paint scenes of domestic realism.
Some teachers took the words of the curriculum to heart. In Sydney’s sprawling
suburban west, Granville Boys High had no visual arts tradition. Ken Reinhard, a
teacher and practising artist, encouraged his students to make art about a thing they
liked: cars. Reinhard spoke to commercial gallery dealers and arranged class‐held
T he New South Wales innovations were resisted by other states – especially
Victoria, which was committed to an orthodox view of creativity. In the early
1990s, the opposing ideologies clashed on the political battlefield of a national
curriculum. The Dawkins restructure of education is best remembered for its abolition
of colleges of advanced education and the subsequent expansion of universities, but
he also had ambitions to create a national school curriculum. In New South Wales, the
Greiner government’s landslide victory and the Carrick and Scott Reports meant the
old education authorities were restructured and dedicated staff appointed to the new
statutory Board of Studies to work in close consultation with tertiary educators and
senior art teachers. ‘At this time we had two additional opportunities – and
curriculum is about taking and making opportunities, it being insistently political –
Neil Brown’s ongoing research principally concerning theory of mind, and the
resources being directed to the national curriculum,’ says Weate.
New South Wales was not prepared to yield. The authors of the revised
curriculum were able to convince both the Board of Studies and the politicians that the
study of visual arts represented a pathway into cognitive development, and that the