Why classical myth and autism?

Why classical myth and autism?

The idea for this project started to take shape at a meeting in 2008 with a special needs teacher, who mentioned that, in her experience and those of her colleagues, autistic children often enjoy classical myth. I began to wonder why this might be the case, and whether – as a classicist who researches, and loves, classical myth – there was anything I could contribute. I started this blog to report on my progress which was often sporadic until the launch of the Warsaw-based European Research Council-funded project Our Mythical Childhood (2016-22) to trace the role of classics in children’s culture.

My key contribution to the project is an exploration of classics in autistic children’s culture, above all by producing myth-themed activities for autistic children. This blog shares my progress, often along Herculean paths, including to a book of lessons for autistic children focusing on the Choice of Hercules between two very different paths in life. The image above, illustrating the homepage of this blog, is one of the drawings by Steve K. Simons, the book's illustrator, of a chimneypiece panel in a neoclassical villa at Roehampton in South West London. The lessons centre on this panel.

Tuesday, 28 March 2023

I am not sure whether this is actually true: Autism Acceptance Week – Tuesday… From Richard Burton, to the autism test, to forcefields

I am not sure whether this is actually true, but I remember hearing decades ago that Richard Burton would never watch a performance of himself. I’m not sure why – perhaps it was because otherwise he would be constrained. Perhaps he preferred to be in the moment, like a stage actor.

And so, I’m not sure why, and I’m not even sure whether this memory of something I recall hearing while a child is accurate. But it’s been something I remember, because it resonates, I think, with how I feel about my practice as someone who has been ‘in the moment’ a lot – teaching, delivering papers…

I used to freeze were I recorded, let alone filmed, and I do not feel comfortable speaking to any group if a door is open. Then zoom-teaching came along with Covid, and recording sessions because normalised pretty quickly. When I started teaching remotely and running events that way, pressing the record button – and later watching things back – became part of my practice. And I felt surprisingly okay with it, however much watching an earlier version of me, if only from a short while earlier, seemed strange.

I’ve had the video recording of a remote talk I gave a few months ago on my autism-myth project for a while but could not bring myself to look at it until recently - and it’s okay! - although I do say ‘um’ a lot because I’m never reading a script but talking in the moment – responding to the ‘room’. And one thing that helps me feel a sense of ‘connect’, I find, is the chat facility.

Screenshot from zoom talk - an earlier one (likely in 2021 or early 2022)
from the one mentioned in this posting

I noticed during lockdown that autistic people sometimes like zoom chat. For my part, I tend to be pretty active there during any session I’ve joined – otherwise, I can’t really process what I’m hearing. It’s a substitute for the feeling of ‘presence’ of in-person events, I think.

Anyway, as well as reviewing the video, I have been looking at the saved zoom chat from during the event including from where I asked participants, if they wanted, to introduce themselves. Some participants shared their experiences of autism including as autistic people and one participants said something that resonated when they introduced themselves via the metaphor of being bilingual – that is of speaking autism and speaking like a neurotypical person, coming I think, from having been negotiating a neurotypical world as an autistic person who had no idea that they were autistic – when then had no idea, until, I think, their children’s diagnosis as autistic that they could be autistic when they didn’t fit the images of autistic standardly put out.

I will develop this later. But, writing about how far an autistic person ‘has’ autistic traits has got me thinking about the ‘autism test’ which Simon Baron Cohen devised and which, last time I looked, was available online. You answer a set of questions by ticking four options ranging from ‘very’ one thing to ‘very not’ the same and end up with a score that puts you in a category of very, to potentially, to not autistic.

Has anyone reading this taken this test? If so, how many times? I’ve taken it several times, firstly years back, because I guess I had been buying into a view that autism, as the ‘spectrum’ it was generally then seen as, could be pinned down, as though each person could be found somewhere in a scale from ‘very’ to ‘not’.

Anyway, each time I have done it, I have got a different score. So what does this mean? Does this say something about the test, or about myself and how I connect with a world I’m in or not in?

I always loved forcefields as a child... they would figure from time to time on tv shows I’d watch – at least this is how I remember it - and I’m increasingly finding the forcefield image a helpful one to convey what it’s like to move in the world while feeling apart from it.

Later, this Autism Acceptance Week, I shall build on the thread that has been running though this posting of being in/not in worlds by writing about a way of conceptualising what it is to be autistic, and non-autistic. This is Double Empathy Theory.

More tomorrow…

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