My last couple of posts have focused on Dylan’s love of paintings and my attempts to understand the role of art in his life. In order to do this I identified imagery which Dylan seems to respond to and constructed a therapeutic narrative around it. A comment on my last post, however, reminded me that I was making assumptions about Dylan’s viewing. How could I be sure Dylan was responding to the images in a painting? Perhaps he was attracted by the light or by a picture’s lines?
My initial reaction to the question ‘why don’t you ask Dylan what he likes about the paintings?’ was that I couldn’t. He (I mean we) don’t have the language. But the question set me thinking. Maybe Dylan was indeed gazing at darkness rather than thinking ‘rock’, or enjoying the quality of contrast rather than the thing I call ‘a cross’. I convert the light and the dark, the colours, shapes and lines to concrete nouns for Dylan but perhaps what he likes about the paintings aren’t the things I give him words for.
Maybe I need to view Dylan’s paintings with the part of my brain which sees spatially instead of with language. Rather than labelling objects in a painting I could offer Dylan the spaces and shade. Such an approach would fit with what I have already learned about the way he sees the world. Elsewhere I have described how Dylan sees hair on trees instead of leaves and tells me that the cheese is crying when I melt it. I have suggested that Dylan’s lack of language might allow him to experience phenomena more intimately and intensely than I am able to because he uses his senses rather than these inadequate words. Dylan’s perception of the world, I have speculated, may be right-brained whereas mine is left; where I see ‘curtain’ Dylan might see silver light spilling from a vertical edge.
I must have been thinking about this a few days later when I picked up a magnetic letter from Dylan’s bedroom floor. Because I was about to say ‘Oh look Dylan there’s a letter’ or ‘look here’s a W’ when I remembered Elisa’s question ‘Why don’t you ask Dylan what he likes about the paintings?’. Could I be open-ended about the W? Could I ask Dylan what I had found on the floor?
Oh look. What’s this Dylan?
I stared at him in shock. Then I asked again.
You should have seen my face 🙂 I cracked such a grin. What a gift. Dylan sometimes hands me these, unasked for, but I might never have received this one if I hadn’t asked the question that way. The see-saw was my first open-ended gift.
Dylan’s magnetic W is the same shape as the version produced by a keyboard: not actually ‘double U’ (as the letter is pronounced in English) but rather ‘Double V’ (as it is pronounced in French). Although this version of W is commonplace today, when I was a child it had curves not angles. In handwriting lessons we were taught to practice forming our Ws by joining Us together and moving our hand briskly and freely across the page, line after line.
Just like Dylan I made letters into pictures. My friends and I thought we were terribly risqué when (collapsing in giggles) we decorated our UUs with squiggles and dots to turn them into bottoms and bosoms. Perhaps I didn’t see a see saw because of the cursive way we wrote our Ws but I can’t help thinking that had I looked carefully – as Dylan does – I might have seen a swing boat.
As well as the mismatch between the visual ‘W’ and the heard shape ‘UU’ I encountered other problems with this letter as a child. I remember sitting on the back step of a friend’s house on a warm day one long school holiday. We had got the writing bug and were sitting in the sun with paper and pens. I don’t know how old we were – perhaps seven or eight, maybe a little older. I remember my friend asked her dad, working in the drive nearby, for a spelling.
How do you spell daffodil?
D- a- double f – o – d – i – l
I had never heard anyone use the ‘double letter’ device before. I remember I felt anxious about the letters I had heard but didn’t have the confidence to ask my friend’s dad to repeat them. I did my best but something seemed wrong with my word: Dawfodil. It looked a bit odd. I wasn’t going to question my friend’s dad though.
Suddenly he was hovering above me, looking down at my page: ‘What have you got there?’, he asked, ‘Why have you written a W?’ He had said W I told him. He checked his daughter’s writing; she hadn’t made the same mistake. My friend must have heard the double letter expression before but it was unfamiliar to me; I had assumed a letter with a ‘double’ sound in it meant W. Afterwards I would use the double device triumphantly and often:
M – i – double s – i – double s – i – double p – i
I’d do well to remember the confusion and anxiety I felt about my dawfodil though; it might help me understand just a stamen of being Dylan.
Because the names, shapes and sounds of letters aren’t intuitive or easy, attempts have been made by practitioners and publishers to develop teaching resources and methodologies. Whether or not these help probably depends on an individual child’s learning style. A kinaesthetic learner, for example, might respond to the Steiner approach to learning the alphabet through music, movement and drama. This method involves children physically taking on the attributes of each of the letters of the alphabet and embodying learning through the senses. The magnetic letters which I use with Dylan are also aimed at children who learn through their senses as they can be experienced by touch and smell as well as sight.
As a phonetic method the commercial resource Letterland focuses primarily on sound. Available in a range of formats (jigsaw, books, video etc) it works through the association of each letter with an alliterative character (human or animal). So, for example, C is Clever Cat, J is Jumping Jim and W is Walter Walrus (though when my children were small it was Wicked Water Witch). Many children respond well to the Letterland alphabet – I remember my step daughter liked it and it really did seem to help her developing literacy. It doesn’t suit every child though; my daughter was lukewarm about it and it never held any interest for Dylan. Now, perhaps, I can understand why; Dylan doesn’t hear a Walrus, he sees a see saw.
Just as I put a ‘w’ in daffodil because I thought I heard one, perhaps Dylan visualises see saws in words with w:
I have been wondering what else Dylan sees in the letters of the alphabet. One day I will ask him but not all at once as it would overwhelm him. I’ve tried to guess though – O could be wheel perhaps:
If Dylan sees letters as objects unconnected with the sounds they represent then it must be very hard for him to make sense of letters as signifiers. To my knowledge the only group of letters Dylan recognises is ‘Dylan’ and this is because he has been exposed to them as a sequence rather than as individual characters. What might be the implications for supporting literacy development in children and adults with autism and learning disability? Based on my limited observations of Dylan I would hazard that for some young people the ‘look say’ method might be a more appropriate approach than a phonetically-based system. Learning words certainly seems more effective than learning letters for Dylan and if I had his early years again this is probably what I would focus on. Then again, that way I might have missed the see saw…
The daffodils are via publicdomainimages.net; the swingboats are via wikipedia; the Letterland book is via Amazon and the other photos are taken by me. The picture of Dylan on a seesaw (aged three) was taken in France in 1997.