If We Took Dewey's Aesthetics Seriously, How Would

the Arts Be Taught? 1

PHILIP W. JACKSON

University of Chicago

First, a few words about the title of my remarks. Its question clearly implies that
those of us who are in any way responsible for teaching the arts in our schools
and colleges - a category that includes not only specialists in the arts but many
who teach other subjects as well, hence the word "we" - do not as a group pay
sufficient attention to Dewey's views on the subject. We do not take his aesthet-
ics seriously, is my preferred way of putting it, for although we may pay homage
to Dewey as one of the luminaries of the field and though we may even quote
him from time to time, we do not listen carefully to what he has to say, much
less try to put his ideas to work in our own teaching. Even art educators have
largely ignored Art as Experience, Dewey's sole text on the subject of aesthetics
and without doubt one of his greatest works. In a recently published history of
the field (Efland 1990) the book goes unmentioned, nor does its name appear in
one of art education's most popular textbooks (Chapman 1978). In two other
well-known texts (Lowenfeld and Brittain 1982, Feldman 1970) it receives only
the briefest of references. This persistent neglect stands in need of change. For
not only do art educators have much to gain from reading Art as Eaperience and
taking its lessons to heart, we all do.
As part of my own contribution toward rectifying that situation, I am pre-
sently at work on a project that seeks to familiarize readers with what Dewey
has to say about the role of the arts in human affairs. Within that same project
I am also trying to tease from Dewey's writings a fuller and more explicit set of
educational principles about the teaching of the arts than those contained within
the works themselves. The present paper provides a sneak preview, one might
say, of what such a set of principles might look like, though it contains at best
only a partial listing. Untortunately, I shall not have room within this piece to
ground each of the derived principles in the details of Dewey's thought. That
task will have to await the completion of the project I have just described. Here I
shall restrict my remarks to the briefest of commentary on two or three of
Dewey's key ideas, concentrating on those that seem to me most promising as
sources of pedagogical principles. Following that brief commentary I shall turn
directly to the principles themselves.
A word about audience. In the larger work that has been mentioned, I am
aiming chiefly to reach three groups of readers - classroom teachers, school
administrators, and teacher educators - few of whom, I assume, will have read
much if" any of what Dewey has written. Consequently, I plan to keep my writ-
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Studies in Philosophy and Education 13: 193-202, 1994/95.
© 1995 Kluwer Academic Publishers. Printed in the Netherlands.
194 P H I L I P W. J A C K S O N

ings as non-technical as possible and to avoid weighing it down with references

and other forms of scholarly intrusions. At the same time I would hope that
Deweyan scholars and other related specialists who might chance to read what I
have written would at least find that I have not grossly distorted either the letter
or the spirit of what Dewey has to say on the subject. If such readers additionally
found my practitioner-oriented reading of Dewey to be of heuristic worth,
I would naturally be pleased. Those same hopes and ambitions apply to this
essay as well.

DEWEY IN A NUTSHELL

In Art as Experience and elsewhere Dewey strives to convince his readers of the
continuity between experiences connected with the arts, on the one hand, and
ordinary experiences on the other. However, though they may be continuous,
these two classes of experience can be distinguished, at least in relative terms.
What distinguishes them is that the arts provide us, either as artists or as con-
sumers, with experiences that are exemplary in their unity, in their educative
potency, and in the type of consummatory pleasures they yield. What accounts
for this exemplary status is the way in which the arts refine, concentrate and
intensify those same traits and qualities that we find in every "normally com-
plete" experience. In so doing, they lead us to an enriched understanding of the
experienced object and, ultimately, to a deepened understanding of the self. The
arts reveal, in other words, what more of life could be like and, concomitantly,
what we ourselves could be like if we really worked at it. They thus call upon us
to change our lives in the direction of making ordinary experience conform more
closely than is customary to standards derived from our encounters with the arts.
In addition to calling his readers' attention to the unity of those singular expe-
riences that deserve to be called complete, Dewey also has a lot to say about the
nature of experience in general. One of his main points is that experience is
not a psychological phenomenon. It is not something that happens exclusively
"within" us, though it may certainly have components that we commonly
describe in psychological terms. Rather, experience takes place in the world
itself. It is made up of our continuous interaction and participation with the
objects, situations, and events that constitute our environment. The latter are as
much a part of experience as is the experiencer herself. Dewey also wants us to
attend to the fact that experience is both temporal and contingent (as is every-
thing else). It exists in time and it changes over time, which means it has a
history that can be described in narrative terms or in other language that seeks to
convey the changing nature of things. "An instantaneous experience is an impos-
sibility, biologically and psychologically," Dewey tells us, "An experience is
a product, one might almost say a by-product, of continuous and cumulative
interaction of an organic self with the world." (Dewey (1934) t958, 220, italics
added).
Finally, Dewey invites us to pay particular attention to two aspects of experi-
ence that we often overlook: its qualitative immediacy (a term of very special

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 IF W E T O O K D E W E Y ' S AESTHETICS SERIOUSLY 195

significance for Dewey) and its expressiveness. Qualitative immediacy refers to

the ineffable quality that accompanies all of experience, the untranslatable this-
ness and that-hess that prompts us to respond, "I just can't describe it," when
someone presses us to say precisely how a particular event or object made
us feel or what it was like as experienced. That quality of uniqueness, Dewey
insists, is always present, whether or not we attend to it.
Expressiveness, which is closely related to the notion of immediacy, refers to
the way in which meaning becomes embedded within objects and events and
remains so even should we try to extricate it. Expressive meaning, for Dewey', is
always aesthetic. It is what accounts for the transformation of physical material,
such as paint and canvas or words on a page, into a medium infused with
meaning.
Unity, temporality, immediacy, expressiveness: from this sparse handful of
premises about how the arts operate and about the nature of experience come the
ensuing set of pedagogical principles and policy suggestions.

CONSEQUENCES FOR TEACHING

One of the chief consequences of taking Dewey's aesthetics seriously would be

to bolster our argument for including the arts within the curriculum of our
nation's schools. A stronger way of putting it would be to say that if we accepted
Dewey's conception of how the arts function we might at long last be able to rid
ourselves of the exaggerated claims that so frequently serve as an explanation
for why the arts should be taught. We could replace such sentimental gobbledy-
gook with an explanation that, though more prosaic perhaps than the sentiments
foregone, would be solidly educational through and through.
The chief reason for including the arts within the curriculum, Dewey would
say, is not because they offer a means of self-expression for students, nor be-
cause they provide us with "different ways of knowing" (there is only one way
of knowing, Dewey would insist, and that is through the mode of inquiry), nor is
it yet because a study of the arts helps us to develop different parts of our brains
or different kinds of intelligences or any other sort of hidden power, psychic or
otherwise. Nor do we teach the arts in school principally because our knowledge
of them constitutes the kind of cultural literacy that E. D. Hirsch and others have
been hawking of late. We principally teach them or properly should, Dewey
would insist, because they are educative, even quintessentially so. And what
Dewey means by calling them educative is that they open the door to an expan-
sion of meaning and to an enlarged capacity to experience the world. In short,
they teach us how to live richer and fuller lives.
This does not mean that our adherence to a Deweyan conception of the arts
need prevent us (and our students) from enjoying the arts for their own sake. On
the contrary, we should always find the art to be intrinsically enjoyable, and on
some occasions that may be all we ask of them. Even within the classroom there
is nothing wrong with reading a book just for the fun of it or listening to a piece
of music for the sheer pleasure it gives. But, as educators, we should prop-

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196 PHILIP W. JACKSON

erly remain aware that classroom experiences limited to pleasure alone are
actually indulgences and must not be overdone. E d u c a t i v e experiences with the
arts move beyond enjoyment. Through the continuous seesawing of reflection-
action-reflection-action we tie the art object (whether of our own making or that
of others) to our deepest needs and interests and to what we know about the
world at large. As a result, its meaning expands, often exponentially, in both
breadth and depth.
Were we to act on Dewey's view of how the arts function we would not only
feel under some obligation to be reflective about experience, to milk it, one
might say, of its educational worth, but we would also seek to cultivate a per-
spective that allowed us to stand outside of experience, so to speak, to see it as
experience and to become aware of our part in its construction. Such a perspec-
tive could be called meta-critical or theoretical. However, desirable as such an
outlook might be, there are problems with its accomplishment.
For one thing it is unnatural. We are not used to being self-conscious about
our interactions with the world. "It is not experience which is experienced,"
Dewey reminds us, "but nature - stones, plants, animals, diseases, health, tem-
perature, electricity, and so on" (Dewey (1929) 1958, 4a). Thus, we experience
t h i n g s - objects, persons, events, situations - and we are usually so caught up
in doing so that we have neither the time nor the inclination to reflect on the
process itself. As for stepping outside of whatever we experience, that, Dewey
would insist, is a sheer impossibility. Like the spot that Archimedes sought in
his boast about how he could move the earth from the proper point of leverage,
there simply is no such place. Outside of experience there is no place to stand.
We can of course think back on experience and in that sense remove ourselves
from it, but such memories and reminiscences offer no escape hatch from on-
going experience. They constitute a part of it.
Yet, though we remain inextricably locked within the embrace of experience,
there a r e ways of learning to be more reflective about what happens to us than
we customarily are. Though we may not be able to reflect and act purposefully
at one and the same time, we certainly a r e capable of pausing in our actions and
taking time to reflect on what we have done and on what we plan to do. In teach-
ing the arts, we can certainly stress the difference between an appreciative first
encounter with a text or a performance, a time during which we purposely with-
hold critical judgment, and a second or third encounter with the same object or
performance, a time during which we become more perspicacious and allow
ourselves to take a hasher look. We can teach students to attend to the rhythm of
doing and undergoing as they work on their own constructions or seek to appre-
ciate those of others.
Time, as has been said, was a crucial variable for Dewey, one that he felt was
underemphasized if not entirely overlooked by many commentators on the
human condition. Dwey stressed the temporal nature of experience, urging us to
become sensitive to how things change at different rates. When looked upon
temporally, even the most stable object, Dewey tells us, turns out to be an event.
Mountains and stars have beginnings, middles, and endings just as do human

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 IF WE TOOK DEWEY'S AESTHETICS SERIOUSLY 197

dramas, though the phases of the physical and the organic are commonly mea-
sured on vastly different scales.
Translated into educational practice, Dewey's appreciation of the importance
of time requires that those experiences designed to be educative be given the
opportunity to develop and to reach a satisfying culmination, even though it may
seldom be a final one. In educational terms, this would mean spending much
more time than usual on a reduced number of activities and projects. It would
mean taking time to bring both in-class and out-of-class activities as close as
possible to a state of prideful completion. It would mean paying more attention
than normal to beginnings and endings, to the promise inherent in an activity
newly undertaken and to the sense of fulfillment that accompanies an activity
that has run its course. More trivially, it would mean giving up the typical one-
shot field trip to the nearest museum, the one that calls for herding bustoads of
students past as many pictures (or exhibits) as a single afternoon allows. In its
place would be substituted the trip that is carefully planned and prepared for in
advance, one in which students concentrate on a select number of objects or arti-
facts that are discussed and reflected upon back in class and are later recalled
with pleasure, sometimes for weeks or even months. Perhaps this is the way
good teachers have always handled such outings and their aftermaths, but they
would surely do so with added confidence and a heightened sense of purpose
were their natural instincts bolstered by Dewey's insights and the implicit advice
they contain.
What of the qualitative immediacy of experience? Dewey stresses the fact that
the most direct aspect of our encounters with the world - the now-hess and here-
hess and this-hess of experience - is essentially ineffable, that there is little or
nothing to say about it. What educational consequences flow from that condi-
tion?
At the close of the Tractatus Wittgenstein ((1922) 1972) offers the advice:
"Wovon man nicht sprechen kann, dartiber mull man schweigen" (What we
cannot speak about we must pass over in silence.). And from a certain point of
view that makes perfectly good sense. But from another perspective, from the
viewpoint of art, it becomes far less compelling. For art's job, Dewey tells us, is,
at least in part, to heighten our awareness of exactly those qualities of experi-
ence that elude description. Other commentators on our encounters with the arts
appear to agree. In the reading of good poetry, T. S. Eliot proclaims, our appreci-
ation and pleasure always depends on "the communication of some new experi-
ence, or some fresh understanding of the familiar, or the expression of something
we have experienced but have no words for, which enlarges our consciousness
or refines our sensibility" (Eliot 1957, 18, italics added). Though Eliot doesn't
bother to say so, the same is true of all of the other arts as well. They all, in
some measure, bring us closer to an articulation of the ineffable. They do so by a
process of selection and choice, by filtering noise from the system, in a manner
of speaking, cutting out the irrelevant, thus causing us to attend to the thing
itself. In this manner the arts force us to focus on the immediacy of objects and
events, on what originally strikes us before it becomes incorporated and ulti-

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mately absorbed beyond recognition into a vast network of personal meaning

and significance. The world as ordinarily experienced offers quite a different
picture. The way we usually look upon it is in terms of our own needs and inter-
ests and, even then, from the narrowest of perspectives. We see objects and
events not for what they are in themselves but for their functions, for the use we
can make of them in the furtherance of our own ends. The arts encourage us to
set aside, at least temporarily, that crassly instrumental view. They lead us back,
so to speak, to a more pristine vision of a more wondrous world, here is the way
another poet, Anthony Hecht, puts it:
It is the quietly heroic task of a gifted poet to recover for us the world we once knew in all its
immediate glory and infinite variety. When, in a brilliant formulation of words, we are enabled to
glimpse a rising flock of birds in the image of a drunken fingerprint, or to assemble the blurred
and brassy sensation of a red fire-truck rounding a curve, we know that a poet's genius has put
itself at the humble service of salvaging from a path strewn with the leaves of sure obliteration
something of the vivacity of the visible world and the activity of a lively and graceful mind, The
poet's task is a labor of reclamation.,. (Hecht 1994, 9).

The only change I think Dewey might want to make in Hecht's lively and grace-
ful description would be to substitute the word "grasped" for the word "knew"
in its second line. What poetry helps us recover, Dewey would insist, is not prior
knowledge but, rather, prior experience, the world we once grasped "in all its
immediate glory."
What does all of that have to do with the way we teach the arts and with
teaching in general? It means, among other things, that when teaching anything
at all we ought to encourage our students to attend to first impressions more
closely than is usual, noting the initial impact that objects and situations make
when first seized upon. For it is in our introductory engagement with the new
that the sense of immediacy predominates oi" is least likely to be overwhelmed
by the layers of meaning that custom delivers and reflection builds upon. We
ought to help our students become more closely attuned than normal to the
subtle shades of feeling - the first stirring of affection, the quizzical edge of
doubt, the slight itch of discomfort - that accompany all of experience but are
often keenest at the earliest phases of each new encounter. Love, we hardly need
be reminded, is not the only emotion prone to occur at first sight.
To make such awareness more likely among their students, teachers need
to give more thought than most presently do to how lessons are 'bound and
framed,' to the techniques of highlighting the points to be made, to the creative
use of silence as a means of allowing the immediacy of events to surface. It has
often been said that there is something theatrical about teaching but what that
observation is usually taken to mean is that the teacher standing before his stu-
dents resembles an actor on stage. Moreover, the conjured image of the teacher
as actor, commonly a "ham" actor, is usually far from flattering. But if the notion
of theatrically in teaching were interpreted more broadly and differently, if it
was used to underscore the prominence of production and presentation in
the design of lessons, the way plays are produced and presented to a (usually)
hushed and attentive audience, the metaphor might help to generate fresh ideas

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 IF WE TOOK DEWEY'S AESTHETICS SERIOUSLY 199

about how to make the immediacy of educational experiences far more vivid and
intense than is commonly the case.
The expressive dimension of experience, the capacity of objects, events, and
situations to be infused with symbolic significance, is also something that
Dewey stressed. Educators wishing to make use of his aesthetics would do well
to pay particular attention to how Dewey treated the notion of expressiveness.
To begin, the expressive qualities of a work of art are, for Dewey, quite real.
They belong to the work itself. They are inextricably in the work, whether put
there deliberately by the artist or occurring fortuitously, as by a stroke of luck.
They do not exist solely in the eye of the beholder, as beauty has been alleged to
do (mistakenly, Dewey would hold). Rather, they are among an object's or an
event's characteristic features, as much so as its mass, duration, or location.
They need not be explicitly perceived by the causal observer, no more than need
sound or color or surface texture. Indeed, those who only observe casually are
almost bound to miss them, save when they occur most blatantly, as in cheap
and sentimental art. But the fact that they may be commonly overlooked does
not make them any the less real.
For those who still cling to a beauty-is-in-the-eye-of-the-beholder point of
view, Dewey's notion of the-expressive-as-real is doubtless hard to accept.
Having been repeatly exposed in school and elsewhere to the distinction bet-
ween 'primary' and 'secondary' qualities, a differentiation initially proposed by
Democritus and later propagated by such seminal figures as Descartes and
Newton, many of us find it difficult to give up the idea that we live in a sound-
less, colorless, odorless world, whose sensory qualities reside solely within us
and not within the world itself. We tend to look upon those qualities as purely
subjective and, therefore, unreal. And if mere sensory qualities, like odors and
sounds, are viewed in this light, how much more subjective and 'unreal' do such
attributes as beauty and goodness appear to be, not to mention the vast array of
other qualities that we ascribe to objects and events?
Dewey, however, would have us understand that "(i)f experience actually pre-
sents aesthetic and moral traits, then these traits may also be supposed to reach
down into nature, and to testify to something that belongs to nature as truly
as does the mechanical structure attributed to it in physical science' ((1929)
1958, 2). Generalizing to the fullest extent possible and driving his point home
with a simple but effective analogy, Dewey goes on to observe that "(t)he traits
possessed by the subject-matters of experience are as genuine as the characteris-
tics of sun and electron" (Ibid). And here he means all the traits, not just some of
them. This would include those that can be weighed, measured, and assessed
with precision as well as those that only become manifest expressively.
The significantly of Dewey's outlook for the conduct of human affairs, which
includes teaching of course, can hardly be exaggerated. For the perspective he
has bequesthed us allows not only beauty and goodness to exist in the world but
also such in-dwelling attributes as friendliness and kindness, sadness and
cruelty, apathy and alertness, to name but a few of the characteristics we com-
monly ascribe to our fellow humans and their actions. They too occupy as secure

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200 PHILIP w. JACKSON

a niche in reality as do suns and electrons (though doubtless not as long a life-
span!). Moreover, the potential catalogue of expressive attributes has no end. It
includes not only the terms and categories we already employ in our dealings
with each other and with the world at large but also those that we and those who
come after us have yet to discern. For if there is any single point on which
Dewey stands pat it is that the meaning we affix to experience is itself infinitely
expandable.
Dewey's insistence on the objectivity of much that historically has been con-
sidered subjective is markedly at odds with today's fashionable relativity in both
the arts and the human sciences. There we find, especially among those who call
themselves 'postmodern,' a contrary insistence on there being as many interpre-
tations of reality, and hence as many realities, as there are interpreters. Such a
view is doubtless true in a trivial sense, as Dewey himself would surely concede.
What makes it so is that no two of us has exactly the same history of experience
and, therefore, we each bring to our experiencing a perspective unique in its
details if not its gross structure. Thus we each do indeed see the world in toto
rather differently. However it is only because we share a common perspective on
much of what we see and experience that language and a communal life be-
comes possible.
Reality for Dewey contains plenty of room for the exotic and the bizarre but it
is basically the world of the ordinary and the mundane that he defends and cele-
brates. It is the world we share with others, a world of commonsense and com-
munication, one whose meaning is open to change but not capriciously so. It is
one thing, he might warn, to speak of reality as being socially constructed, i.e. as
requiring language and the assent of participants who comprise communities of
discourse, yet quite another to imagine that it can become whatever each and
every experiencer (or each and every interpretive community, for that matter)
wishes it to be. For Dewey, the test of any interpretation is always its usefulness
in the design and structt~e of future experience. He thus encourages the search
for deepened understanding as a means of enriching the immediacy of all that
we encounter, while at the same time equipping us with the tools for making
future experiences even richer than they might otherwise be.
What does all of this have to do with teaching in general and with teaching
the arts in particular? With respect to the later, it chiefly serves to underscore the
importance of the arts in sensitizing us to the expressive meaning of our sur-
roundings. When taught from a Deweyan perspective, the arts ready us to per-
ceive in the world at large some of the same qualities that they themselves
manifest so intensely. As the simplest of examples, so simple as to appear trivial
perhaps, consider Van Gogh's well-known painting of a pair of peasant boots.
Our perception of the weariness and dignity embodied in the artist's depiction of
those common objects readies us to look upon the ordinary world (and not just
the boots it contains!) in a new way. It encourages us to push beyond surface
appearances, to reach down toward a level of meaning that only a steady gaze
and calm reflection have the power to reveal. Or, to take another example of

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 IF W E T O O K D E W E Y ' S A E S T H E T I C S SERIOUSLY 201

equal simplicity and familiarity, consider the four opening notes of Beethoven's
fifth symphony - the famous dot-dot-dot-dash (a Morse Code ' V ' ) that was used
by the Allies as a musical signature to symbolize "V - for Victory' in the
Second World War. Consider as well the subsequent development of that simple
musical motif throughout the work and its final resolution in the closing move-
ment. To hear the eloquence and the sense of nobility in an orchestral rendition
of those four notes, to sense the spirit of victory that the symphony as a whole
expresses, is to ready oneself to 'hear' the music of victorious struggle wherever
it might be sighted or sounded. It is noteworthy perhaps that "mood" music
crudely akin to a Beethoven symphony and sometimes even excerpted from one
often plays in the background when scenes of valor are shown in movies and on
television. Does such music help us "see" the valor on the screen more clearly?
Does it make it stand out? Arguably, it does.
The transition from coming to appreciate the symbolic in art to seeing it with
increased vividness in ordinary affairs does not happen automatically, of course.
In fact it need not happen at all, which is where teaching comes in. As the events
of World War II made horrifyingly clear to all who lived through them and even
to those who only later heard about them, it is quite possible to revel in the
majesty of a Beethoven symphony or to stand admiringly before a Van Gogh
painting just prior to committing the most inhumane acts imaginable. Unfor-
tunately, our becoming sensitive to the expressive in the arts does not guarantee
our exercising the same sensitivity in our lives in general. Nothing guarantees it,
of course, not even teachers who themselves have learned art's lessons and who
seek to apply them conscientiously in their own lives. Yet we might reasonably
expect such individuals to be of help.
How so? What might we expect them to do? Minimally we might expect them
to help their students appreciate the arts in expressive terms, causing them to
see, for example, the weary dignity in Van Gogh's peasant shoes and to hear the
majesty of Beethoven's Fifth. But it those same teachers are additionally well-
schooled in a Deweyan perspective on the arts we might anticipate that their
lessons would not stop with appreciation alone nor even with the transmission of
skills that allow students to create their own expressive objects and artifacts. Nor
would they simply inject a smidgen of art history and a dab of art criticism into
their lesson plans, as the advocates of today's Discipline-Based-Art-Education
recommend. Their lessons, in short, would not stop with the arts at all and, as a
matter of fact, if they really followed Dewey's example as revealed in Art as
Experience, they might not even start there. In his introduction to that book, its
readers will recall, Dewey does not proceed directly to a discussion of the arts.
Instead, he first treats the concept of experience in general. Only after laying a
proper foundation, one that prepares the way for a repeated return to a discus-
sion of ordinary experience, does he turn to the arts themselves. Now not even
Dewey's most ardent admirers may want to follow his example that slavishly,
yet all who teach the arts (and those who teach other subjects as well) might
profitably consider how to link their teaching, fore and aft, to the day-to-day

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experience o f their students. Particular ways o f accomplishing that goal wilt

of course vary from teacher to teacher, depending on what each is trying to
accomplish.
However, with respect to the specific problem of how the arts might be used
to sensitize students to the expressive dimensions o f ordinary experience, the
key would seem to lie in class discussions, exercises, and assignments that
encouraged students to switch back and forth from a narrow focus on an particu-
lar art object or performance to a broader perspective that embraced the contents
of their immediate surroundings and the fabric o f their daily lives. Through such
shifts of attention, guided by an understanding and skillful teacher, students may
ultimately come to discern what Dewey claims is there to be perceived by us all,
which is: "the existence of some degree o f expressiveness in the object o f every
conscious experience" ((1934) 1958, 122).
Here, then, is a preview of a few o f the more obvious pedagogical principles
that to me seem to flow rather naturally from D e w e y ' s aesthetic outlook. Others
need be added, of course, to make the set more substantial. And even those here
mentioned are surely in need of refinement and elaboration. A r t a s E x p e r i e n c e ,
together with much else that D e w e y has written, stands as an open invitation
to all who would join in deriving from it, on behalf o f ducational practitioners
everywhere, as many fruitful suggestions as possible.

NOTE

An earlier version of this paper was presented at the annual meeting of the American Educational
Research Association in New Orleans in April of 1994. Its preparation was supported by a grant
from the Spencer Foundation.

REFERENCES

Chapman, H.: 1978, Approaches to Art in Education, Harcourt Brace Javanovich, New York.
Dewey, J.: t958, Experience andNature, Dover Publications, New York. (1929)
Dewey, J.: 1958, Art as Experience, Capricorn Books, New York. (1934).
Efland, A. D.: 1990, A History of Art Education, Teachers College Press, New York.
Eliot, T. S.: 1957, On Poetry andPoets, Faber and Faber, London.
Feldman, E. B.: 1970, Varieties of Visual Experience, Prentice Hall, New York.
Hecht, A.: 1994. 'Occasions and Inscriptions',' Poetry Pilot: 8-9.
Lowenfeld, V & Brittain, W. L.: 1982, Creative and Mental Growth, Macmillan, New York,
Wittgenstein.L.: 1972, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, Humanities Press, New York. (1922).

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