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joseph squier
My teaching philosophy is anchored in a few core principles: respect for students as collaborators in the learning process, a deep investment in critical and creative thinking, a belief in the importance of process over product, and a curiosity about how knowledge is constructed across disciplines. These ideas shaped every aspect of my teaching, from syllabus design and classroom discussion to critique formats and mentoring relationships. Whether I was working with first-year undergraduates or graduate students, I sought to create a space where rigor and care could coexist.
I’ve always believed that art and design should be understood within the broader context of lived experience. Rather than separate disciplines into narrow domains, I encouraged students to think across boundaries, to explore how text and image, theory and practice, the personal and the political intersect. I asked students not just to master tools, but to use them with purpose. In courses that ranged from photography and digital media to interactive narrative and cross-disciplinary writing, students engaged with media as a means of inquiry, not just expression.
This emphasis on context was always paired with material exploration. I encouraged students not only to learn tools, but to challenge and extend them. In a multimedia storytelling course, for instance, students analyzed examples of net art, film, and written short stories, then developed their own online video. Through these projects, they not only built technical proficiency, but cultivated an experimental mindset. They came to see digital systems as aesthetic platforms, as structures that could be bent, broken, or reimagined.
I consistently structured my studio courses around the idea that process matters. I didn’t expect students to reach preordained outcomes; I encouraged them to move through the uncertainties of experimentation. Critiques were not opportunities for judgment, but for dialogue. I asked students to speak to their intentions, to consider what had emerged in the making process, and to reflect on what could be refined or reimagined. In this way, failure became a necessary part of creative growth, an opportunity to ask new questions.
My teaching was always responsive. I redesigned courses often to keep pace with cultural and technological shifts, and I worked to adapt to the needs of each new group of students. Feedback from students played a crucial role in shaping class dynamics and pacing. I viewed teaching not as a fixed method, but as a living iterative practice, something that required listening and humility.
Inclusivity was a central concern. I worked to ensure that students from all backgrounds felt seen and supported in the classroom. That meant not only integrating diverse voices into readings and materials but also rethinking how classroom authority was structured. I encouraged students to bring their lived experiences into their work and to ask difficult questions, including those that challenged my own assumptions. The classroom became a space for shared inquiry.
I saw no separation between seminar and studio. Courses were designed to move fluidly between theoretical frameworks and creative application. Students read broadly, from theorists, critics, and artists, and then engaged these ideas in their own work. In courses focused on rhetoric and image, we might read Roland Barthes or bell hooks and then use those readings to inform a photo essay or experimental video. In narrative systems classes, we explored both information theory and creative writing techniques. I wanted students to see themselves not only as makers, but as thinkers.
Mentorship was at the heart of my teaching. I made myself available beyond scheduled hours. I listened carefully, read closely, and worked with students to articulate their goals. Some of the most meaningful teaching moments occurred not in group settings, but in one-on-one conversations, in helping a student find the thread of an idea, or in walking with them through the uncertainty of a major project.
Beyond the classroom, I contributed to the broader institutional conversation about teaching. I helped develop cross-disciplinary curricula, participated in faculty collaborations, and worked on committees focused on pedagogical innovation. I advocated for student-centered approaches that emphasized critical inquiry, collaboration, and experimentation. I was especially interested in programs that brought together art, writing, technology, and theory in new ways.
To teach, for me, was to be part of a wider ecology of learning, an extended conversation across generations, disciplines, and spaces. I never saw myself as the authority in the room. I came in with questions, just as I asked students to do. I considered myself a learner alongside them, continually changed by what they brought to the table. My goal was never to perfect a curriculum, but to foster a culture of inquiry, care, and rigor.
At its core, teaching is an act of hope. It is the belief that people can change, and that the process of learning can be transformative, not only for the student but for the teacher. My teaching practice was shaped by this belief. And while I have formally retired from the classroom, I carry its lessons with me still. I see its impact in the work of former students, in their continued questioning, and in the ways they shape their own communities of learning and making.