the disparity between the reality and his representation of it, and the period of self-conscious criticism sets in. This is, according to Lukens, the third stage in the evolution of drawing, which may be followed by a fourth stage, beginning about the fifteenth year or later, "when for some fortunate individuals, favored by environment or other stimulus, adolescence exhibits a recrudescence of the old creative power, a reinvigoration of the pristine love of producing"; but for most people the golden age of expressiveness, with its enchantment of artistic self-illusion, vanishes forever.

Inability to draw is almost universal, and even many of those who can draw fairly well in the art class, do not carry this power into their lives, do not enliven their letters with sketches, or, if they are teachers, do not talk with the chalk in that daring, suggestive way which fascinates children and vivifies all instruction. It is as if drawing were a dead language, which, like Latin, remains dead even after years of study of grammar and technique. Or have niggardliness in the use of drawing, and the unpsychological methods of presentation, developed a kind of compulsive fear and embarrassment, equivalent to stuttering in oral language? There is no need of overlaboring the suggestion, but the fact remains that the use of drawing as a means of expression suffers almost universal arrest and atrophy. "For every ten geniuses of drawing in the nursery, there remains hardly one in the high school. We are killing the art that made art." Even children in the kindergarten, working freely with the broad side of the chalk, will, after a little practice, produce landscapes possessing a real if elusive element of creativeness in them, pictures which might at least find a place in some collections of impressionistic art. And when steaming battleships,

fighting Indians, and running deer are drawn, the lines are often salient and dramatic enough to be called truly artistic. The spirit and the power which are latent in these drawings it is the duty of the schools to nourish. Nowhere does Schiller's observation seem more applicable, that if we all lived up to the promise of childhood, we should all be geniuses.

CHAPTER X

DRAMATIC EXPRESSION

The purpose of the introduction of dramatic play into the schoolroom, like so many good things too enthusiastically received, is being sadly misunderstood. The teacher with initiative seizes upon the suggestion without due consideration, interprets a bit of literature, persuades the children to memorize her interpretation, and presents a finished product to a host of admiring mothers who are unfit to criticize its educational value.

Dramatic play, the strength of which lies in artistic elusiveness, fluidity, and personal interpretation, is a constructive art, and in the process of construction lies its value. The inspired artist who gives birth to a masterpiece projects it but once upon the canvas; the victorious sculptor destroys the mold that there may be no imitators.

Dramatic play, to be valuable, should be born of the child's imaginative genius and should bear the stamp of its crudity. It should be bold, suggestive, primitive, like his drawing. Both are his interpretations of life, the one, gesture transferred to paper; the other, gesture of pantomime or dramatic representation. The development brought about by each is due to the creative attack, the quick, suggestive interpretation of thought, and also the increased curiosity in regard to life. The time and effort given to a finished play, therefore, exceed the results obtained. In its formative period dramatic representation is productive; it is these growing pains which count in education. When

the climax of growth is reached there is a rapid and steady degeneration.

The term " dramatic play" is misleading; one should say "dramatic expression" or "dramatic interpretation," which are more inclusive, and have to do with the means, not the end. Dramatic interpretation may be applied to all the work of the classroom, a vital spark of life dropped into the lap of formalism and routine. All work which is imaginative, constructive, and vivid is dramatic. It is this interpretation of the drama, rather than its more limited phase of dramatic play, which needs to find its way into the schools. I need not, therefore, necessarily give a play to use dramatic interpretation in school work, but I do need to present geography, history, and even mathematics dramatically. I must infuse an emotional quality into the ideas to be instilled, for emotion is the connecting link between facts and life. It is not only necessary that I know a fact, but I must feel it in its relation to humanity.

Dramatic representation is instinctive, and instincts dominate childhood. Through such interpretation the child touches heights and depths which otherwise might never enter into his experience. Life becomes larger as he learns to lay aside his own limitations and put himself in the other man's place. He need not wait to enlist in the army to become a soldier, nor carry a real gun to acquire a martial step. He need not do wrong himself in order to know the remorse of wrongdoing. The child is egoistic, and that which he understands must bear an intimate and personal relation. Just as he must take into his hands the concrete thing he studies, and by physical contact understand it, so, to understand thought, emotion, character, he must assimilate them, lose himself in them, and become for the time being that thing which he interprets.