To try to teach what cannot be taught: life itself...life as such...and a structure of feelings: a constant struggle to teach where teaching fails...has to fail...must fail and yet go on in an effort to take one through that...'aesthetic education' in our day and world...
For me, teaching is woven into the history of my subjective life...Born in a family of teachers, it has constituted me in a way right from the days when I would wake up in the morning, a little boy, to the sights and sounds of teaching...
Teaching for me is that excited invocatory act of the body, the passion for transmission, a passion to make others passionate...there is resonance even when it fails...
Love for my mother who taught me the English language and my father who taught me literary thinking and all my teachers, my friends, literary writers and thinkers who have taught me what can never be taught over the years...some have transmitted more than others but I think that has to do with what I wanted to take in...
Teaching for me is that strange process of translation which moves back and forth between company and solitude, pushing the singularity of the learner with the teacher's own singularity until they can be placed right beside each other.
Teaching and learning is that magical crossing of desires...for the act of teaching, each one of my teachers will always be unforgettable to me...
Finally, in fidelity to the necessary impossibility called teaching that I have come to love over the seesawing years of my life...
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