Criss-crossing.

criss-cross

ˈkrɪskrɒs/

verb

gerund or present participle: crisscrossing

1. form a pattern of intersecting lines or paths on (a place).

   
   

   "the green hill was criss-crossed with a network of sheep tracks"

   • move or travel around (a place) by going back and forth repeatedly.

     
     

     "the President criss-crossed America"

   
   

We set up the meeting for 15:00 Finnish time. 

I am never quite sure whether in France we are one hour ahead or behind. 

Leena found the mistake...

It was one hour behind.

A week or so before, I had sat with a Maritta from Finland, Terry in the US, Teresa in the UK and Marcin in Poland on a smartphone and a group of French teachers talking about higher education in an age of technology and connectivity saturation.

They had talked of the lack of training in pedagogy in their context.

They had showed interest in the possibilities of continuing conversations between countries, of investigating the possibilities sharing their pedagogical practices and discovering those of others.

The days before I had been busy with facilitating exchanges between French, Polish and UK students as part of the CLAVIER project.

#clavedu @WarwickLanguage @RoselyneHenry1 @mcrustan @makle1 @MarittaRiekki @LauraTommaso1 #warcler #kracler to be continued... pic.twitter.com/zmq5zfv3yk

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) March 22, 2017

It was the third and fourth time that we had had physical exchanges with students from Poland and the UK.

It is these criss-crossing of paths which enable us to learn deeply and gradually to change together.

It is a slow at times pain-staking process.

I am currently reviewing and mapping out my reflection here in this blog concerning the CLAVIER.

Having written at speed, now I am going back slowly trying to get an overview, an other view.

Criss-crossing.

So there we were, Christine, Leena, Maritta, and myself in a hangout.

If with Leena and Maritta we have been in contact for two or three years, the time taken to really understand each others' contexts has been limited.

I had sketched out some possibly areas of converging interests for conversation during the hangout and sought to find out whether we might find spaces to work together.

Just before the hangout, I engaged in a short Twitter conversation with Jesse Stommel who I noticed had tweeted the following:

Higher education pedagogy, as a field, remains strangely marginalized to the point of being almost nonexistent at most institutions.

— Jesse Stommel (@Jessifer) March 22, 2017

Thereon there was a rapid exchange of tweets between the US, the UK and perhaps elsewhere.

Meanwhile we concentrated on the hangout.

Time was short, it felt, only an hour to try and explain my thinking and to attempt to find some sort of common ground.

Retrospectively that was perhaps absurd.

We need so much time to make sense of contexts that we have never lived.

I think now of all the time - the five or six years of I have spent criss-crossing the English channel, getting to know the context of the language centre in Warwick University.

As I spoke more and more, I felt more uncomfortable.

I felt that the picture that I was painting was difficult for Leena and Maritta to decode or at least to translate into their very different context.

I am becoming to realise that there is a chasm between work in an English language centred philology department and traversal foreign language service like the one in which I am employed.

As we teachers we have much in common with the librarians with whom we collaborate.

We are subject neutral, even if we get to specialise over the years within specific departments.

It is this element about my work which I enjoy, the ability to cross disciplinary boundaries.

It seems that these question of boundaries, national, institutional, social, disciplinary are at the forefront of our concerns today.

During the hangout Christine had a back-grounded telephone conversation going on in her office which with the audio system became fore-grounded at times during the hangout.

Open conversation across boundaries is not without obstacles.

And yet we are thrown together by this "internet" this global network.

If some are free, have the power to pass through boundaries with impunity, we inevitably get pulled back into the little boxes within which we are grounded.



I am looking forward to Maritta coming to France in June so that we may deepen our understanding of our contexts and to speak of possible ways forward.

I am wondering whether Maritta, Leena and Christine will share their reflections on our meeting, will meet me and others on Twitter to connnect.

I look forward to reading and hearing more of their stories.

Will their student teachers finish by working with us in Clermont Ferrand?

Will their teachers exchange what it is to work in these strangely connected times?

Will we learn to work together over time?

Time will tell.

In the meantime I will continue my reflective path.

It is when those distant voices come to people our little boxes an instant and change it for ever that we realise that we do indeed share a common and for ever shifting ground.

It is that curious attachment which brings us together despite all our differences to meet and so to learn and to grow which fascinates me.

Of all the people who might have shared their attention, it was them, then.

I went back to Storify the conversation which had happened during our hangout.

Another line of thought to follow....

Say 'how' and die.

“I hate reality but it's still the best place to get a good steak.” 

Woody Allen

Not being John Wayne.

Nobody ever asked me to play John Wayne.

I got to be Indians quite a lot.

Indians said 'How' and died.

Not a Western.

The missionaries were those ones clothed in black and white photos looking a lighter shade of grey.

The Indians were those ones clothed in black and white photos and a loin cloth looking a darker shade of grey.

The missionaries were vaguely heroic, this much I had learnt from stories of David Livingstone in Africa.

I was never quite sure what to make of the Amazonian Indians.

They were aphone and alien.

They looked sort of scared.

I was never quite sure how I would play being an Amazonian Indian.

Did they say 'how'?

I suppose they probably died.

I never really thought about it.

I had never seen Amazonian Westerns.

Being John Wayne.

I was between jobs, an actor.

That always made doing crap jobs a liveable fantasy.

I suppose it would not have been liveable if they had not been short enough to be the between.

It was always a miracle to me that the person on the end of the line would actually sign a contract as a result of me burbling away at him for three minutes about how advertising could work for him.

The contract, signed, was a proof of existence, a sort of message from the other side.

Perhaps, I hadn't been in contact with the spirit world after all.

Telesales is real...really.

Not being John Wayne.

I sort of knew that my parents had not actually ceased to exist when I was at boarding school.

Their weekly letters, I suppose, were supposed to be proof of a deep attachment.

I was deeply attached.

I was not actually sure whether to be happy or to cry.

I became aphone.

They became aphone.

I have proof that they have ceased to exist now...of sorts.

They still talk to me.

Maybe I am in touch with the spirit world.

I am still deeply attached.

Maybe Amazonian Indians are in touch with my parents too?

Not being John Wayne.

I used to change my name.

Nobody used to challenge my alias.

I was another.

......


I am another now.

I am insaisissasable. (oh dear I can't spell that b. word)

I can't think of another word for NOW.

French will have to do.

I am not what you imagine.

I am not what I imagine.

I am not John Wayne.

I am not a missionary.

I am not an Indian.

I have no proof of my continuing existence.

I live in a spirit world.

I will be your Indian.

No!

Really!

Indians say 'How' and then they die.

Footnotes.

This piece was inspired by many close distant friends and two  great blog posts linked here:

Autumm Caines.

A Sort of “In Love”: What is it About Play?

Maha Bali

Because Virtual is also Real. What's authenticity anway?

I wanted to copy a quote via Catherine Cronin here for future reference. (can't remember why).

“The internet does not produce a new kind of identity, but has instead been instrumental in raising awareness that identities were more multiple, culturally contingent and contextual than had previously been fully appreciated.”

Ah yes, now I do...

Permutations

The community observer noted down my position and my role and the way that I connected to my fellow community members.








It appeared that clearly identifiable apprentices were grouped around my work position taking notes.

From time to time one of the apprentices took on my role and I gave them what appeared to be encouragement.

The observer wouldn't have been able to note the subtexts...

The observer wouldn't have been able to note the chemistry.

That would have been lost on him.

He didn't bat an eyelid.

He had quite enough data for his purposes.

We didn't bother to wonder what they observer was up to, we were too busy working to ask.

We ambled off to lunch.

I have been thinking about permutations in rhizo14 (as one does).

There has been a certain amount of discussion as to whether WEs constituted networks, swarms, communities, groups etc.

Is there not a case for suggesting that one must use a series of terms which are necessarily interconnected and permeable to talk of activity at a nexus of discourses?

I am simultaneously operating within networks, family, friendship affiliations, professional affiliations, time zones, operating systems, applications, languages, gender affiliation and so on..

Combinations of these attachments are constantly being weighed up consciously or unconsciously and constitute an ever changing and mutating ecosystem.

I have the impression that there has not been enough analysis of the varying and often competing attachment patterns between nodes at microlevels in the #rhizo14 netverse.

Tensions in competing attachment potentials are both inevitable and no doubt desirable.

Grouping of 'individuals' in 'clubs', 'communities', collectives is both a operational necessity and an endless source of bickering.

How far are tensions embedded in the technology which is used?

Can I make the hangout?
Will I be alone in my hangout square or with others?
How can I find my footing in a Twitter torrent?
How can I feel part of a group which is active when I am asleep?
How far I am aware of the ripples from the secret DM conversation?


What might have been seen as "rhizo14" from certain perspectives (more or less conveniently) was often more perhaps a continuation of previous or parallel cMOOC affiliation, #ds106, #clmooc, #edmooc.  

At the heart of much of the activity is academic discourse: research, abstracts, papers, conferences, phds.

Rhizo14 has been a useful hive for extracting conference honey.

There was no hierarchy in Rhizo14?
I fear that this is far from the truth.
A Keynote is not key for nout.

Rhizo14 has been a useful tree (he chokes) which might also hide the deeper forest ecosystem.

I suppose this is what I was evoking when I wrote Submission.

Rather than looking wider, at MOOC level we need to scratch around in the undergrowth, we need to timelapse what emerges, how we ourselves are caught between flow and critical ebb...

There is also the importance of wonder at what patterns emerge from nature.

Such patterns go beyond what is human and such feelings are inevitably uncomfortable.

Oh marvellous I am a bee...

Is it perverse to look at the microcosmos of a MOOC?

As I am writing this, I am at a nexus of competing discourses:

It is morning, breakfast time, Monday is the start of class, CLAVIER web site needs working on, the pleasure of writing here, the desire to put my thoughts out in some sort of form drives this on, I have been reflecting on the complexity of what brings us together and what takes us apart.

I feel somehow part of a wider discussion.

There are those clouds of competing memories, sensations,desires, thoughts, instincts which come together at a point HERE to result in this being written.

I don't really know why, but it's fun.

Image credits

Composition of permutations corresponds to multiplication of permutation matrices.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Permutation#/media/File:Symmetric_group_3;_Cayley_table;_matrices.svg

Connecting desire(s).

ALTc 2015 has been a packed conference for me working from Clermont Ferrand in France.










When Maha Bali asked me whether I fancied doing a bit of "virtual buddying" for Virtually Connecting, I was really pleased that I would have an excuse to concentrate a little more than in the past on what was going on in the conference taking place in Manchester.

The fact that it was taking place in Manchester also strengthened my attachment to the conference as I had studied there and had lived there for over seven years.

I could really situate the proceedings, somewhere along Oxford Road...

The identification was deepened by the fact that I had already met a number of the people lined up by Maha and Rebecca Hogue to connect in the hangouts.

I had already met Steve Wheeler and Catherine Cronin in Plymouth at the Pelecon conference in 2012, and Teresa Mackinnon has been my close colleague and friend for over four years for the CLAVIER project.

Then there were other people who I had already met in hangouts. Maha, I had hung out with during #rhizo14 and in a session for Connected Learning TV and EdConteXts,  Keith Hamon and I had had a number of  #clavpicnics with Terry Elliott the year before (was it so long ago?), Autumm Caines, Suzan Koseoglu and Wendy Taleo I had met up the day before to prepare for the Virtually Connecting sessions.

I had been somewhere there with them, at the same time.

Then it starts getting confusing for me...

Swarms and blurring boundaries

I had never ever spoken to or been in a synchronous hangout with Rebecca, Sarah Honeychurch, Bonnie Stewart, Alan Levine, Jonathan Worth, Amy Burvall, Martin Hawksey, Lisa Hamershaimb before. I had, however, previously watched them speaking in previous assorted hangouts, videos.

Sarah and Rebecca, Maha and Keith had been fellow swarmees during work on an article for Hybrid Pedagogy and associated (ad)ventures.

Alan, Jonathan, and Amy, I had come to know through Connected Courses.

Martin Hawksey has been a constant life-saver to me for all things social network analysis.

Martin Weller, I was familiar with from some of his work, his blog and a short appearance in #rhizo14 concerning a shed in Arkansas (what the hell was that about?).

Stephanie Loomis, I had come across during CLMOOC.

Sue Beckingham I had sort of come across during the #blimage thingy via Steve Wheeler.

Others were completely new to me: Kate Bartlett, Rebecca Smallshaw, Cinzi Pusceddu, Rayane Fayed, Rachel Hammel, Joseph Murphy, George Station (though maybe he was familiar too because of Digiped?) Laura Czerniewicz but were no doubt connected to others that I knew.

In the playground

When I look at this, it seems that there was, to use a word Martin Weller used in one of the hangouts, an identifiable 'gang' that I had been playing with and another part of a same (?) ever fluctuating and diversely connecting gang-crowd, some of whom I had been observing on the other side of the playground, (I can't think of a better way of explaining it) with whom I felt, I feel attachment.

Is this real or virtual attachment?

We are surely not attached for the same reasons or with same perceptions...or are we?

I am not quite sure if I were to take a Hawkseye (as in Martin Hawskey) view of the network if I would understand better the complex patterns of which I am a tiny but, for me at least, signifying part.

We are no doubt attached even when we are not aware.

Identity parades...

Whose we is we?

Whose they is they?

Whose I am I?

Who am I now?

Who was I then?

Signfiers...

What does all of 'this' mean, taken as a whole? (Where do I draw the line for this?)

There is perhaps a latent desire to connect more closely in some way, or at least to announce some sort of tribal belonging.

We no doubt recognise each other by those or what we have in common.

What is this swarming tribe of which I am a part?

Is this real, is this virtual, is this...?

Tribe, seems to me to be too rigid a term.

Swarm seems rather less than human.

Where or what is our commonality?

Where do we find common ground?

Coming back to ground ALTc

When I look at this, with a little distance... there are a number of things which stike me.

1) I have many real friends who I have never met offline. These friendships are not virtual.

2) I am not sure that I would have been able to have so many useful conversations with these people had I been in Manchester for the conference.

3) I am sure that the effort invested in Virtually Connecting and the engagement made both deepened my ties with the people present (in the hangouts) and with the conference proceedings.

4) I developed immediately transferrable skills in the setting up of hangouts on air, the animation of discussions, and in dealing with distant time-zones.

5) I gained enormously from working in a team. You learn much about people when you do more than discuss or exchange tweets or comment on blog posts. You learn about their professional qualities, you learn from them and expand your own knowledge.

6) None of this would have happened, perhaps, if I had not been able to engage with  a 'gang' in #rhizo14.

7) There is something quite absurdly moving about being together with people who have made the effort to get up at five o'clock in the morning, to stay awake until three o'clock in the morning, to be with somebody in spring when I am in (he hesitates...where am I?)..er autumn, to be with someone in a place where it never snows, with someone in a place where it often always rains, with someone in a place where it often always snows, with someone in place where the cockrel crows, with a bunch of people in a hotel bar in a place which used to be my home, with others off-screen, who I have met before online, looking after a little girl who appears in hangouts with her mum,  with at just that moment my little daughter who appears in her bedroom to say hi.

8) I am left with new attachments, a playlist memory aid, a number of impressions of a conference and a swarm of difficult questions.

Memories at play

So, these were memorable moments, these moments remind me of being in another place rehearsing for a play.

We were a team brought together around a play.

We brought ourselves to the play and the play changed.

We were a little world for a moment.

We were somewhere else.

We were in between.

In between is really no where you can go alone.

Real place out of time

It's a real place that I remember.

We were there...

Connecting places in between

And then it came back to me.

This place, I had already given a name.

I went to Plymouth in 2012 "In search of Nomad's Land".

I came back to the edge of chaos in my daughter's bedroom, with its pink curtains, with its curiously arranged toys, I sat down with a tame tiger and I knew that I had found it.


P.S.

The density of the 'network' in the post became apparent to me when I started inserting links to the various nodes which underpin it.

Nomad's Land is clearly of indiscriminate size, has an ever fluctuating population, and is in a time zone where time itself has gone crazy...