Dr. Rhonda Richmond
In my last blog, I discussed painting to learn and tried to distinguish it from the concept of seeing in pictures, championed by Temple Grandin. Temple explains that, unlike many people who think in words, her mind processes information visually like a series of detailed snapshots or video clips. Grandin’s ability to see in pictures demonstrates how non-verbal or visual thinkers can approach problems creatively and make valuable contributions in fields where such thinking is an asset.
Similarly, I don’t always process words in a string of sentences unless I can take them, move them around, and turn them into some type of visual diagram. The best way I can describe it is through an experience I had three years ago. I was working on a project to outline business processes for my company’s affiliate network; I had to lay everything out on paper. I used multiple large charts, each representing different parts of the organization, and then I visualized how they all connected. I identified how many positions would be needed to run each organization effectively and outlined what roles our national organization would need to support each affiliate.
Once I had everything mapped out, I could finally see how it all fit together. After that, I stepped away and began painting. I never know what I will paint when I start—it’s just something I must do after consuming so much information. The painting process helps me think, allowing everything to settle in my mind.
After that, I can remember the overall process and how everything is connected. However, because of my learning disabilities, I won’t recall every single item I worked on—that takes an entirely different process (we will dive into that later). But now that I’ve processed the information visually and artistically, it’s accessible to me, and I can teach or apply it when needed.
The unfortunate part of all this is how much space my version of thinking requires. I might need a forest of my own, and I should purchase stock in paper, paints, canvases, and brushes—I tend to use a ton of them.
Take these two paintings, for instance (Mask and Un-Natural both pained in 2014)
In my last blog, I discussed painting to learn and tried to distinguish it from the concept of seeing in pictures, championed by Temple Grandin. Temple explains that, unlike many people who think in words, her mind processes information visually like a series of detailed snapshots or video clips. Grandin’s ability to see in pictures demonstrates how non-verbal or visual thinkers can approach problems creatively and make valuable contributions in fields where such thinking is an asset.
Similarly, I don’t always process words in a string of sentences unless I can take them, move them around, and turn them into some type of visual diagram. The best way I can describe it is through an experience I had three years ago. I was working on a project to outline business processes for my company’s affiliate network; I had to lay everything out on paper. I used multiple large charts, each representing different parts of the organization, and then I visualized how they all connected. I identified how many positions would be needed to run each organization effectively and outlined what roles our national organization would need to support each affiliate.
Once I had everything mapped out, I could finally see how it all fit together. After that, I stepped away and began painting. I never know what I will paint when I start—it’s just something I must do after consuming so much information. The painting process helps me think, allowing everything to settle in my mind.
After that, I can remember the overall process and how everything is connected. However, because of my learning disabilities, I won’t recall every single item I worked on—that takes an entirely different process (we will dive into that later). But now that I’ve processed the information visually and artistically, it’s accessible to me, and I can teach or apply it when needed.
The unfortunate part of all this is how much space my version of thinking requires. I might need a forest of my own, and I should purchase stock in paper, paints, canvases, and brushes—I tend to use a ton of them.
Take these two paintings (one below and the other attached) as an example.
“UnNatural (2013)” not only conveys the loss of several friends to breast cancer, it outlines how true knowledge comes from within the community itself. The tree behind the woman is the light (voices from the experienced community) that pushes through the darkness and not vice versa. This means that if we want people with disabilities to thrive, we must seek them out and learn from them.
“Mask (2013)” (attached) outlines what it is like to live with an invisible disability. It connects to my doctoral studies, which focused on how educational institutions create curricula without the voices of those who live with disabilities.
Both are dealing with something highly personal and very professional at the same time.
As we continue on this journey, I will continue to share insights about this process, my paintings, and student stories.
Both are dealing with something highly personal and very professional at the same time.
“Mask” outlines what it is like to live with an invisible disability. It connects to my doctoral studies, which focused on how educational institutions create curricula without the voices of those who live with disabilities.
“UnNatural” not only conveys the loss of several friends to breast cancer, it outlines how true knowledge comes from within the community itself. The tree behind the woman is the light (voices from the experienced community) that pushes through the darkness and not vice versa. This means that if we want people with disabilities to thrive, we must seek them out and learn from them.
As we continue on this journey, I will continue to share insights about this process, my paintings, and student stories.
