Educational Technology, Teaching Fads, and the Pedagogical Toolbox

In 1913, Thomas Edison proudly proclaimed, “Books will soon be obsolete in the schools…It is possible to teach every branch of human knowledge with the motion picture. Our school system will be completely changed in the next ten years.”[1]

Perhaps we should all be reminded that Edison was not an educator. He was an inventor…and a shrewd, litigious businessman. In 1897, Edison was granted a patent for the Kinetograph, which eventually became the Kinetoscope, a device for showing early motion pictures. He also owned a majority of the other patents related to motion picture cameras. In 1909, Edison formed a group with other American film companies to create the Motion Pictures Patents Company (MPPC), which protected their patent interests and severely limited new competition. In 1917, however, the Supreme Court found the MPPC in violation of the Sherman Antitrust Act and dissolved the trust. The following year, Edison left the film industry altogether. I wouldn’t be surprised if his interest in education and motion pictures also ended at the same time.

Edison’s comments about the educational possibilities of film in 1913 should be read through his financial interests, not his pedagogical concerns. He was trying to make money in a field that is – understandably – interested in improving its methodology and overall efficacy. Moreover, Edison was part of an era where new visual media, such as glass lantern slides, stereoviews, even school museums, were championed as important advancements in education.[2] It must be added that these products were pushed by businesses equally shrewd as Edison’s company, such as the Keystone View Company which published a teacher’s guide to using lantern slides and stereoviews in the classroom, entitled Visual Education.

This trend has continued into the twenty-first century. In her review of the worst of education technology in the past decade, Audrey Watters highlights the lingering presence of commercial interests in education, placing “venture capitalism” and “(venture) philanthropy” third and second, respectively, on her list of 100 worst debacles from the 2010s (only to be surpassed by anti-school shooter software for number one). Unsurprisingly, Watters notes venture capitalists and venture philanthropists are responsible for many of the other entries on her list of the worst.

It is not uncommon when I talk to my colleagues in higher education for them to ask if the insights that I’ve gleaned from instructional development represent trends or fads. I always respond first by trying to make a fine distinction between instructional development and instructional technology, although they are inextricably intertwined. Instructional technology, by its nature, is trendy because so much money (and cultural capital) is invested in advancing technology generally. The first real wave of calls for instructional change (and arguably the origins of instructional development) came on the heels of new technological advancements in visual media in the early twentieth century. Unsurprisingly, the continued advancement of technology, with computers, cell phones, and the internet as the most recent and significant, has also led to calls for educational change, reflected in the new initiatives around the expanded use of MOOCs, phone apps, or online videos, to just name a few.

Instructional development does not tend to be as fickle, but it is also not immune to fad chasing. Nevertheless, there has been slow and steady amount of research developing a repertoire of strategies to increase teaching efficacy over the past few decades. Now-standard aspects of university education, such as formulating clear learning objectives, derived from earlier theories about criteria-referenced measures first postulated by Robert Glaser and others in the 1960s.[3] Even the more recently contentious arguments over the move away from strict lecturing (not the abolishment of all lecturing!), has roots in insights about constructivism and active learning in the 1990s. One could argue there has been a slow building of knowledge about pedagogy over the past few decades, not a flip-flopping between mutually exclusive teaching methods. I’ve discussed the history and goals of instructional development elsewhere and will refer the reader to that post [here: Instructional Design in Higher Education: What is It?].

Though anecdotal, the advice I’ve gotten from most folks in instructional development has always been strategic and specific, not global. Group activities work in some scenarios, while in other scenarios a lecture will be better. I’ve always seen instructional development about building a toolbox of teaching skills that can be deployed when rhetorically and pedagogically appropriate. Even when I’ve talked about educational technology, I’ve always seen it as a tool that needs to be appropriate to your pedagogical purpose. The hanging question should not be how do we integrate technology into our classrooms, but whether technology can sustain or even advance our educational aims. We should not adapt our teaching just to incorporate technology, to me that is pedagogically unsound.

Notes:

[1] Quoted in Reiser 2001a: 55.

[2] Reiser 2001a: 55.

[3] Reiser 2001b.

References:

  • Reiser, Robert A. 2001a. “A History of Instructional Design and Technology: Part I: A History of Instructional Media,” Educational Technology Research and Development, Vol. 49, No. 1, pp. 53-64.
  • Reiser, Robert A. 2001b. “A History of Instructional Design and Technology: Part II: A History of Instructional Media,” Educational Technology Research and Development, Vol. 49, No. 2, pp. 57-67.

Government-Issued Halftone Postal Card of the Daibutsu

Capturing light on a photosensitive medium to make a photograph was a monumental technological achievement. Arguably more influential, however, was the ability to mechanically reproduce those images in ink and expose them to wider audiences. In the latter half of the nineteenth century, chemically processing individual photographs was technically difficult, time-consuming, and expensive. Newspaper, magazine, and book publishers needed a less labor-intensive method to produce the thousands of images needed for mass commercial printing.

Consequently, translating the tonality of a photograph mechanically into black ink marks was developed not long after the discovery of photography. The collotype process, a planographic printing method using reticulated gelatin, produced a beautiful tonality with fine detail, but the process proved difficult and costly. On the other hand, the letterpress halftone process proved to a better investment for the inexpensive mass printing of images, especially for newspapers and magazines. This process is easily identified through its distinctive dot pattern creating the illusion of tonality [Fig. 1].

Figure 1

The tonality of the halftone print on the left, comprised of dots of differing size and spacing, is of lesser quality than the collotype print on the right. The wormy reticulation of a collotype print under high magnification can be seen here.

Ogawa Kazumasa 小川 一眞 (1860-1929) was a pioneer in the photomechanical reproduction of images in Meiji Japan. After a period of apprenticeship in the United States, Ogawa opened the first collotype (korotaipu コロタイプ) business for reproducing photographs in 1889, eventually introducing the halftone process to his Japanese customers. Having attended the Congress of Photographers at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893, Ogawa learned about the halftone process and the following year procured the necessary equipment and had delivered to Tokyo.[1] As Kelly McCormick notes, under the guidance of Ogawa the Japanese newspaper, the Asahi Shimbun 朝日新聞, published its first photographs on June 16, 1894. Moreover, the halftone process allowed Japanese newspapers to fill their editions with multiple, full-page photographic images as well as incorporate text on the same plate. Additionally, to help expose his colleagues to the history of photography and modern photographic methods, Ogawa had Hermann Vogel’s The Chemistry of Light and Photography (1875, revised 1889) translated into Japanese (as Kōsen nami shashin kagaku 光線並写真化学); it remained in print for nearly 30 years.

The tonality of the halftone print was not as rich as the collotype (see above) and thus the collotype print remained preferential when image quality was more important.[2] This included the manufacturing of Japanese picture postcards (ehagaki 絵葉書), especially when changes in the postal code in 1900 allowed private publishers to issue their own cards. Collotype remained the main method of printing postcards through the first two decades of the twentieth century.

Figure 2

Fig 1 Halftone.jpg

  • Title/Caption: DAIBUTSU, KAMAKURA 鎌倉大仏
  • Year: 1897 (postally used)
  • Publisher: Printing Bureau, Ministry of Finance 大蔵省印刷局
  • Medium: halftone print on paper
  • Dimensions: 5.5 in X 3.5 in
  • Reverse Imprint: 大日本郵便, JAPANESE POST, 郵便はがき+

The government-issued postal card here, however, offers a rare glimpse at using the halftone process for mechanically reproducing a photograph previous to postal code changes [Fig. 2]. Sent in 1897 (Meiji 30[3]), this card reflects a rather early example of the halftone process, introduced by Ogawa only three years earlier. As noted by the caption, it depicts the Kamakura Daibutsu, a site that had developed into a popular international tourist destination by the 1890s. Interestingly, the image shows the site devoid of tourists, a rare depiction since people were often included to provide a sense of scale – the statue is over 40 feet in height. This photograph focuses the viewer’s attention to the craftsmanship of the work and the serenity of the image, thus creating a silent and contemplative portrait of the bronze colossus. The elements in the photograph suggest it was taken in the first half of the 1890s.

It is tantalizing to think that the Printing Bureau in the Ministry of Finance[4], the agency responsible for issuing postal cards, consulted Ogawa for this project.[5] It is also possible that the original photograph of the Daibutsu was taken by Ogawa or an associate of his studio.[6]

Figure 3

Fig 2 Halftone.jpg

Figure 4

1 sen franking and cancellation.png

The reverse bears a simple filigree border and 1 sen oval-shaped frank printed in light blue [Fig. 3]. The pre-paid 1 sen rate covered domestic postage until 1899 when the rate was increased. The franking design incorporated the three-leafed paulownia seal (kirimon 桐紋), the official insignia of the Japanese government, in its center [Fig. 4]. Examining the border design (bottom) we can also find the government agency responsible for printing the card, namely the Printing Bureau in the Ministry of Finance. Instructions in Japanese (lower left) explain this side is reserved for the name and address of the recipient only. The paper is thinner than the card stock used by private publishers a few years later.

The cancellation stamp over the pre-paid postage reveals the card was sent on August 11, 1897 from the former Musashi Province 武蔵, an area that covered a location close to the Kamakura Daibutsu. The second cancellation stamp shows it was received the following day, August 12, at the post office in Kobe before it was sent out to the recipient.

Notes:

*This post is dedicated to my mother, who introduced me to the beauty of printmaking.

**This is part of a series of posts devoted to exploring the development of a visual literacy for Buddhist imagery in America. All items (except otherwise noted) are part of my personal collection of Buddhist-themed ephemera. I have also published my working notes on identifying publishers of Meiji and early Taishō postcards and establishing a sequential chronology for Kamakura Daibutsu photographs.

[1] For more information, see McCormick 2017. For a full biography of Ogawa in English, see Bennett 2006: 210-16. [For a quick chronology of his life, in Japanese, see here.]

[2] Perhaps most notably, the influential Japanese art magazine, Kokka 国華, employed collotypes and woodblock prints. Ogawa and his studio supervised the printing of the magazine until 1907. The magazine’s full title in English was Kokka, An Illustrated Monthly Journal of the Fine and Applied Arts of Japan and Other Eastern Countries. For more on this publication, see Hanley & Watanabe 2019. Ogawa also used collotypes in the Shashin Shinpō 写真新報 (Photography Journal), in which he was the editor, see Bennett 2006: 212. In the 1910s, Japanese postcard publishers switched to offset printing because this method produced images at a much faster rate.

[3] The cancellation stamp is not clear, but Meiji 30 seems appropriate. The bisected cancellation date stamp (maruichi-gata hiduke-in 丸一型日付印) was adopted in 1888 and the date reads year-month-day from right to left (this stamp was retired in 1909). Sanjū nen 三十年 (“year 30”) is barely legible and is equivalent to 1897. This dating also aligns with other evidence placing the cancellation between 1888 (signaling by the inclusion of the Printing Bureau 印刷局 instead of the Bureau of Paper Currency 紙幣寮 on the border inscription) and 1899, when the 1 sen oval frank was replaced by the 1½ sen chrysanthemum frank. These details are noted below.

[4] The full inscription reads, “issued by the Printing Bureau in the Ministry of Finance of the Empire of Japan” (Dainipponteikoku seifu Ōkurashō insatsu-kyoku seizō 大日本帝国政府大蔵省印刷局製造). The Ministry of Finance was also responsible for printing paper currency.

[5] Ogawa did have a close relationship with the Japanese government, and was appointed as the chief photography instructor for the Japanese army, see McCormick 2017. Furthermore, McCormick notes, “Ogawa skillfully aligned his name with the halftone process to the extent that if it was a halftone, it was likely that Ogawa was behind it.”

[6] In 1894, Ogawa published the Illustrated Companion to Murray’s Japan Guide-Book, the most popular tourist book for international travel in Japan. I have not seen a copy of this work, but the second image in the book is listed as the Kamakura Daibutsu.

References:

  • Bennett, Terry. 2006. Photography in Japan: 1853-1912. Rutland, VT: Tuttle Publishing.
  • Hanley, Keith & Watanabe, Aiko. 2019. “Kokka, Okakura Kakuzō, and the Aesthetic Construction of Late Meiji Cultural Nationalism.” Unpublished paper. [here]
  • McCormick, Kelly M. 2017. “Ogawa Kazumasa and the Halftone Photograph: Japanese War Albums at the Turn of the Twentieth Century,” Technologies, Vol. 7, No. 2. [here]

 

Illustrated Government Issue Postal Card of the Daibutsu

The Japanese word for postcard, hagaki はがき, was derived from hashigaki はしがき (or 端書き), or “forward,” referencing the writing at the beginning of a document. Hagaki came to denote a short piece of writing or a note that was sent through the mail. The first postal card in Japan was issued in December 1873, but until the start of the twentieth century all cards were government-issued (kansei 官製). These are readily identifiable through pre-paid franking printed on the address side of the card. Changes in postal codes on October 1, 1900 afforded private companies the opportunity to publish picture postcards (ehagaki 絵葉書) where an illustration or design could be included on the obverse. These changes altered the landscape of the postcard market and starting a new cultural phenomenon.

Figure 1

Figure 1 Gov Issued Illus.jpg

  • Title/Caption: DAIBUTSU, KAMAKURA
  • Year: 1897 (postally used)
  • Publisher: Printing Bureau, Ministry of Finance
  • Medium: woodblock print on paper
  • Dimensions: 5.5 in X 3.5 in
  • Reverse Imprint: 大日本郵便, JAPANESE POST, 郵便はがき

The government-issued postal card here, postally canceled in 1897 (Meiji 30[1]), bears a four-color woodblock print of the Kamakura Daibutsu on the obverse [Fig. 1].[2] More commonly, this side was left blank so a message could be written; the reverse was saved for the name and address of the recipient. Illustrated picture postcards (sashie ehagaki 挿絵絵はがき) from this period, however, are far less common and show that the government was playing with designs before the postal code changes in 1900. The image of the Daibutsu is reminiscent of similar period photographs taken of the bronze statue head-on. Furthermore, the print is cropped where the card was cut from its sheet.

The unknown artist depicted a realistic scene with two Japanese travelers gazing upward, in awe, of the colossal image. It casts a gentle sign of reverence towards the Buddhist image without overt signs of deep religious piety. The overall scene is calm and peaceful, reflecting the beneficent gaze of the Daibutsu. With the exception of the steeply banking hillside and tall flight of steps leading to the top landing, the illustration depicts the location faithfully circa the 1880s, inclusive of the step ladder to sit atop the statue for photographs. The only curious element in the depiction of the statue is the inclusion of earrings, a detail often reserved for other Buddhist deities, but not for buddhas. In contrast, the original bronze work has long, pierced ear-lobes which one might easily confuse for earrings, especially from frontal photographs.[3]

Figure 2

Figure 2 Gov Issued Illus.jpg

The reverse bears a simple filigree border and 1 sen oval-shaped frank printed in light blue [Fig. 2]. The pre-paid 1 sen rate covered domestic postage until 1899 when the rate was increased. The franking design incorporated the three-leafed paulownia seal (kirimon 桐紋), the official insignia of the Japanese government, in its center. Examining the border design we can also find the government agency responsible for printing the card, namely the Printing Bureau in the Ministry of Finance.[4] Instructions in Japanese explain this side is reserved for the name and address of the recipient only. The paper is thinner than the card stock used by private publishers a few years later.

Notes:

*This is part of a series of posts devoted to exploring the development of a visual literacy for Buddhist imagery in America. All items (except otherwise noted) are part of my personal collection of Buddhist-themed ephemera. I have also published my working notes on identifying publishers of Meiji and early Taishō postcards and establishing a sequential chronology for Kamakura Daibutsu photographs.

[1] The cancellation stamp is not clear, but Meiji 30 seems appropriate. The bisected cancellation date stamp (maruichi-gata hiduke in 丸一型日付印) was adopted in 1888 and the date reads year-month-day from right to left. Sanjū nen 三十年 (“year 30”) is barely legible and is equivalent to 1897. This dating also aligns with other evidence placing the cancellation between 1888 (signaling by the inclusion of the Printing Bureau 印刷局 instead of the Bureau of Paper Currency 紙幣寮 on the border inscription) and 1899, when the 1 sen oval frank was replaced by the 1½ sen chrysanthemum frank. These details are noted below.

[2] The colors are black, grey, green, and a brownish-yellow.

[3] According to Buddhist lore, as a sign of his renunciation of princely life, the Buddha removed his earrings, thus leaving his pierced earlobes empty.

[4] The full inscription reads, “issued by the Printing Bureau in the Ministry of Finance of the Empire of Japan” (Dainipponteikoku seifu Ōkurashō insatsu-kyoku seizō 大日本帝国政府大蔵省印刷局製造). The Ministry of Finance was also responsible for printing paper currency.

Concept Mapping My Academic Writing Course

While doing research on graphic organizers, I was quickly enraptured by the idea of concept mapping. Concept maps are a means of spatially representing the relationships between ideas and showing how they can form complex networks of knowledge. These types of maps can help both instructors and students more firmly grasp the connections between apparently disparate ideas and help to form a more integrated understanding of a topic or a whole course.

Our university courses are taught in a linear fashion. Ideally we try to scaffold or build towards more complex ideas and skills as the term advances. But the ideas of our courses are not necessarily related to one another in such a simple linear fashion, they often connect to and reflect one another at multiple junctures. In fact, being able to conceptually grasp these multiple juncture points, or how ideas are related on multiple fronts, can be an important step towards real mastery of a subject. Visual resources such as concept maps have been shown to be potent pedagogical tools that aid in building this type of holistic perspective.

In terms of construction, concept maps can show relationships between ideas through spatial placement or proximity (or hierarchy, though that is more usually reserved for tree-diagrams). These maps may be centered around a central idea, although this is not necessary. Importantly, connecting lines (or arrows to show direction) are added to clarify relationships between ideas, and in more detailed maps those lines can be labelled, thus adding even more clarity and precision.

Inspired by its conceptual utility and using these basic principles I’ve just outlined, I set out to create a concept map for my writing course. I wrestled with having my students do their own in groups as an in-class activity (this is often recommended in the literature I consulted), but I decided I needed to struggle with it first to see how reasonable the task would be and how long it would take. Brainstorming the individual components (the ideas/skills I considered most critical) was not difficult, nor was connecting some of the ideas. The biggest challenge was trying to limit the different ways I could connect ideas. In fact, if I was to recreate my concept map from scratch, it almost certainly would look a little different. I tinkered with it a bunch, mostly playing with the labels on the connecting lines. I decided to give it to my students near the end of the term, using it as a cover to a stack of (digital) documents I provide each student (this includes some of their own reflective pieces and copies of handouts we’ve used in class that I think will serve them after our course). Nevertheless, below is my concept map for my writing course.

Concept map - Romaskiewicz 2019.png

Concept Map Cover for my writing course.

I first showed the students the concept map as projected onto a screen in our classroom. I didn’t tell them what it was and allowed them a few minutes to discuss its meaning and purpose in small groups before having a short class discussion. Since I only learned about creating concept map towards the end of my course, I would likely do this at the beginning of the course next time.

Lastly, I was greatly inspired by Linda B. Nilson’s The Graphic Syllabus and the Outcomes Map: Communicating your Course when I designed my concept map. It provides numerous examples and an assortment of ways one could tackle such a project.

 

 

 

 

Non-Traditional (Un)Grading Systems – An Overview

It’s worth, first, marveling at the relative newness of grading. In fact, the now-standard letter-grading system only gained widespread popularity in US schools in the 1940s. This was partly a response to a decades-long concern over creating a standard of uniformity across institutions, thus standardized grading emerged as an administrative tool for interinstitutional coordination. Today, however, grading (or “evaluative feedback”) is mostly conceived as a pedagogical tool that operates as a source of communication to students and as a hotly debated source of student motivation.[1]

Over time, several different grading systems have developed, including non-grading (or un-grading) systems that see evaluative feedback as a detriment to student learning. Scholarly research on educational assessment is bewilderingly extensive, nevertheless here is a relatively short, curated list of several non-traditional methods of grading employed in higher education.

What is “Traditional Grading”?

We should note at the outset that there is no traditional “traditional grading” system, it’s an amorphous and ultimately abstract entity. Many instructors have vastly different grading policies and practices suited to their personal educational interests or tailored to their student needs. Yet, working from within a criteria-referenced paradigm, traditional grading could be characterized by its attempts to evaluate student work fairly, accurately, and uniformly across a class (and perhaps between classes or across time). Additionally, students earn points as assignments, projects, exams, and so forth, are completed to a certain level of quantified competency throughout the term. Lastly, a final grade is assigned based on these points values (often averaged) and a variety of other factors (like attendance, participation, extra credit, etc.).

Several concerns raised about this system include the perception that instructors are forced to inhabit the role of a grade “gate-keeper,” consequently engendering the distrust of their students. Some complain that the system encourages student grade performance over their learning mastery, a finding backed by research. Moreover, some question the ability for grades to be assigned fairly and uniformly across a class. Others will point to the potential waste of time for instructors who are forced to teach students who are satisfied with only the most minimal competency in a topic. Lastly, some would like to see a meaningful way to incorporate student effort in addition to student competency in any grading system.

Because of concerns like these, alternative grading systems have been proposed. While non-traditional systems are often promoted as better for learning and teaching, there is no value-neutral grading system. The mechanisms of the system will direct or encourage certain types of learning (and teaching) behaviors over others. Furthermore, certain grading systems may be more (or less) time-intensive for instructors or students, or cause efforts to be front-loaded or back-loaded in comparison to traditional systems. Because of this, it is worth making an informed decision on which grading system we employ, whether it’s a traditional or a non-traditional variety.

Wait…Aren’t these “Non-Traditional” Grading Systems Just Fads?

This is a fair question. Radical departures from norms may only seem “better” because they are new. One of the following examples, contract grading, has been widely studied since the 1970s and has been regularly found to have beneficial impacts on student learning and motivation. Additionally, both specifications grading and levels grading are built upon elements that have sound research behind them, even though, as entities, they have not yet been the focus of empirical research.

Specifically, and this applies to all three systems, a focus is placed on evaluation transparency, where the purpose of the exercise or assessment is clearly explained, the task is clearly described, and the evaluation criteria is clearly delineated (perhaps think of a grading rubric) and provided in advance so as to help students with self-evaluation. In some ways, these three alternative grading systems are designed to fully operationalize the principle of transparency, a relatively simple teaching intervention that has been shown to demonstrably enhance student success, including academic performance, student mastery of skills, student confidence, a sense of belonging leading to better retention. This does not represent the totality of these grading systems, but helps to explain their particular design. Non-grading (which could also incorporate transparency) has long been shown to be a better motivator of student effort and allows instructors to put their time and energy into areas that have a more appreciable impact on learning. Overall, these are not transitory fads, but systems built on the best available research in educational psychology and instructional design. With that being said, the individual implementation of these systems can be quite varied (any investigation into the literature on these will quickly reveal this fact) and as such rely heavily on the specific interests, purposes, and needs of the instructor.

Contract Grading

With its origins in the early 1970s, this form of grading has been championed by Peter Elbow, whose work has left a lasting mark in the field of composition studies. Due in part to Elbow, contract grading is most commonly used in composition and rhetoric courses, although it has wide application across disciplines. In an attempt to move student interest away from the commodity of the grade and towards nurturing more essential learning skills and behaviors, contract grading is based on establishing an agreement with students regarding the quantity and quality of work they need to complete, among other criteria, which is correlated to a particular grade. These agreements can be negotiated with individual students as they propose activities and projects, which, when completed, receive the agreed-upon grade. Contract grading can also be non-negotiable, or applied equally to the whole class with instructors providing the specified criteria and the related grading output.[2] Jane Danielewicz and Peter Elbow have outlined the latter method by establishing a B-grade set of criteria (attending class regularly, participating in all in-class activities, providing thoughtful peer-feedback, etc.) for students to work on for most of the semester (see resource below). Only with the submission of a final portfolio would a final grade higher than a B be considered for students who fulfilled the contract. Grades lower than a B are possible, but as the authors note, “we are frankly trying to badger and cajole every student into getting a B.” Some recent research by Dana Lindemann and Colin Harbke suggests this grading system succeeds in discouraging students from failing a course and also provides students with higher competency in the desired skills and topics. Of the non-traditional systems noted here, contract grading has received by far the most research.

Resources:

  • Danielewicz, Jane & Elbow, Peter. 2009. “A Unilateral Grading Contract to Improve Learning and Teaching,” College Composition and Communication, Vol. 61, No. 2, pp. 244-268. [here]
  • Davidson, Cathy. [Twenty-First Century Literacies syllabus]
  • Hensen, Leslie. [syllabus]
  • Inoue, Asao B. 2014. “A Grade-less Writing Course that Focuses on Labor and Assessing.” In Teague, D. & Lunsford, R. (Eds.), First-Year Composition: From Theory to Practice. West Lafayette: Parlor Press, pp. 71-110. [despite the title, the focus is on implementing contract grading][here]
  • Inoue, Asao. [syllabus]
  • Lindemann, D. F., & Harbke, C. R. 2011. “Use of Contract Grading to Improve Grades Among College Freshmen in Introductory Psychology.” SAGE Open. [here]
  • Volk, Steve 2016. Contract Improv – Three Approaches to Contract Grading (Center for Teaching Innovation and Excellence at Oberlin College)[three different methods for implementing contract grading]

Specifications Grading

This is a more recent grading system – not entirely unrelated to contract grading – proposed by Linda Nilson and most robustly discussed in her 2015 work Specifications Grading: Restoring Rigor, Motivating Students, and Saving Faculty Time. At its core, “spec grading” relies on the establishment of clear and detailed specifications for what constitutes a passing piece of work (for Nilson, typically, B-level work or better). This is not unlike creating a grading rubric, but one only needs to detail a “satisfactory” set of criteria, not a full range of grading possibilities. Assignments are bundled, and the more advanced bundles represent more complex skills and/or content. Students are graded only pass/fail for individual assignments or tests and progress as they receive passing grades. Bundles, however, are tied to overall course grades, thus spec grading allows students to determine which grade/bundle they want to compete. Also incorporated is the rather interesting idea of tokens. These are allotted at the beginning of the term to each student and can be redeemed to revise an unsatisfactory assignment, hand in work 24-hours late, take a make-up exam, and so forth. Given the limited number of tokens, students need to think about how to use tokens strategically.

Resources

Levels Grading

Modeled on video game mechanics, Dustin Locke has recently developed a grading system similar to specification grading, but with different nuances. There are a total of three levels, each of which consists of a larger, more complex project, and which are each evaluated on a four-tier system: complete, almost, good effort, and not much progress. A student progresses to the next project/level only when they have received a “complete” on the previous project/level. Like the spec system by Nilson, a student needs to gain a certain competency or mastery of a skill or content before moving on to the next project. Importantly, there are specific windows when students can attempt to complete levels, thus the project/level any given student needs to be adaptable to the content that is being covered at that time in the course. The final evaluation a student receives on a level is correlated to a final course grade. This system is currently growing among philosophy instructors.

Resources:

Portfolio Assessment

Not necessarily a fully reconceived grading system (eg. it is used as part of Peter Elbow’s contract grading system), portfolio assessment grew in popularity in the 1990s as interest gathered around alternative assessment techniques. In its simplest form, a portfolio is a collection of student work that exhibits their effort and progress in a course. It includes student-selected documents, learning products, or artifacts that they feel represent their best work, and as such, it usually represents work they have revised, sometimes significantly, and reflects their learning processes. Often students will be asked to include reflective documents, such as cover letters describing the selection process and the pieces the choose to include. Oftentimes perceived as an “authentic assessment” tool, this is very common in composition courses.

Resources

Ungrading

There have been many calls for the abolishment of grades, and there’s good research to suggest this is a wise pedagogical decision. In the broadest strokes, evaluative feedback (grades) alone, where students are essentially ranked in accordance to one another, doesn’t provide any valuable information about how to improve their understanding or competency nor has it been shown to provide any positive motivation for students to truly master a topic or take intellectual chances. Alfie Kohn, one of the most vocal proponents for diluting and removing grading, has made a career on this topic.

One point of confusion, however, is that by removing grading one removes all evaluation. This is not true. Emphasis shifts to descriptive evaluation where pertinent information related to improving student competency is shared and discussed. And while evaluative feedback and descriptive feedback are often coupled in practice in traditional grading systems, research cited by Kimberly Tanner and Jeffrey Schinske in their provocative “Teaching More by Grading Less (or Differently)” suggests that students are less likely to read comments that are paired with grades. Providing only descriptive feedback had been shown to be the most efficient for student learning and is also preferential to some students.

One of the most characteristic aspects of non-grading or ungrading is metacognition and self-assessment. Jesse Stommel, who has reflected thoughtfully on his practice of ungrading, has his students regularly engage in self-reflection through “process letters,” which open up a space of dialogue “not just about the course, but about their learning and about how learning happens.” This allows both for the instructor to provide constructive feedback and encouragement and for the student to cultivate the skills of critical self-assessment and future planning. Of course, working in a traditional institution, he needs to assign final course grades so Stommel has students grade themselves. He reserves the right to alter any grades his student submit, but he claims the most common alteration he makes is from an A- to an A, for the students who are too modest in their self-assessment.

Resources:

Final Thoughts

These alternatives are all reactions to dissatisfaction with traditional grading systems. From a bird’s eye view, these all emphasize pedagogical approaches that we should all immediately appreciate, including careful and strategic scaffolding of lesson plans and assignments, creating transparent and detailed evaluation rubrics, encouraging students to engage in metacognitive activity, and giving students a sense of purpose and ownership over their own learning. Several systems (perhaps my selection bias) foreground student competency or mastery that happens in stages, which in turn can allow for the implementation of a simpler evaluative feedback consisting of a two-tier pass/no pass (or pass/revise). In almost all cases, some power and authority is wrestled away from the instructor and placed in the hands of the student.

Other Resources on Grading

  • Docan, Tony N. 2006. “Positive and Negative Incentives in the Classroom: An Analysis of Grading Systems and Student Motivation, Journal of Scholarship of Teaching and Learning, Vol. 6, No. 2, pp. 21-40. [here]
  • Elbow, Peter. 1994. “Ranking, Evaluating, Liking: Sorting Out Three Forms of Judgment.” College English, Vol. 55, No. 2, pp. 187–206. [here]
  • Kohn, Alfie. 1999. Punished by Rewards: The Trouble with Gold Stars, Incentive Plans, A’s, Praise, and Other Bribes. Rev. ed. Boston: Houghton Mifflin.
  • Tanner, Kimberly & Schinske,, 2014. “Teaching More by Grading Less (or Differently),” CBE Life Science Education, Vol. 13, No. 2, pp. 187-206. [here]
  • Tchudi, Stephen, ed. 1997 (2011). Alternatives to Grading Student Writing. National Council of Teachers of English [here][this has been a constant source of inspiration for me]
  • Winkelmes, Mary-Ann; Bernacki, Matthew; Butler, Jeffrey; Zochowski, Michelle; Golanics, Jennifer & Weavil, Kathryn Harriss. 2016. “A Teaching Intervention that Increases Underserved College Students’ Success,” in Peer Review, Vol. 18, No. 1/2. [here]

Notes:

[1] For a brief survey on the literature regarding the positive and negative motivating effect of grades, see Docan 2006. Evaluative feedback is often distinguished from descriptive feedback which provides specific information about how a student can become more competent. Often these are used in conjunction. Grades are also used in an organizational manner, such that they are used to partition lessons, units, or terms. In this context grades are seen as a “summative assessment,” in contrast to a “formative assessment” which places more focus on informal tests of students’ understanding before administering a summative assessment.

[2] These two broad forms of contract grading are described in the 1971 work, Wad-Ja-Get? The Grading Game in American Education, by Howard Kirschenbaum, Sidney B. Simon, and Rodney W. Napier. Incidentally, when contract grading was increasingly discussed as an alternative grading system in the early 1970s, the idea of instituting a two-tier pass/fail grading system in contrast to the A-to-F system was also discussed widely. We will see that the combination of elements from both contract grading and a two-tier grading system are found in some of the most common alternative systems circulating today.

The Eight Postcard Views of Kamakura

Collage.png

The September 1, 1923 Great Kantō Earthquake changed Japan. Striking at just before noon, the 7.9 magnitude earthquake razed the capital of Tokyo and the port of Yokohama and caused severe destruction around the entire Kantō region. The resulting fire and tsunami triggered by the earthquake claimed many more casualties. The resulting reconstruction efforts, involving the rebuilding of homes, government buildings, factories, shops, roads, canals, and bridges was a monumental effort. After seven years of toil, the rebirth of the capital and the symbolic renewal of Japan was marked by a week-long series of celebratory events held in March 1930.

Among the many structures decimated by the disaster also included historic temples and shrines, several of which were in Kamakura, part of what is now considered the Greater Tokyo Area. The ancient capital of Kamakura, after which the Kamakura Period (1185-1333) is named, was the home to the shogunate (bakufu 幕府, “tent government”), a hereditary military dictatorship that ruled over Japan and which granted only nominal authority to the imperial court. While the institution of the shogunate persisted until 1867, the capital was moved at the end of the Kamakura period back to the cultural center of Kyoto. After centuries of gradual decline, significant domestic and international interest was thrust back on to Kamakura in the Meiji period (1868-1912), when its proximity to the newly created international port of Yokohama increased its exposure to travelers and businesses.

When the 1923 earthquake hit the region, one of the early storylines that spread through American newspapers concerned the survival of the Kamakura Daibutsu, a destination known worldwide among globetrotting tourists. While the 93 metric tonne bronze statue had shifted 30 centimeters forward, warping its back and neck, it survived relatively unharmed. Because of the shift in weight, a portion of the stone pedestal was pushed into the ground. The pedestal itself, however, received extensive structural damage requiring significant repair, which occurred early in 1925.

Sometime after the 1923 earthquake, an unknown publisher issued a set of eight postcards memorializing the scenic views of Kamakura. Thematic sets of postcards had long been manufactured by Japanese publishers, both by private printers and the government. When the government first printed its own picture postcards (ehagaki 絵葉書) in 1902 (private companies were allowed two years earlier), it issued a set of six cards commemorating the Japanese–Korea Treaty of Amity (Nitchō-shūkōjōki 日朝修好条規). Regardless of this precedent for publishing a set of six cards, issuing a set of eight cards soon became standard for postcard publishers.

Why issue a set of eight cards? On theory traces the origin to the artistic preferences of Song Dynasty China. A set of eight scenic vistas has its historical origins in the brush paintings of Chinese artist and government bureaucrat Song Di 宋迪 (c. 1067 – c. 1080) who is attributed with created the visual genre of the Eight Views of the Xiao and Xiang Rivers (Xiāoxiāng Bājǐng瀟湘八景)[Song Di’s painting are now lost]. The notion that a set of “eight scenic vistas” or “eight views” (hakkei 八景) constituted a complete and integrated set made its way into Japan by the fourteenth-century. This motivated Japanese artisans and poets to find their own groupings of “famous sites” (meisho 名所) and by the Edo period (1615-1868) each province claimed to have its own set of eight special vistas.[1] For example, Kanazawa 金沢 in Sagami Province, in which Kamakura also resides, became among the most famous sets of eight views in Japan, which was visually represented by woodblock artists such as Utagawa Hiroshige 歌川広重 (1797-1858). Perhaps surprisingly, given Kamakura’s historical importance as a national capital, a specific set of eight views was never expressed among pre-Meiji poets, artists, and woodblock printers.[2]

Given the precedence of the literary and artistic value of the eight scenic vistas genre, one could conclude postcard publishers were naturally filling in the gaps of history when they issued sets of eight postcards depicting famous locations around Kamakura. Kanji Satō suggests this would be premature, as it overlooks the particular means of postcard manufacturing. The photomechanical process of printing late Meiji postcards was dominated by the collotype press, which used relatively large sheets of paper that were later cut into individual cards. Each of these sheets accommodated eight individual postcards, thus sets were most efficiently designed in groupings of eight cards, totaling 8, 16, 24, or 32 cards per set. Thus the relationship to the historical groupings of eight scenic vistas portrayed as a “complete” set is most likely coincidental, although it dovetails nicely into traditional Japanese arts.

Figure 1 [Set 1] & Figure 2 [Set 2]Figure 1.JPG

Figure 2.JPGSometime in the 1920s sets of picture postcards were more frequently issued in a paper sleeve or cover. These sleeves were initially imprinted with text or simple designs, but due to the highly competitive commercial market these utilitarian items became subject to the same visual expectations as the postcards themselves. The examples before us bear a hand-colored photographic image, which is given the same artistic care as the cards they hold [Fig. 1 & Fig. 2]. In addition to the minor and idiosyncratic coloring differences, each set uses a slightly different letterpress design. Set 2 also appears to be influenced by an art deco font style.

Figure 3 & Figure 4

Figure 3
Figure 4

The sleeve image of the Daibutsu matches the photograph of the Daibutsu on the interior postcard, save for the bokashi-style color wash of the sky. Both sleeves show a pink-hued twilight coloring of the sky while the cards are tinted with a daylight blue [Fig. 3 & Fig. 4]. The fact that these selves and cards are hand-colored is partly surprising. In the early part of the twentieth century many monochromatic photographic postcards were hand-tinted. In the early part of the Taishō period (1912-1926), however, a multi-color collotype printing process was developed, presenting a new option for publishers to speed up their production process. Some publishers took advantage of this technology and multi-color printed cards existed side-by-side with hand-tinted cards into the early 1920s. After the 1923 earthquake, however, almost all publishers adopted this new printing technology when they re-opened their businesses. Since these two sets of cards were issued post-1923 (see below), the fact that our unknown publisher was employing hand-coloring was an added selling point – justifiably noted on the sleeve.

Figure 5

Figure 5

Figure 6 [sleeve] & Figure 7 [postcard]

Figure 6
Figure 7.JPG

The photograph of the Daibutsu appears staged, as all of the onlookers face squarely towards the colossal statue with legs drawn together and arms at their sides. Upon close inspection, we also see very subtle signs of the 1923 earthquake that ravaged the Kantō region. The lanterns, for example, are shortened from their usual height, signs they needed to be pieced back together and re-erected. Additionally, the items normally arranged atop the offering table are now missing [Figs. 3 &4]. More significantly, the structure to the right of the Daibutsu appears slipshod, a significant difference from the ornate hipped roof building that stood in that same location for three decades [Fig. 5]. Moreover, in a detail that is only visible on the cover sleeves, wooden supports hold up the base of the pedestal, a clear indication of the damages rendered in 1923 [Fig. 6]. An artist carefully painted over the wooden supports for the postcard image, creating a new brick façade to complete the deception [Fig. 7]. The most evident sign of damage is the toppled tree that breaks into the foreground view from the left side [Figs. 3 &4].

Most likely, this photograph represents a period after the terrible destruction caused by the earthquake and after the initial clean-up of the temple grounds. Indeed, enough time has passed so the structure on the right could have been constructed. Yet, the ample work reported in refinishing the pedestal appears to have not yet been executed. Furthermore, in other photographs from 1925 after the repairs, not only are the wooden supports removed, but the lanterns have been reconstructed fully and moved to the second landing. These details all suggest this photograph of the Daibutsu was taken after the Great Kantō earthquake on September 1, 1923, but before the repairs were finished in early 1925.

Figure 8 [Set 1] & Figure 9 [Set 2]

Figure 8
Figure 9

I suspect that Set 1 was printed in the mid-to-late 1920s. Regrettably, I have not yet been able to match the trademark of a drum (in the stamp box, see Fig. 8) to any known publisher. While Set 2 contains photographs of the same locations, only four of the eight photographs have been copied directly from Set 1. The other four cards offer different vantage points of those locations. Most importantly, the caption (in Japanese only) of the image of the bell tower at Kenchō-ji Temple in Set 2 distinguishes the bell as a National Treasure (kokuhō 國寶)[Fig. 23], a designation it received only on November 14, 1933, thus establishing a firm terminus post quem for this set. I would estimate that Set 2, also issued under an unknown publisher (although I’ve suspected Hoshinoya in the past), was printed in the mid-1930s. I remain uncertain if the same publisher issued both sets.

Below I offer brief historical commentary on the remaining seven views from both sets. The older set, i.e. Set 1, bears simpler captions that are set in blank spaces around the card. The newer set, i.e. Set 2, places the captions along the bottom edge of the cards, as is more traditional. The English in the bilingual caption is sometimes a loose translation of the Japanese, thus I provide a more literal rendering in square brackets.

Figure 10 & Figure 11

Figure 10
Figure 11
  • Set 1 caption: Hachiman Temple 鎌倉八幡宮 [Hachiman Shrine, Kamakura]
  • Set 2 caption: Hachiman Shrine Kamakura 鎌倉八幡宮 [Hachiman Shrine, Kamakura]

Residing at the geographical center of the city, the unusually long, nearly 2-kilometer long road leading to the Hachiman Shrine entrance traditionally doubled as the main thoroughfare of the city. Originally constructed in 1063, the founder of the Kamakura shogunate, Minamoto no Yoritomo 源頼朝 (1147-99), invited the tutelary kami of warriors, Hachiman 八幡, to reside in a new reconstruction of the shine in order to protect his fledgling government. Due to its relationship with the shogun and important political role, the Hachiman Shrine remains the most historically and culturally important site in Kamakura. Previous to 1868, this site was a shrine-temple complex (jingū-ji 神宮寺), meaning it was used as a place for Buddhist practice and the worship of kami.

Figure 12 & Figure 13

Figure 12
Figure 13
  • Set 1 caption: Tsuchiro Kamakura 鎌倉大塔宮土牢 [“The prison at Ōtōnomiya Shrine, Kamakura”]
  • Set 2 caption: Tsuchiro Kamakura 鎌倉大塔宮土牢 [“The prison at Ōtōnomiya Shrine, Kamakura”]

The Kamakura Shrine was erected by Emperor Meiji in 1869 to honor Prince Moriyoshi 護良親王 (also read Morinaga) (1308-1335) who was imprisoned and killed as an act of political retribution in 1335. Before he actively helped his father lead forces against the shogun, Moriyoshi was a Buddhist monk and previously held the position of head abbot of Enryaku-ji Temple 延暦寺, the prestigious seat of the Tendai school.[3] Moriyoshi’s life and unfortunate death captured the imagination of the Japanese and he was well known even before the creation of the shrine memorializing him. The postcard photograph depicts the cave behind the main shrine hall (haiden 拝殿), which according to tradition is where the prince was held captive for nine months. The alternate name of this site is Ōtōnomiya Shrine 大塔宮, for a pseudonym used by Moriyoshi.

Figure 14 & Figure 15

Figure 14
Figure 15

 Set 1 caption: View of Yenoshima 七里ヶ濱ヨリ江ノ島ヲ望 [Distant View of Enoshima from Shichirigahama]

Set 2 caption: View of Enoshima (Island) near Kamakura 七里ヶ濱ヨリ江ノ島ヲ望ム [Distant View of Enoshima from Shichirigahama]

 Figure 16 & Figure 17

Figure 16
Figure 17
  •  Set 1: View of Yenoshima 江ノ島入口 [The Entrance to Enoshina]
  • Set 2: Entrance of Enoshima (Island) near Kamakura 江ノ島入口棧橋 [The Entrance Bridge to Enoshina]

The famed island of Enoshima is a center of worship to the goddess Benzaiten 弁財天, a figure with origins in India and who entered Japan in the 6th through 8th centuries. As one of her roles, Benzaiten was considered the protector of the nation and thus was favored by military leaders. The founder of the Kamakura shogunate, Minamoto no Yoritomo 源頼朝 (1147-99), took advantage of the proximity of Enoshima to his new capital and mandated the construction of a torii on the island to memorialize his devotion to the goddess. Taking advantage of visitors to the islands, entrepreneurs soon set up a variety of shops, consequently making the excursion even more attractive to travelers. For early Western tourists, the sandy beaches made the island a favorite resort area. Older woodblock prints show that the island was connected to the Shichirigahama beach by a shallow sandbar before the bridge was constructed.

Figure 18 & Figure 19

Figure 18
Figure 19
  • Set 1 caption: Hase Temple 鎌倉長谷寺 [Hasa-dera Temple, Kamakura]
  • Set 2 caption: Hase Temple Kamakura 鎌倉長谷寺 [Hasa-dera Temple, Kamakura]

With origins in the 8th century, this temple is best known for housing one of the largest wooden statues in Japan. It is a 9 meter (approx. 30 foot) tall statue of the Buddhist goddess Kannon 觀音. Its purported origins are rather interesting. It is believed an artist named Tokudo 徳道 made two large Kannon statues from a single fragrant camphor tree in 721. One was enshrined in Hase-dera Temple in Nara, while the second was set adrift into the sea. Fifteen years later the wooden statue washed ashore near Kamakura and a temple, also named Hase-dera, was constructed to honor it. Like many religious sites in Kamakura during the Kamakura period, this temple was restored and expanded. Several later postcard sets of Kamakura include a view of the Kannon statue.

Figure 20 & Figure 21

Figure 20
Figure 21
  • Set 1: Yengakuji Temple Kamakura 鎌倉円覚寺舍利殿 [Reliquary Hall of Engaku-ji Temple, Kamakura]
  • Set 2: Engaku-ji Temple Kamakura 鎌倉圓覺寺山門 [Front Entrance of Engaku-ji Temple, Kamakura]

Founded in 1282 during the Kamakura period, Engaku-ji Temple was included as one of the Kamakura’s “Five Mountains” (gozan 五山), a network of Zen Buddhist temples supervised by a state bureaucracy but that also received the state’s protection. In the Meiji period (1868-1912) it became the center for Zen study in the eastern part of Japan. Not coincidentally, the famed popularizer of Zen in America, D.T. Suzuki (1870-1966), trained there (though he remained a layperson until his death). Set 1 depicts the temple Reliquary Hall (noted in the Japanese caption) which houses a tooth of the Buddha. This building is registered as a National Treasure. Set 2 depicts the temple front gate (sanmon 山門, “mountain gate”), itself a prominent piece of architecture on the temple grounds.

Figure 22 & Figure 23

Figure 22
Figure 23
  • Set 1 caption: Kenchoji Temple Kamakura 鎌倉建長寺山門 [Front Entrance of Kenchō-ji Temple, Kamakura]
  • Set 2 caption: Tsurigane (Bell-Tower) Kencho-ji Temple Kamakura 鎌倉建長寺鐘樓(國寶) [Bell Tower at Kenchō-ji Temple, Kamakura (National Treasure)]

Founded in 1253 during the Kamakura period, Kenchō-ji is the oldest Zen training temple in Japan. Like Engaku-ji, it was also included among the “Five Mountains” network. Set 1 depicts the temple front gate. And while Set 2 depicts the bell tower, the significant historical entity is the temple bell (bonshō 梵鐘), itself designated as a National Treasure (kokuhō 國寶), the most precious of Japan’s historic and cultural properties. Cast in 1255 by Mononobe Shigemitsu 物部重光 it is the second largest in the Kantō region, only to one housed in Engaku-ji. It is believed that the goddess Benzaiten, who was thought to reside on the nearby island of Enoshima (see above), offered her divine protection to have it made. Some modern scholars have suggested Mononobe as the caster of the Kamakura Daibutsu since this bell was made around the same period, although this remains unlikely.

Notes:

*This is part of a series of posts devoted to exploring the development of a visual literacy for Buddhist imagery in America. All items (except otherwise noted) are part of my personal collection of Buddhist-themed ephemera. I have also published my working notes on identifying publishers of Meiji and early Taishō postcards and establishing a sequential chronology for Kamakura Daibutsu photographs.

[1] Shirane 2010.

[2] Nenzi (2004) outlines the development of Kamakura and Sagami generally into a destination spot through the identification of “tourist packages.”

[3] Moriyoshi (his Buddhist name was Son’un 尊雲) had a complex relationship to his monastic vocation, since his vital role as abbot was to enlist the help of important temples and warrior monks to help his father, Emperor Go-Daigo 後醍醐天皇 (1288-1339), in his fight against the Kamakura shogunate.

Esaki’s Pilgrims at the Daibutsu

For nearly three decades after the first Japanese postal cards were issued in 1873, their printing and distribution were strictly controlled by the government. Only with changes in postal codes in 1900 could private publishers start printing and selling their own postcards. Importantly, and for the first time, these privately issued cards could bear images on the obverse, thus being termed “picture postcards” (ehagaki 絵葉書). Previous government-issued specimens were printed blank to accommodate a sender’s written message. Moreover, the growing use among Japanese print shops of inexpensive collotype printing meant photographs could be easily reproduced for this new medium. Many early photographic postcards are reproductions of images originally created and sold in Japanese photography studios, as is the case with the examples here.

Figure 1Esaki 01a.JPG

 

  • Title/Caption: DAIBUTSU AT KAMAKURA
  • Year: 1900-1907 (postally unused)
  • Photographer: Esaki Reiji 江崎礼二 (1845-1910)[?]
  • Medium: collotype print on cardstock, hand-tinted
  • Dimensions: 5.5 in X 3.5 in
  • Reverse Imprint: Union Postale Universelle. CARTE POSTALE, 萬國郵便聯合端書

This postcard depicts the Kamakura Daibutsu, scaled to fit in the upper-left corner of the card [Fig. 1]. The blank space on the right side was reserved for a written message; Japanese postal code required the reverse side to be reserved solely for the name and address of the recipient. Once messages could be included on the reverse in 1907, postcard images were regularly scaled to fit the entirety of the obverse side.

For artistic flourish, the publisher of our card employed a subtle trompe-l’œil, making it appear as if the corner of the photographic image is curling off the paper. Visual illusions such as this would make the postcard stand out among a sea of similar imagery. Printed in large block lettering, the caption clearly denotes the subject of the photograph, the “Daibutsu at Kamakura.”

Figure 2

Esaki 02a

  • Title/Caption: 451 [or 461] DAIBUTSU AT KAMAKURA
  • Year: 1900-1907 (postally unused)
  • Photographer: Esaki Reiji 江崎礼二 (1845-1910)[?]
  • Medium: collotype print on cardstock, hand-tinted
  • Dimensions: 5.5 in X 3.5 in
  • Reverse Imprint: Union Postale Universelle. CARTE POSTALE, 萬國郵便聯合端書

Another postcard employs the same photograph. Here, the image covers a larger portion of the card, but lacks the trompe-l’œil effect [Fig. 2]. Additionally, the caption is much smaller and incorporates an identifying stock number, 451 (or possibly 461). It is of note that a caption which incorporates a stock number with a title is characteristic of prints made by Japanese photography studios of the 1880’s and 1890’s. By comparing this stock number to known lists gleaned from published Japanese studio albums, it appears likely the original photograph was taken by Esaki Reiji 江崎礼二 (1845-1910), a famed Tokyo-based photographer.[1]

Esaki apprenticed under the pioneering photographer Shimooka Renjō 下岡蓮杖 (1823-1914) in 1870 before opening his own studio in 1871 in Asakusa Park.[2] He soon established himself as a technical master, among the first of Japanese photographers to adopt the new gelatin dry-plate (zerachin kanpan ゼラチン乾板) technique in 1883 and executing technically difficult pictures of a naval mine detonating in the Sumida River (1883) and night-time exposures of a lunar eclipse (1884) and exploding fireworks (1885). The shorter exposure times of the dry-plate process also allowed Esaki to more easily photograph fidgeting children, an expertise he proudly displayed in a famous collage of more than 1700 young children and infants (1893).[3]

Figure 3

Esaki 01 pilgrimsThe photograph of the Daibutsu by Esaki (or one of his studio assistants) depicts the bronze statue from the southwest corner, an uncommon, but not unprecedented angle. More relevant to the site’s religious heritage, the photograph shows a line of Japanese pilgrims (jinreisha 巡礼者) in front of the Daibutsu, easily identified by their broad circular sedge hats and walking staffs carried over their shoulders [Fig. 3]. The mise-en-scène is more relaxed than reverent. The lead pilgrim, who holds his hat in his hand, appears to read the small rectangular sign perched on the pedestal (which, coincidentally, forbids climbing on the statue), while his fellow travelers casually stand conversing with one another. Only the temple priest by the offering table glances directly towards the camera.[4] This mundane expression of religious piety stands in contrast to the highly orchestrated images of devotion sometimes staged by Western photographers. Significantly, the distinction between Japanese pilgrim and tourist is often blurred, as both can engage in similar activities at a pilgrimage site, including visits to the temple souvenir shop.

Although faded, the hand-tinting is still visible in both cards, with the slate blue colossus overlooking his faithful visitors. The elements in the scene suggest this photograph was taken in the late 1890’s.[5]

Figure 4

Esaki 01b

Esaki 02b

The reverse of both cards is bordered by an ornamental filigree-like design in burgundy ink [Fig. 4]. These are examples of “undivided back” cards, since no line yet separates the areas on the back where the correspondence and address would later come to be written. This functions now as an easy identifier for dating old postcards, with these dating between 1900 and 1907. Since it was not yet common for publishers to imprint their names or trademarks on the back, it is difficult to tell who printed these beautifully rendered cards.

Notes:

*This is part of a series of posts devoted to exploring the development of a visual literacy for Buddhist imagery in America. All items (except otherwise noted) are part of my personal collection of Buddhist-themed ephemera. I have also published my working notes on identifying publishers of Meiji and early Taishō postcards and establishing a sequential chronology for Kamakura Daibutsu photographs.

[1] Stock lists for Esaki’s studio do not include numbers 451 or 461, but numbers 452 to 460 are all images of Kamakura, specifically Hachiman Temple, the Daibutsu, and the lotus ponds in Kōtokuin (the temple that houses the Daibutsu). See Bennett 2006a: 129. Unfortunately, almost all attributions to Esaki and his studio remain tentative and more work desperately needs to be done on his photographic oeuvre.

[2] For Esaki’s biographical information, see Bennett 2006b: 165 and here and here. Several Japanese resources note his name as “Ezaki,” but I follow the standard English “Esaki,” which is also how he promoted his studio on photographic mounts and in other published materials (the older “Yesaki” can also be found).

[3] This image was also sold in the United States through Sears & Roebuck catalogues.

[4] Closer inspection reveals a young boy towards the far right of the photograph, holding his hat in his hand, also possibly peering towards the camera

.Esaki 01 boy

[5] I have seen postcards of this image cancelled in January 1902, setting a firm terminus ante quem for the photograph. I have also seen a third postcard, oriented vertically, bearing this same photograph.

Instructional Design in Higher Education: What is It?

Peter Romaskiewicz

What is this post about?

As a trained historian who has (rather belatedly) developed an interest in Instructional Design, I grew curious about its historical origins and development. Quite frankly, The more I learned about various teaching techniques the more I became interested in tracing the trajectories and relationships between specific theories and concepts. This is a cursory attempt to make sense of this field of study and place it in relation to the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning, the concept of Active Learning, and the advancements of Educational Technology.

Early Years

The origins of “Instructional Design” (ID) are often traced to the creation of training materials for the military during World War II. Yet, it was not until the 1960’s that a more systematic approach to effective teaching began to appear. This included combining aspects of task analysis, learning objective specification, and criterion testing – all hallmarks of modern higher education – into an overarching model for effective instruction. The elementary principles were derived from the works of psychologists such as B.F. Skinner, Benjamin Bloom, Robert Gagné, and Robert Mager.[1] At this stage, there was interest in creating an overarching “systems approach” to teaching and learning, thus creating what may be now considered a specialized field of study.

As a result of these advances, in the early 1970’s many universities started funding instructional improvement centers (with names such as the “Instructional Systems Development Center”) to help faculty improve the quality of their instruction. In 1977, the first peer-reviewed journal devoted to ID, the Journal of Instructional Development, was published.[2] Moreover, in the same year, the Association for Education Communication and Technology (AECT; originating as the Department of Visual Instruction in 1923) proposed a formal definition of ID centered on five core elements: analysis, design, development, implementation, and evaluation (ADDIE).[3] Thus, ID was founded on a specific methodology focused on improving teaching efficacy.

The interest in teaching instruction faltered in higher education, however, in the 1980s and many of the improvement centers were defunded or disbanded. Furthermore, the Journal of Instructional Development ceased publication in 1988 due to “fiscal austerity.”[4] The 1990s proved to be an important juncture for the study and practice of teaching in higher education.

Constructivism and “Active Learning”

One of the important shifts in the 1990s was the growing interest in constructivism as a learning theory. Constructivism, viewed most broadly, has roots in epistemology, psychology, and sociology, and attempts to explain how people come to know the world around them.[5] Constructionist perspectives on learning are oriented around several principles:

  1. learning is an active, adaptive process
  2. knowledge is idiosyncratically constructed through personal filters of experience, beliefs, or goals
  3. knowledge is socially constructed
  4. effective learning requires meaningful, authentic (“real world”), open-ended, and challenging problems for the learner to work through[6]

Overall, the constructivist theory of learning is commonly positioned in opposition to the older behaviorist model, where learning is characterized as a passive stimulus-response to highly controlled surroundings. Following this new theoretical approach, learners are no longer treated as inert, empty vessels to be filled with knowledge, but active participants who try to develop effective ways to solve novel problems. While some have criticized this simplistic characterization of behaviorism and the “traditional” views of learning, it cannot be denied that this new interest in constructivism in the 1990s spurred a novel wave of research into optimizing the learning environment for this new conception of the “engaged” learner.[7] Since knowledge (or, anything beyond low-order memorization) cannot be simply be transferred from one mind to another according to this new framework, this leads to an inconvenient reality, namely, “we can teach, even well, without having students learn.”[8] Consequently, developing a full repertoire of teaching strategies based on sound research became ever more important. This coincided with a broader interest in teaching-related scholarship (discussed below).

It should be remembered that constructivism is not an ID theory. Instructional Design attempts to adopt relevant learning theories and develop a systematic approach to effective teaching. It should also be noted that instructional design aims to develop a range of pedagogical techniques – a proverbial pedagogical toolbox – thus, constructivism is only one learning theory that has been adopted. Nevertheless, the 1990s saw a growth in literature speaking to constructivist-based “active learning” environments, so much so that many of the most common teaching best practices today reflect, or have been reinforced by, the so-called constructivist movement.

One of the most well-known targets of active learning proponents is the classical lecture, now sometimes framed (unjustly) as an out-of-date modality of instruction. In 1991, Charles Bonwell and James Eison, authors of the seminal work Active Learning: Creating Excitement in the Classroom, proclaimed that “the exclusive use of the lecture in the classroom constrains student learning.” Instead, they promoted instructional activities “involving students in doing things and thinking about what they are doing.” Critics will often interpret this to mean that all lecturing activities need to be replaced by student-led learning initiatives. This is a misunderstanding of the application of active learning. The concern of Bronson and Eison was directed towards the exclusive use of lecturing, where students only take notes and follow directions. To enhance learning, they recommend routinely engaging in activities throughout the lecture where students can reflect upon, analyze, evaluate or synthesize the material that was presented.

These activities can vary greatly, but the general goal is to have students engage in higher-order thinking through reading, writing, and discussing. These can be very simple activities (such as employing think-pair-share) or more complex (such as providing a new reading where a recently learned theory needs to be applied). In practice, these activities are not significantly different from what Michael Scriven called “formative evaluation” (or formative assessment) in 1967. These are assessment procedures performed during the learning process, as opposed to “summative evaluation” (or summative assessment) which takes place at the completion of a learning activity (often measured by exams).[9] A wide range of these activities which provide crucial feedback to students are often placed under the category of Classroom Assessment Techniques (CATs), first coined by K. Patricia Cross and Thomas Angelo in 1988.[10]

The point is to puncture lectures with moments of student activity in order to break the line of one-way transmission in exchange for more interactive moments of cognitive processing. This can occur between instructor and student, between students, or function as an individual reflective exercise. While there is no pre-determined time frame to engage active learning activities, the common recommendation is to allow time for reflection and processing every 12-20 minutes of lecture. The timing depends on the complexity, density, and novelty of the information as well as the goals of the instructor. In practice, the instructor revolves between two roles in the active classroom setting, functioning first as the “sage on the stage” by providing important information or modeling procedural knowledge, then acting as a “guide on the side” by coaching and providing feedback to assist in the students’ development.

Teaching Informed by Scholarship

A second shift in the 1990s was the interest in developing scholarly literature that focused on teaching and learning in higher education. The theoretical underpinnings were outlined in Ernst Boyer’s Scholarship Reconsidered: Priorities of the Professorate in 1990. Boyer was the president of the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching and called for faculty to expand beyond their traditional roles as scholars and consider how to better serve college and university missions to educate an increasingly diverse student population. Boyer proposed reconceiving scholarship (“the work of the professoriate”) as four distinctive types: scholarship of discovery (e.g. traditional research in one’s discipline), scholarship of integration (e.g. composing introductory textbooks), scholarship of application (e.g. applied research), and scholarship of teaching.[11] It was this last category, scholarship of teaching, where Boyer argued that teaching should not merely be “tacked on” to the duties of faculty, but should be treated as an active area of intellectual exploration where instructors plan, evaluate, and revise their pedagogical approaches based on a rigorous understanding of relevant literature. In other words, teaching and research should not be seen as representing opposing scholarly interests because the research of teaching in higher education is a valuable contribution to scholarship in itself.

Soon after Boyer’s influential publication, other scholars such Robert B. Barr and John Tagg started to highlight the limitations of perceiving higher education as mere access to instruction and suggested examining the value of improving student learning. The suggestions of Barr and Tagg presumed a constructivist theory of education where the focus was centered on the learner.[12] Consequently, the following president of the Carnegie Foundation, Lee Schulman, formally incorporated “learning” into Boyer’s “scholarship of teaching,” thus creating the field of the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning (SoTL, often pronounced “sō-tul”) as it is known today.[13]

While there is no formal criteria for research to fall under the rubric of SoTL, one working definition has been suggested by Michael Potter and Erica Kustra: “the systematic study of teaching and learning, using established or validated criteria of scholarship, to understand how teaching (beliefs, behaviours [sic], attitudes, and values) can maximize learning, and/or develop a more accurate understanding of learning, resulting in products that are publicly shared for critique and use by an appropriate community.”[14] Generally, however, SoTL is rather broad and encompasses any approach to teaching and learning in higher education that mirrors traditional research, namely having defined goals, appropriate methods, significant results, and appropriate presentation.

I have seen no attempts to try and define the relationship between ID and SoTL. Even though they have disparate origins, they tend to share common methods and goals. In practice, because of the specific initiatives of the Carnegie Foundation, SoTL appears to represent the scholarly output of disciplinary specialists interested in researching teaching practices in higher education, while ID represents the pragmatic work done in departments found on campuses (e.g. holding workshops, publishing SoTL-oriented journals [see below], managing informative websites on pedagogy, etc.). These departments often appear under a wide range of names such as the Center for Teaching, Center for Excellence in Teaching and Learning, and Teaching Commons.[15] Perhaps the largest distinction is that historically ID has been interested in all levels of education (including training for business and the military), of which higher education was just one dimension. Additionally, ID has historically shown a closer affiliation with instructional media and technology (see below).

Ultimately, SoTL has become a recognized field of research both within individual disciplines and as a stand-alone discipline. Since 1990, there has been rapid growth in the publication of discipline-neutral journals exploring effective teaching. Below is an incomplete list of running publications falling under the SoTL rubric (including publications that existed previous to Boyer’s publication):

Numerous disciplines also have a history of studying how students learn within their fields, such as history (Teaching History, 1969-), sociology (Teaching Sociology, 1973-), or philosophy (Teaching Philosophy, 1975-), among many others. While SoTL research tends to be less tied to specific disciplinary domains, some will include these publications under the SoTL rubric. A helpful list of journal publications devoted to teaching and sorted by discipline is published digitally by the University of Saskatchewan Library (here).

Educational Technology and Instructional Media

A third shift in the 1990’s, which I will only discuss briefly here, was the growing interest in using computers and eventually the internet, for instructional purposes. Historically, we could trace the origins of ID to pre-World War II interests in technological advancements perceived as having an application for teaching. This would include early twentieth-century school museums and new visual media such as magic lantern slides and stereoview cards. In the coming decades, this interest would shift to the use of video and television.[16] This focus on researching (and adopting) the newest technology for the classroom is revealed in the name of one of the oldest professional groups dedicated to ID, the Association for Education Communication and Technology (AECT), which was started in 1923 as the Department of Visual Instruction. Additionally, many of the earliest journals dedicated to ID, published under the editorial supervision of the AECT, had titles such as A[udio] V[isual] Communication Review, Tech Trends, Media Management, and School Learning Resources. After World War II, Educational Technology (also known as Instructional Media, among other names) was increasingly seen as separate from the research interests of the newly developing field of ID. While these fields clearly overlap, they also covered specific, complementary niches.[17]

Some of the more recent interests of this field are the development and management of university Learning Management Systems (LMS) and the designing of online or blended classrooms, especially for long-distance courses. This has spawned a new major in several American colleges and universities called Learning Design and Technology (LDT).

TL;DR

Many Instructional Development departments in colleges and universities operate useful, information-rich websites. If I had to choose just one on the merits of providing ample, practical information about university pedagogy while also providing some historical context, it would be the Vanderbilt University Center for Teaching (if you navigate to the Center for Teaching home page, look for the Teaching Guides menu).

Notes:

[1] I am indebted to Reiser 2001a and Reiser 2001b for this synoptic history of Instructional Design.

[2] The use and study of various forms of instructional media, such as audio-visual materials, is often treated as a parallel area of study to instructional design, with the recent focus on the use of computers and long-distance education.

[3] For discussion on the various definitions of Instructional Design see Branch & Dousay 2015: 14-8, and Reiser 2001a: 53-4. Robert Reiser offers a more nuanced definition of Instructional Design: “The field of instructional design and technology encompasses the analysis of learning and performance problems, and the design, development, implementation, evaluation and management of instructional and noninstructional processes and resources intended to improve learning and performance in a variety of settings, particularly educational institutions and the workplace. Professionals in the field of instructional design and technology often use systematic instructional design procedures and employ a variety of instructional media to accomplish their goals. Moreover, in recent years, they have paid increasing attention to noninstructional solutions to some performance problems. Research and theory related to each of the aforementioned areas is also an important part of the field.” See Reiser 2001a and 2001b. Some have suggested that instructional development mirrors the scientific method, see Andrews & Goodson 1980.

[4] Higgins et. al. 1989: 8. Technically, the Journal of Instructional Development was combined with Educational Communication and Technology Journal (titled previous to 1978 as A[udio] V[isual] Communication Review) and consolidated as Educational Technology Research and Development. Additionally, the publications Tech Trends, Media Management, and School Learning Resources were also consolidated, see Higgins et. al. 1989, also see Dick & Dick 1989: 87.

[5] The figures most prominently associated with constructivism are Lev Vygotsky and Jean Piaget. See, e.g. Owen-Smith 2018: 17-8.

[6] There is no consensus definition of the constructivist theory of learning, but a survey of the literature suggests a polythetic dimension. For delineations of the elements of constructivism see, among others, Fox 2001: 24, Reiser 2001b: 63, and Karagiorgi & Symeou 2005: 18.

[7] For a summary overview of critiques against the novelty of constructivism, see Fox 2001. I agree with Fox that it is highly unlikely any “traditionalist” view of learning proposed the learning process to be entirely passive. For a list of scholarship exploring the relationship between constructivism and more “traditional approaches, see Reiser 2001b: 63. Furthermore, in the camp of constructivism, there are more radical and more conservative views regarding the relative importance the external environment and internal, individual frameworks; see the brief discussion in Karagiorgi & Symeou 2005: 19.

[8] Karagiorgi & Symeou 2005: 18.

[9] The precursors to Scriven’s helpful distinction between formative and summative is discussed in Cambre 1981.

[10] Their recommendations were published in Classroom Assessment Techniques: A Handbook for Faculty.

[11] This is outlined in Chin 2018: 304.

[12] Barr and Tagg differentiate between the Instruction Paradigm and the Learning Paradigm, see Barr & Tagg 1995.

[13] This is also reflected in the Carnegie Academy for the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning (CASTL) launched in 1998. For Shulman’s analysis of the importance of learning, see Shulman 1999. A brief history of SoTL can be found here (by Mary Huber) and here (by Nancy Chick).

[14] Potter & Kustra 2011: 2.

[15] It seems plausible to say that SoTL has superseded ID as the preferred terminology to name this field of research.

[16] See Reiser 2001a.

[17] See, e.g. Dick & Dick 1989.

References:

  • Andrews, Dee H. & Goodson, Ludwika A. 1980. “A Comparative Analysis of Models of Instructional Design.” Journal of Instructional Development, pp. 161-82.
  • Barr, Robert B. & Tagg, John. 1995. “From Teaching to Learning: A New Paradigm for Undergraduate Education,” Change, Vol. 27, No. 6, pp. 13-25.
  • Bonwell, Charles & Eison, James. 1991. Active Learning: Creating Excitement in the Classroom. ASHE-ERIC Higher Education Reports.
  • Boyer, Ernst. 1990. Scholarship Reconsidered: Priorities of the Professoriate. The Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching: Princeton University Press.
  • Branch, Robert Maribe & Dousay, Tonia A. 2015. Survey of Instructional Design Models. Bloomington: Association for Educational Communication and Technology.
  • Cambre, Marjorie A. 1981. “Historical Overview of Formative Evaluation of Instructional Media Products,” Educational Communication and Technology, Vol. 29, No. 1, pp. 3-25.
  • Chin, Jeffrey. 2018. “Defining and Implementing the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning,” in Learning from Each Other: Refining the Practice of Teaching in Higher Education, eds. Michele Lee Kozimor-King, Jeffrey Chin, Berkeley: University of California Press, pp. 304-11.
  • Cross, K. Patricia & Angelo, Thomas. 1988 [1993]. Classroom Assessment Techniques: A Handbook for Faculty, 2nd edition. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.
  • Dick, Walter & Dick, W. David. 1989. “Analytical and Empirical Comparisons of the Journal of Instructional Development and Educational Communication and Technology Journal.” Educational Technology Research and Development, Vol. 37, No. 1, pp. 81-87.
  • Fox, Richard. 2001. “Constructivism Examined,” Oxford Review of Education, Vol. 27, No. 1, pp. 23-35.
  • Higgins, Norman; Sullivan, Howard; Harper-Marinick, Maria & López, Cecilia. 1989. “Perspectives on Educational Technology Research and Development,” Educational Technology Research and Development, Vol. 37, No. 1, pp. 7-18.
  • Karagiorgi, Yiasemina & Symeou, Loizos.2005. “Translating Constructivism into Instructional Design: Potential and Limitations,” Journal of Educational Technology & Society , Vol. 8, No. 1, pp. 17-27.
  • Owen-Smith, Patricia. 2018. The Contemplative Mind in the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
  • Potter, Michael K. & Kustra, Erika D.H. 2011. “The Relationship between Scholarly Teaching and SoTL: Models, Distinctions, and Clarifications,” International Journal for the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning, Vol. 5, No. 1, Art. 23.
  • Reiser, Robert A. 2001a. “A History of Instructional Design and Technology: Part I: A History of Instructional Media,” Educational Technology Research and Development, Vol. 49, No. 1, pp. 53-64.
  • Reiser, Robert A. 2001b. “A History of Instructional Design and Technology: Part II: A History of Instructional Media,” Educational Technology Research and Development, Vol. 49, No. 2, pp. 57-67.
  • Shulman, Lee. 1999. “Taking Learning Seriously,” Change, Vol. 31, No. 4, pp. 11-17.

Working Notes on Japanese Postcard Publishers

Peter Romaskiewicz [Last updated: December 2019]

Introduction

In the ongoing (nay, endless!) attempt to identify the Japanese picture postcards (ehagaki 絵葉書) in my collection, I’ve decided to publish my working notes on identifying Japanese postcard publishers. Where possible, I try to provide historical information about the publisher. Moreover, using Urakawa Kazuya’s 浦川和也 four-period chronology as a foundation, I try to catalog variant designs printed on the reverse (atena-men 宛名面, “address side”) by each publisher as well as some different letterpress captioning styles on the obverse (egara [or shashin]-men 絵柄[写真]面, “design [or photograph] side,” or tsūshin-men 通信面, “communication side”)[1]. The goal is to help identify cards that do not bear a publisher’s name or trademark (shōhyō 商標, rogumāku ロゴマーク). The information below is mostly gleaned from Japanese sources (both print and digital) as well as some personal observations. I emphasize that this post represents my working notes, thus this information is in flux.

Please contact me if you can provide any other information or resources about Japanese postcard publishers, or any other oversights and errors: pmr01[at]ucsb[dot]edu.

Publishing Postcards in Meiji and Early Taishō Japan

The commercial market for photography in Japan grew significantly in the 1860’s and 1870’s with the arrival of globetrotting tourists looking for souvenirs of their exotic travels in Asia. The primary port of entry for travelers entering Japan during the Meiji era was Yokohama, which emerged as the center of this competitive commercial industry. Yokohama shashin 横浜写真, or “Yokohama photography,” came to denote the particular fusion of Western technology and Japanese craftsmanship as monochromatic prints were hand-colored by artists to produce vibrant, eye-catching scenes. Throughout the 1880’s and 1890’s Japanese owned photography studios grew in number and significance, slowly displacing their Western counterparts who had bigger shares of the market in the 1860s and 1870s. Moreover, as travel restrictions were lifted for foreigners and domestic interest increased, Japanese owned photography studios started to successfully populate more diverse urban areas throughout Japan. The aesthetic cultivated by these early photography studios would have a great influence on the first domestic publishers of postcards in Japan.

The Japanese postal delivery service began in March 1871 and soon joined the Union Postale Universelle (bankoku yūbin rengō 萬国郵便聯合) in June 1877, thus permitting the sending and receiving of international mail (although several countries maintained foreign post offices in select Japanese cities earlier). The first postal card (hagaki 端書) in Japan was issued in December 1873, but until the start of the twentieth century all cards were government-issued (kansei 官製). These are identifiable through prepaid franking printed on the address side (i.e. the back) of the card. The obverse (i.e. the front) remained blank to accommodate a written message. Changes in postal codes on October 1, 1900 allowed private companies to publish picture postcards (ehagaki 絵葉書) where an illustration or design could be included on the obverse (until the adoption of a “divided back” reverse design in April 1907, the sender’s message also had to be written on the obverse side). Two years later, the government started to produce its own commemorative picture postcards. These changes altered the landscape of the postcard market and starting a new cultural phenomenon.

For private-issued (shisei 私製) cards, photographic imagery soon became the favored visual expression and many images from Japanese photography studios were initially used for this new medium. These images were photomechanically reproduced through an inexpensive planographic printing technique known as the collotype (korotaipu コロタイプ), introduced commercially in Japan by Ogawa Kazumasa 小川 一眞 (1860-1929) in 1889. Multi-color collotype printing was very difficult to execute, thus many early twentieth-century postcard publishers employed artists who hand-painted the cards with washes of watercolor (some colors, like red, contained stronger pigmentation). Consequently, the aesthetic of Yokohama shashin that developed in the early Meiji period continued into the early Taishō era through this new visual medium.

The Russo-Japanese War from 1904 to 1905 initiated what is now referred to as a “picture postcard boom” (ehagaki būmu 絵葉書ブーム or ehagaki ryōko 絵葉書流行). Postcards were sold all throughout Japan, especially in urban centers. One could find postcard specialty shops in cities like Yokohama, Tokyo, Kyoto, or Kobe. Moreover, many other businesses became involved in the lucrative postcard market, including photography studios, printing shops, booksellers, souvenir stores, and even temples. The larger publishers would sell their stock wholesale to other stores, thus canvassing the country with inexpensive photographic images of landscapes, city scenes, portraits of geisha, actors, the royal family, daily activities, war scenes, natural disasters, and so forth. At least one publisher, Ueda Photographic Prints Corp., had a retailer directly sell their products in New York City.

Infrequently, publishers would inconspicuously print their name and address on the card. It slowly became common, though far from standard, for larger publishers to print their signature trademark or logo on the card, most commonly in the stamp box (kitte ichi 切手位置) on the reverse side. While this would aesthetically frame the trademark, once a stamp was affixed it would also render the publisher anonymous. It is also possible to locate a publisher’s name or insignia elsewhere on the card, for example as part of the dividing line or in the letterpress caption. Some publishers would inconspicuously hide their insignia, such as Udea or Tonboya, discussed below.

In too many cases, however, there is little identifying evidence to ascertain the publisher of a card. (In this industry of mass-production, it goes without saying that identifying the original photographer or individual colorist is almost certainly impossible.) Elsewhere I have described a method to help determine otherwise anonymous publishers, and I consider this entry a further exploration of this endless, though enjoyable, quest.


Ueda Photographic Prints Corp.

上田写真版合資会社

Ueda Yoshizō.png
Ueda Yoshizō

Born in Tokyo, Ueda Yoshizō 上田義三 (1865-?) found employment after college in the oldest German export trading company in the capital, Aherns & Co. (Ārensu shōkai アーレンス商会), founded by Heinrich Aherns in 1869. In the mid-1890’s, after Ueda toured Europe and America, he returned to Japan to open his first business venture in 1897 (Meiji 30), the Yokohama Photographic Printing Co. 横浜写真版印刷所 first located on Yatozaka Slope 谷戶坂. In 1905 (Meiji 38) the business moved to Okina-chō 3-chōme (No. 131) 翁町3丁目(131番) and around 1913 (Taishō 2) the business was renamed Ueda Photographic Prints Corp. 上田写真版合資会社 (the name “Uyeda” can be found printed on some postcards).

Ueda was highly successful in selling photographs and producing government-issued postcards on his own collotype printing equipment. Importantly, Ueda’s success in printing early landscape and figural picture postcards presaged the Japanese postcard boom after the Russo-Japanese War, thus he became recognized as the “Japanese Pioneer of Picture Postcard Manufacturing” 日本元祖絵葉書製造元. Īkura Tōmei 飯倉東明 (1884-?) worked as Udea’s director of photography in the first decade of the twentieth century. My analysis of Ueda postcards from 1907-1918 can be found here.


Tonboya

トンボヤ

Hakaki sign
Another postal box signboard on Isezaki-chō
Tonboya signboard
Tonboya’s signboard on Isezaki-chō

Around 1905 (Meiji 38), Yoshimura Kiyoshi 吉村清, the proprietor of the well-known Tokyo-based publisher Kamigataya 上方屋 (in Ginza), started a new venture in Yokohama, called Tonboya トンボヤ, or “Dragonfly Studio.” [2] Along with Ueda, Tonboya was the most prolific hand-painted postcard publisher in Japan, also opening offices in Tokyo, Kawasaki, and Yokosuka. The original shop was located on Isezaki-chō 2-chōme (No. 16) 伊勢佐木町2丁目(16番), a famous area known among foreigners as Theatre Street (see post frontispiece above). The storefront can easily be located in period photographs due to its distinctive Japanese-style red cylindrical postal box (yūbin posuto 郵便ポスト) sign painted with ehakaki エハカキ [sic], or “Picture Postcards.” The left-hand column of words on the white storefront sign says “photographic collotype printing.”

Kamigataya stamp box
Kamigataya stamp box trademark

The postal box was also the trademark printed in the stamp box for Kamigataya issued cards. The precise business relationship between Kamigataya and Tonboya remains obscure.

Screen Shot 2019-10-04 at 18.46.22.png
Postal box signboard in Motomachi

There appears to have been a second office in Motomachi which also appears in period photographs, here saying “postal cards.” In the early Showa Period after the Great Kantō earthquake, the business moved to Izezaki-chō 1-chōme (No. 36) 1丁目(36番). Cards were initially hand-colored, but Tonboya used a multicolored collotype process starting in the early Taisho. Tonboya remained in operation after the Great Kantō Earthquake of 1923.


Tonboya Reverse Designs and Obverse Captions

Period I (October 1900-March 1907) – Undivided Back

Screen Shot 2018-12-17 at 08.47.57.png
Type 1: The characteristic dragonfly (tonbo) trademark is placed in the stamp box.
Screen Shot 2018-12-18 at 01.28.17
Type 2: A variant dragonfly trademark is placed in the upper left-hand corner.
Screen Shot 2018-12-19 at 14.06.31
Type 3: Even without the dragonfly seal, the characteristic serif font in dark/black ink can help identify the publisher. The same serif font, however, was also used by Kamigataya which is easily identified by the Japanese postal box trademark in the stamp box. With no identifying emblem it remains difficult to confidently identify the publisher as Tonboya or Kamigataya. Tonboya, however, seems to have regularly used black ink for the reverse while Kamkigataya seems to have preferred dark green or maroon. Moreover, Kamigataya cards are sometimes printed with the “UNION POSTALE UNIVERSELLE” header as narrower than “CARTE POSTALE” below.
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 10.12.53
For Tonboya Types 1-3, the obverse captioning is typically in capital letters and finished with a period. Some captions include a stock number in parentheses. It should be noted that Kamigataya also used capital lettering in this period.

Period II (March 1907-March 1918)

Screen Shot 2018-12-19 at 14.55.17
Type 4: Dragonfly trademark with divided back and address lines. Variants exist with the rule lines for the name and address omitted.
Screen Shot 2018-12-18 at 01.28.53.png
Type 5: No dragonfly trademark with divided back, here with rule lines for the name and address.
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 09.55.57.png
Type 5 (variant): No dragonfly trademark with divided back, here without rule lines.
Screen Shot 2019-10-02 at 22.44.46
Type 5 (variant): No dragonfly trademark with barred dividing line (top of line) and without rule lines.
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 10.13.13
For Types 4-5, the obverse captions often incorporate a dragonfly facing downwards and to the left. A stock number in parentheses with a letter code indicating the location of the image is also sometimes included (e.g. Y=Yokohama). Note, however, this system is not universal, these designs can have the older captioning system of capital letters.
Screen Shot 2018-12-18 at 01.33.22.png
Type 6 [Yokohama Jubilee](Japanese): This reverse design was printed for the 1909 fiftieth anniversary jubilee for the opening of Yokohama port. The symbol in the stamp box is the emblem of Yokohama. Notably, the reverse design bears the dragonfly as the ki キ.
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 00.15.58
Type 6 [Yokohama Jubilee](English): Same design as above with English name and street address. The design also incorporates “MADE IN JAPAN” in the dividing line, suggesting this card was printed with US customs laws in mind. The Yokohama city insignia is also missing in the stamp box.
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 10.39.30.png
For Type 6, the obverse captions have a dragonfly facing upwards to the left. Sometimes a stock number in parentheses is incorporated.
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 10.49.33
Type 7 (blue): Around September 1909, “UNION POSTALE UNIVERSELLE” is removed and a new bilingual header is introduced. The dotted dividing line may or may not contain “MADE IN JAPAN.” Notably, the reverse design bears the dragonfly as the ki キ.
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 11.00.29
Type 7 (umber): The reverse design is printed in blue, umber, or black.
Screen Shot 2018-12-17 at 23.18.43
Type 7 (black): A barred line variant is also common.
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 10.56.42
Type 7 (blue): Here with address lines
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 11.10.12.png
For Type 7, the obverse captions most typically have a dragonfly facing upwards with a stock number and letter identification in parentheses. There are, however, exceptions. The letterpress is commonly in italic print, but not always. At some point, the letter identification is printed in lower case. Confusingly, the Sakaeya publishing house 栄屋商店 lion is sometimes incorporated in the caption, even when the reverse design bears the dragonfly as the ki キ (!). I presume, but have no firm evidence, that Sakaeya purchased the card stock from Tonboya already imprinted with the reverse design (maybe even the front image?) and incorporated their lion insignia in the letterpress caption.

Period III (March 1918-February 1933)

Screen Shot 2019-10-02 at 22.38.56.png
Type 8: A bilingual header with a centered dividing line.
Screen Shot 2018-12-19 at 02.06.33.png
Type 8: A minor variant of above with rounded, full-line stamp box.

Hoshinoya

星野屋

Yoshioka Chōjirō
Yoshioka Chōjirō

Yoshioka Chōjirō 吉岡長次郎 arrived in Yokohama in 1904 (Meiji 37) with postcards purchased in Tokyo, hoping to turn a profit by reselling them to foreigners. After receiving numerous orders and making several trips back to Tokyo to restock, Yoshioka opened a shop in Yokohama at Onoe-chō 4-chōme, No. 61 尾上町4丁目(61番).

Hoshinoya display.png
Possible display of cards at Hoshinoya

By the end of the Russo-Japanese War in the fall of 1905, he had collected many collotype plates of native landscapes and was very successful marketing to both foreigners and Japanese. Hoshinoya emerged as one of the most well-known postcard shops in the port of Yokohama.


Hoshinoya Reverse Designs and Obverse Captions

Period II (March 1907-March 1918)

Screen Shot 2018-12-18 at 01.36.55.png
The Art Nouveau style “Carte Postale” is an easily identifying characteristic of Hoshinoya cards. I have also seen Nassen & Co. cards with this same font and scalloped stamp box, however, but cards with the Nassen & Co. imprint are far less common in the secondary market. In any regard, any reverse design with the publisher’s mark could be Hoshinoya or Nassen & Co.
Screen Shot 2018-12-18 at 01.36.46.png
Screen Shot 2018-12-18 at 17.20.28.png
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 22.07.45
Screen Shot 2018-12-19 at 14.05.05.png A variant style for “Carte Postale” can also be found. Note the stamp box is vertical.
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 22.18.03.png
495_002.jpg
This reverse design, with French header and bilingual translation, is frustrating. Here, it is clearly identified by the Hoshinoya stamp box trademark. Without the stamp box insignia, however, this design is fairly common among cards in the secondary market. I had previously believed cards without a printer’s insignia were an Ueda product (Type 2), but I also have found evidence suggesting this design was used by Tonboya as well. In any regard, only Hoshinoya’s trademark can be found on cards I have seen (thus far) of this design. Yet, not only is the sans-serif font uncharacteristic of Hoshinoya cards of this period, this publisher often used “Union Postale Universelle” as a header; this phrase is absent on the card here. It suffices to say that it was surprising to find a Hoshinoya insignia on this reverse design. It remains possible that this reverse design was shared among several printers (see Sakaeya below). Unfortunately, I am not sure this will ever be resolved with certainty.
041_002
Reverse printed in umber, see my comments directly above.

Period III (March 1918-February 1933)

Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 22.06.41
Period III using the Art Nouveau style “Carte Postale.”
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 10.04.50.png
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 22.10.26.png
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 22.12.17
Hoshinoya is also clearly indicated on the obverse of this card, thus connecting the sans-serif font to the card design noted above.
708_002.jpg
I am unsure of this identification, but I take the star at the top of the dividing bar to indicate the Hoshinoya trademark.
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 22.12.39
I am also unsure of this identification, It seems that Hoshinoya started to use a light blue more regularly for the reverse designs, so I include this one here.
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 21.55.29.png
Hoshinoya relocated to Nikko and started to produce sets of this locale. Backs are also printed in Japanese.

Sakaeya & Co.

栄屋商店發行

Sakaeya shop.png
Sakaeye storefront in Motomachi, Kobe

A Kobe based company with a shop in Motomachi, Kobe. A majority of this publisher’s cards are of Kobe and its environs, but there are other images among its portfolio. Curiously, I have seen Sakaeya’s lion insignia in the caption of images that were printed on cards bearing both Ueda’s and Tonboya’s seals on the reverse. I’d speculate that Sakaeya purchased Ueda and Tonboya cardstock and used it to print their own cards. It seems likely they mainly sold them in Kobe with the lion insignia imprinted on the front. Period III cards also bare the insignia of Taisho Hato (see below), a dove with is wings spread open.


Sakaeya Reverse Designs and Obverse Captions

Period II (March 1907-March 1918)

Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 11.32.24.png
Ueda publisher back with Sakeya insignia in obverse caption.
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 00.32.11.png
Tonboya publisher back with Sakeya insignia in obverse caption.
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 11.35.24.png
Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 11.46.26.png
Screen Shot 2019-10-04 at 19.59.05.png
Sakaeya captions typically use stock numbers with letter identification (most are K for Kobe), sometimes inside parentheses. The letterpress is sometimes italicized. While the lion insignia is printed in the bottom right corner, sometimes the Sakeya name is also included by the stock identification number. It is uncommon for landscape postcards to have the Sakaeya name or insignia printed on the reverse.

Period III (March 1918-February 1933)

Screen Shot 2019-10-03 at 11.29.25.png
Sakaeya continued to use Udea cards stock for their postcards into Period III
Screen Shot 2018-12-18 at 17.00.15.png
Eventually, Sakaeya incorporated the lion insignia into the stamp box.
Screen Shot 2019-10-04 at 19.54.40.png
Screen Shot 2019-10-04 at 19.54.54.png
Screen Shot 2019-10-04 at 19.55.11.png
Screen Shot 2019-10-04 at 20.06.10.png
Later period captions sometimes still incorporate the Sakaeya lion insignia, but it gets removed when the name and insignia are incorporated on the reverse. Sakaeya also started to use two lines of letterpress.

Other Publishers [also see here]

  • Akanishi MarkAkanishi (Kobe 神戸)
  • Asahido.png Asahidō (Kyoto 京都)
  • Benrido.png Benrido 便利堂 (Kyoto 京都)[no trademark, but uses distinctive font – one of the last collotype studios still in operation; some cards bearing this font seem to have been printed by (or for?) Buddhist temples)
  • Hōeidō 保永堂 (Kamakura 鎌倉?)
  • Screen Shot 2019-12-03 at 09.10.08.png Naniwaya Co. 浪華屋 (Kanda, Tokyo 東京神田) – [later became Tokyo Design Printing Co. 東京図按(vl. )印刷社; Kuroda Hisayoshi 黒田久吉]
  • Nassen & Co. (Yoshioka-chō, Yokohama) – interlaced N and S atop floral design
  • Nisshinsha.png Nisshinsha (Tokyo 東京)
  • SN Banshuido.png S.N. Banshiudo 長島萬集堂 [Nagashima banshūdō](Shiba, Tokyo 東京芝)
  • Taisho Hato.png Taisho Hato Brand 大正鳩ブランド (Wakayama 和歌山)
  • Nara Todai-ji.png Tōdai-ji 東大寺 (Nara 奈良)

Notes

[1] The nomenclature for the sides of the postcard derived from their original design where one side was reserved solely for the address, while the other was reserved for the written message, and eventually, a printed image. These are also known as the reverse (rimen 裏面) and obverse (hyōmen 表面).

Screen Shot 2019-10-05 at 10.52.51
Kamkgataya storefront displaying postcards for sale.

[2] Some sources name the proprietor as Maeda Tokutarō 前田徳太郎, but I have not seen this name in printed Japanese sources. Some sources note 1907 (Meiji 40) as the date for the founding of Tonboya. A Kamigataya sign and display of postcards can also be found in the Motomachi district of Yokohama.

Resources:

A Meaningful and Engaging Syllabus Design

Can you judge a book by its cover? A course by its syllabus?

I’d say many university syllabuses[1] are analogous to an end-user license agreement or a manual for your kitchen blender – in other words, things I wouldn’t be caught dead reading either.

1

Additions like images can help with student interest in the material

While thoughtful syllabus design is not a major area of research, there is a small, but informative pool of literature on the topic.[2] Not surprisingly, a well-designed, engaging syllabus has been shown to prime student motivation and interest in the course more than a poorly designed syllabus.[3] I’d content that since the syllabus is one of the first ways we interact with our students, it’s a genre that deserves thoughtful planning.

Many of us use the syllabus as a kind of legal contract, sometimes incorporating “legalese” into our course policies and even have our students sign the syllabus to signal a binding agreement.[4] (Or, to test if the students actually read the syllabus, some will hide “Easter eggs” and reward those students who “passed the test.”) Indeed, the expansion of the syllabus over the decades – or “syllabus bloat” – has been mainly due to the growing abundance of policy statements used to settle any potential student grievances.

While I understand the appeal of the contractual model, I’ve never found it matched my teaching persona or fed into the classroom culture I was trying to establish.[5] Of course, listing course policies is necessary, but the syllabus does not need to be limited to this purpose. [6]

After reflecting on the intended audience and purpose of the syllabus genre, I’ve come to see it as one of the numerous pedagogical tools at my disposal. My syllabus design falls somewhere between a chapter in an introductory textbook, a promotional advertisement, and a monthly newsletter – at least this is my intention, every syllabus is an open-ended project.

One of the first hurdles I had to overcome was fully identifying my students as my target audience, not my colleagues. This may seem commonsensical in hindsight, but this realization immediately impacted my tone, the type of information I incorporated, and the overall graphic design of this new “learner-centered” and “engaging” syllabus [see chart].[7]

I had two specific revelations regarding content – essentially incorporating “hows” and “whys” into the copious amount of “whats.”

 

3.5

I include a section on student motivation (borrowed from Tona Hagan) for class discussion

First, I realized that several comments I would normally make about how to do well in my classes could easily and beneficially be incorporated. For example, I still hold a “what’s your motivation?” discussion in class, but now have some additional text in my syllabus that students can refer to during our conversation. I’ve found that it anchors discussion (like any class reading) and helps students make more pointed comments.

 

Additionally, I decided to include some material about why I designed the course the way I did, helping students to see my intellectual interests and pedagogical motivations. Accordingly, I write about the types of assignments and activities I employ and the value I find for students in assigning them.[8] I also try to reveal the scaffolding I’ve designed into the course, cuing students into the importance of daily foundational activities and how those are intended to build into larger, more complex, projects throughout the term. This is intended to help students with metacognition about their own learning behaviors and to see a clear pathway to achieve the learning objectives I’ve set for them (I’ve been inspired by the work of Tracy Zinn on this front).

Because I include a broader array of topics into my syllabus, I also do not go over the whole document on the first day of class. I introduce certain sections when necessary and have students refer back to it throughout the semester. I even have students look at it on one of the last days of the course.

The graphic design of my syllabus is almost entirely a result of the “syllabus makeover” by historian Tona Hangen (most notably, incorporating the trifold division of student success and motivation [9]). Good visual design not only captivates student interest, but also models professionalism (even enthusiasm), indicating the entire course will be handled with similar care.[10] Moreover, spending time working with principles of good design makes us aware of important information hierarchies which can be expressed through visual hierarchies (text color, text size, use of boxes, images, etc.).[11] As a consequence, students have an easier time parsing out more important information.

Certainly, an outstanding syllabus design will not make up for poor course design, but it might be worthwhile to consider the syllabus as an integral tool in helping students find success in our courses.

Here are some notes on my latest summer syllabus for Zen Buddhism: Mind and Material Practices. [PDF: Zen Mind and Material Practices Romaskiewicz Summer 2019]

  • Tone: Given that my students are the primary audience, I’ve consciously adopted a more friendly and positive tone (including using we/us/our, not “students”), and especially compassion and humor where I can.
  • Visual Hierarchy: I use color and colored shapes to direct student attention to more important information
  • Images: To promote some of the topics we will discuss, I try to incorporate images that foreshadow these ideas (I also try to creatively incorporate a reference to the image in adjacent text)
  • Hows: I include text that helps students reflect on their motivations for taking my course and how they can succeed
  • Whys: I provide a rationalization for assignments and activities I employ, not simply the explanation of their execution

1-2.png3-4.png5-6.png

Quick Reference Sources:

Notes:

[1] The plural form of syllabus is quietly debated in the halls of The Academy. I had a professor in grad school who preferred (ahem, actively and regularly commented upon) the proper plural form as syllabuses since the original term is not derived from Latin, but Greek (it’s a little more funky, actually). Thus, using a proper plural Latin declension (=syllabi) is unwarranted. (The same goes for octopus, coincidentally.) Interestingly, the Google Books NGram Viewer shows that syllabi is more common than syllabuses. The debate continues…

[2] A list of references can be found at the beginning of the document here [https://cte.virginia.edu/sites/cte.virginia.edu/files/Syllabus-Rubric-Guide-2-13-17.pdf].

[3] Harnish & Bridges 2011, Ludy et. al. 2016.

[4] Of course, a syllabus is not, and cannot be, an actual binding legal contract. But you could treat your syllabus like one.

[5] While I believe a syllabus should clearly state course policies and try to consider numerous “what ifs,” I do not think the nearly endless implicit agreements between student and instructor need to be made explicit. In my view, signing a syllabus makes the motivation for adhering to policies external (abiding by the law), rather than internal (it’s the right thing to do), and it undermines trust. Of course, this is my personal view. Lastly, some folks are also fans of the “syllabus quiz.”

[6] Description of a syllabus as a mix between a contract, permanent record, and learning tool can be found here [https://jan.ucc.nau.edu/~coesyl-p/syllabus_cline_article_2.pdf]

[7] I am borrowing the “learner-centered” and “engaging” syllabus from the typology in Ludy et. al. 2016 (see table above). It also amazes me that scholars might think that a good visual design cheapens the “scholarly” integrity of a text. What one might dismiss as “flash,” actually has an integral rhetorical purpose. Research on the impact of syllabus tone can be found in Harnish & Bridges 2011.

[8] Incidentally, I also chose to incorporate these things because I would notice students would rarely ever (maybe never) take notes about these aspects when we discussed them in class. Upon reflection, I felt knowing the hows and whys were central to my class, and while I couldn’t test my students on these aspects, they could at least have an easy way to consult them.

[9] It’s interesting to note that the “engaged” syllabus in Ludy et. al. 2016, p. 11, also adopted a similar approach, using the categories of “diet” and “life-style change.”

[10] See other insights about good visual design here [http://www.pedagogyunbound.com/tips-index/2014/2/7/make-your-course-documents-visually-engaging].

[11] I am only aware of one experimental study that compared a text-rich syllabus to a graphic-rich syllabus, i.e. Ludy et. al. 2016. Here is its principal finding: “Students perceived both types of syllabus positively, yet the engaging syllabus was judged to be more visually appealing and comprehensive. More importantly, it motivated more interest in the class and instructor than the contractual syllabus. Using an engaging syllabus may benefit instructors who seek to gain more favorable initial course perceptions by students.” Ludy et. al. 2016: 1.

References:

  • Doolittle, P. E., & Siudzinski, R. A. 2010. “Recommended Syllabus Components: What do Higher Education Faculty Include in their Syllabi?” Journal On Excellence In College Teaching, Vol 21, No. 3, pp. 29-61.
  • Ludy, Mary-Jon; Brackenbury, Tim; Folkins, John Wm; Peet, Susan H.; Langendorfer, Stephen J. & Beining, Kari. 2016. “Student Impressions of Syllabus Design: Engaging Versus Contractual Syllabus,” International Journal for the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning,” Vol. 10, No. 2, Article 6.
  • Harnish, Richard J. & Bridges, K. Robert. 2011. “Effect of Syllabus Tone: Students’ Perceptions of Instructor and Course,” Social Psychology of Education,  Vol. 14, No. 3, pp. 319-330.
  • Perrine, R. M., Lisle, J., & Tucker, D. L. 1995. “Effects of a Syllabus Offer of Help, Student Age, and Class Size on College Students’ Willingness to Seek Support from Faculty.” Journal of Experimental Education, Vol. 64, No. 1, pp. 41-52.
  • Saville, B. K., Zinn, T. E., Brown, A. R., & Marchuk, K. A. 2010. “Syllabus Detail and Students’ Perceptions of Teacher Effectiveness.” Teaching Of Psychology, Vol.37, No. 3, pp. 186-189.
  • Zinn, Tracy E. 2009.” But I Really Tried! Helping Students Link Effort and Performance.” Observer, Vol. 22, No. 8, pp. 27-30.