From Control to Understanding: Rethinking Evaluation in ELT Classrooms

Assessment, Assessment in Action, Assessment Practices, Evaluation, Formative Assessment, Reflective Evaluation, Summative Assessment 0 comments

Getting ready for evaluation

AI-generated picture by Prof. Jonathan Acuña Solano in July 2025

✍️ Introductory Note to the Reader

I wrote this post as both a teacher educator and a curriculum developer, currently reflecting on my professional practice after participating in a faculty development course on evaluation through Calidad Docente at Universidad Latina. This course led me to rethink how we approach evaluation in the English Language Teaching (ELT) classroom, not only as a way to measure learning, but more importantly, as a process to support it.

In what follows, I explore the difference between evaluation of learning and evaluation for learning, with a focus on formative assessment, student agency, and how meaningful feedback can transform the classroom into a space for authentic growth. This reflection stems from a deep belief that grammar and vocabulary are not end goals but tools to support real communication, and that our assessments should mirror that purpose.

From Control to Understanding: Rethinking Evaluation in ELT Classrooms

Abstract

This reflective essay explores the shift from traditional evaluation models based on control and final grading toward formative assessment practices that foster understanding and student growth. Grounded in insights from Unidad Didáctica 1 and supported by ELT research, the piece advocates for feedback-rich environments where learners co-construct knowledge and teachers act as facilitators. Written from the perspective of a teacher educator and curriculum developer, the essay emerges from personal reflection after completing a faculty development course on evaluation through Calidad Docente at Universidad Latina. Key themes include evaluation for learning, formative assessment, and the development of student agency through feedback.

Resumen

Este ensayo reflexivo examina el paso de modelos tradicionales de evaluación centrados en el control y la calificación final hacia prácticas formativas que promuevan la comprensión y el crecimiento del estudiante. Basado en ideas de la Unidad Didáctica 1 y respaldado por investigaciones en enseñanza del inglés, el texto aboga por entornos donde el feedback sea constante, los estudiantes construyan el conocimiento en conjunto y los docentes actúen como facilitadores. Escrito desde la perspectiva de un formador de docentes y diseñador curricular, el ensayo nace de la reflexión personal tras cursar una capacitación sobre evaluación ofrecida por Calidad Docente en la Universidad Latina. Entre los temas centrales se destacan la evaluación para el aprendizaje, la evaluación formativa y el fomento de la autonomía estudiantil.

Resumo

Este ensaio reflexivo analisa a transição de modelos tradicionais de avaliação baseados no controle e na nota final para práticas formativas que promovem a compreensão e o desenvolvimento do aluno. Baseado nas ideias da Unidad Didáctica 1 e fundamentado em pesquisas na área de ensino de inglês, o texto defende ambientes de aprendizagem onde o feedback é constante, os alunos constroem conhecimento em colaboração e os professores atuam como facilitadores. Escrito do ponto de vista de um formador de professores e desenvolvedor curricular, o ensaio resulta de uma reflexão pessoal após participar de um curso de formação docente sobre avaliação promovido pela Calidad Docente da Universidad Latina. Os temas centrais incluem avaliação para a aprendizagem, avaliação formativa e a promoção da autonomia do aluno.

Reflecting on today’s language teaching environments, the concept of evaluation should be undergoing a significant transformation. As a teacher educator, I have come to believe that the way we assess our students says much about our educational values and teaching philosophy. Are we measuring retention or nurturing growth? Are we issuing grades or fostering reflection? Drawing on insights from Unidad Didáctica 1: El sentido actual de la evaluación en educación (MEP, n.d.) and other key thinkers in the field, this essay outlines the shift from an evaluation rooted in control to one grounded in understanding, especially as it applies to English Language Teaching (ELT).

Beyond Grades: Redefining Evaluation vs. Assessment

Before any pedagogical shift can occur, teachers must first recognize the important distinction between evaluation and assessment. In many contexts, the former is linked to assigning grades, often summative in nature, while the latter refers to the broader, formative processes that support learner development (Brown & Abeywickrama, 2010). A well-prepared language teacher does not merely deliver content and verify mastery through tests; rather, they must create meaningful, scaffolded learning activities that allow students to produce output, reflect on their performance, and grow.

This broader perspective aligns with the constructivist view of learning in Unidad Didáctica 1, which emphasizes that evaluation should guide instruction and allow learners to demonstrate how they are building knowledge, not merely what they’ve memorized. “Assessment should be used to support learning and help students improve, not just to classify or penalize them” (MEP, n.d., p. 5, own translation).

In communicative classrooms, this means creating tasks where students can engage in meaningful language use, rather than simply retrieving isolated grammar forms. As Richards (2006) reminds us, “Grammar is a resource for communication, not just a set of rules to be memorized” (p. 6).

From Control to Comprehension: A Paradigm Shift

Unidad Didáctica 1 urges educators to move from “evaluación como control” (evaluation as control), characterized by final exams and standardized scores, to “evaluación como proceso de comprensión” (evaluation as understanding). This transformation parallels what Black and Wiliam (1998) refer to as the transition from assessment of learning to assessment for learning.

Evaluation as control tends to reduce language learning to isolated grammatical items, checked through discrete-point testing. Its primary focus is on verifying outcomes and determining whether students pass or fail. In contrast, evaluation as understanding invites teachers to diagnose learning in real-time, use feedback loops, and adapt instruction to learner needs. It encourages students to reflect on their performance, identify gaps, and develop strategies to grow (Heritage, 2010).

In practical terms, this might mean replacing a grammar test with a reflective speaking activity where learners receive formative feedback. As Fulcher and Davidson (2007) argue, “Language assessment is not just about determining what learners can do now; it should provide information that can shape what they do next” (p. 12).

An Ethical Commitment to Learners

Unidad Didáctica 1 also reminds us that evaluation is not merely a technical process, but an ethical one. Language teachers have a duty to align with institutional standards and syllabi, which represent a contract between teacher and learner. When assessment deviates arbitrarily from these norms, through what might be called “fly-by” grading, it undermines both transparency and fairness.

As Brookhart (2013) notes, “Good assessment is ethical. It requires transparency in goals, fairness in application, and feedback that supports learning” (p. 15). Instructors must therefore ensure that students understand the purpose and criteria of evaluation tools, and they must avoid subjective impressions when assigning scores. Meanwhile, learners must recognize feedback as a valuable tool, not a judgment.

Assessment in Action: Strategies for ELT

To enact these principles in the ELT classroom, teachers can draw on several practical strategies:

● Backward design (Wiggins & McTighe, 2005), which starts with learning outcomes and plans instruction in reverse, ensures that assessment aligns with communicative goals, not isolated grammar points.

● Checklists and rubrics make expectations visible and can be used not just for grading, but for providing specific feedback that supports student autonomy.

● Peer assessment protocols encourage reflection and accountability when used with scaffolding. For example, learners can adopt a simple format: “One thing you did well, and two things to improve.”

● ePortfolios allow students and teachers to track growth over time and reflect on language development across multiple tasks.

All of these tools embody what Unidad Didáctica 1 advocates: evaluation that is continuous, dialogic, and focused on learner understanding rather than teacher control (MEP, n.d., pp. 6–7).

Transforming Teacher Identity through Reflective Evaluation

When teachers shift from assessing what students know to how they grow, their professional identity also evolves. Teachers become guides and facilitators, not gatekeepers. However, this shift can be difficult in systems driven by grades, standardized curricula, and parent or institutional pressure.

In my role as a teacher educator, I help trainees understand that grammar-focused testing is not inherently wrong, but incomplete. As Dr. Richards (2006) emphasizes, grammar should be seen “as a means to develop fluency and accuracy in communication, not an end in itself” (p. 6). By helping teachers adopt reflective lesson planning and incorporate rubrics, portfolios, and formative tasks, we promote an assessment model that values meaning-making, pragmatics, and negotiation of meaning, the true fabric of language use.

Conclusion

In ELT, as in all education, we must ask ourselves: Are we assessing to control or to understand? The future of evaluation lies in its capacity to empower rather than rank, to illuminate learning rather than obscure it. When teachers design assessments that align with how learners build knowledge, and treat feedback as a moral responsibility, we create classrooms where language development becomes a shared, reflective, and human experience.

📚 References

Black, P., & Wiliam, D. (1998). Assessment and classroom learning. Assessment in Education: Principles, Policy & Practice, 5(1), 7–74. https://doi.org/10.1080/0969595980050102

Brookhart, S. M. (2013). How to create and use rubrics for formative assessment and grading. ASCD.

Brown, H. D., & Abeywickrama, P. (2010). Language assessment: Principles and classroom practices (2nd ed.). Pearson Longman.

Fulcher, G., & Davidson, F. (2007). Language testing and assessment: An advanced resource book. Routledge.

Heritage, M. (2010). Formative assessment: Making it happen in the classroom. Corwin.

Ministerio de Educación Pública (MEP). (n.d.). Unidad Didáctica 1: El sentido actual de la evaluación en educación. Retrieved from http://calameo.com/read/004414688fb9501437d4a

Richards, J. C. (2006). Communicative language teaching today. Cambridge University Press.

Wiggins, G., & McTighe, J. (2005). Understanding by Design (Expanded 2nd ed.). ASCD.

Reflective Task

Reflective Task by Jonathan Acuña

From Control to Understanding, Rethinking Evaluation in ELT Classrooms by Jonathan Acuña

Wednesday, July 30, 2025

A Conversation Beyond the Guillotine: Insights from Sydney Carton

A Tale of Two Cities, Character Analysis, Charles Dickens, Literary Criticism, Literature 0 comments

AI-generated picture by Prof. Jonathan Acuña Solano in July 2025

✍️ Introductory Note to the Reader

My only previous contact with Charles Dickens’ literary world was through Great Expectations. So venturing into A Tale of Two Cities was unfamiliar territory. To be honest, 19th-century literature has never been my cup of tea; I often find it slow, for lack of a better word. Yet in this particular novel, I encountered Sydney Carton, a key figure in the narrative, and arguably its most compelling character.

Through a fictional interview format, I sought to imagine and explore Carton’s perspective on faith, death, revolution, and redemption. This reflective conversation invites readers to consider how even a flawed, broken human act can illuminate a path toward meaning, dignity, and peace.

My sole 🎯 Objective is to help promote critical literary thinking through the reflective exploration of a classic character’s motivations, using dialogue to support textual analysis, emotional insight, and, quite simply, the personal responses I experienced as I read through each chapter of this powerful story.

A Conversation Beyond the Guillotine: Insights from Sydney Carton

An imagined dialogue exploring redemption, sacrifice, and revolution

Abstract

This reflective post explores the psychological depth of Sydney Carton, a central figure in Charles Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities. Through a fictional interview format, readers are invited to consider themes of despair, redemption, and revolutionary justice. The piece serves as a literary tool for encouraging empathy, critical thinking, and interpretive analysis in the English literature classroom.

Resumen

Esta entrada reflexiva explora la profundidad psicológica de Sydney Carton, un personaje central en Historia de dos ciudades de Charles Dickens. A través de una entrevista ficticia, se invita al lector a reflexionar sobre temas como la desesperanza, la redención y la justicia revolucionaria. El texto sirve como una herramienta literaria para fomentar la empatía, el pensamiento crítico y el análisis interpretativo en el aula de literatura en inglés.

Resumo

Esta postagem reflexiva explora a profundidade psicológica de Sydney Carton, figura central em Um Conto de Duas Cidades, de Charles Dickens. Por meio de uma entrevista fictícia, o leitor é convidado a refletir sobre temas como desespero, redenção e justiça revolucionária. O texto funciona como ferramenta literária para promover empatia, pensamento crítico e análise interpretativa na aula de literatura em inglês.

Introduction

Few literary figures haunt the reader quite like Sydney Carton, the disillusioned barrister in Charles Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities, whose final sacrifice transforms him from a self-destructive cynic into a symbol of ultimate redemption.

But what if we could speak with him? What might he say about the choices that led him to Paris, the tenderness he showed a fellow prisoner, and the revolution that devoured lives with unrelenting speed?

In this imagined interview, Carton opens himself up in topics such as death, faith, sacrifice, and what he truly hoped for as he crossed into eternity. Each response to the questions here, while fictional, is grounded in Dickens’s text and infused with the spirit of reflective pedagogy and what I got to see among the lines of the novel, inviting us to explore literature as a lens for understanding the human condition.

On Jesus’ Light

Q: Why were you so obsessed with Jesus' words regarding He being the light of the world?

A: (He leans back, eyes clouded but voice steady) Ah… yes. “I am the light of the world. He that followeth me shall not walk in darkness but shall have the light of life.” Those words followed me like a shadow in my loneliest hours. Not because I believed I deserved such light, but because I longed for it. You see, I lived much of my life in darkness. Not just the kind brought on by brandy and sleepless nights, but the deeper kind, the kind where you forget who you might have been and start believing you're nothing more than a clever ghost, drifting through rooms where others matter, and you do not.

But those words… they whispered that perhaps, even I, might step out of that shadow. That even a wasted soul could walk, for once, in the light… if only by following it in someone else's name. When I gave myself for Charles Darnay, it was not because I had suddenly become good. It was because I had finally decided to follow that light, through love, through pain, and through death. That sacrifice was the only true thing I ever did. And at that moment, I did not feel darkness. I felt peace.

On the Seamstress

Q: What about the girl you kissed before she was beheaded?

A: (He lowers his gaze, voice quiet but firm) The seamstress. Yes… the girl whose name I never knew, yet whose courage will never leave me. She was young, far too young for that cruel blade. Frightened, of course, but composed. When she mistook me for Darnay, I did not correct her. What comfort could the truth offer her in those last moments? Better she believed she was not alone, that someone she thought she knew and trusted stood beside her.

When she asked to hold my hand, I gave it. When she asked if I would stay near, I promised I would. That kiss, it was not romantic, nor heroic. It was human. It was grace, if such a thing can pass between two condemned souls on the edge of eternity.

She reminded me of Lucie, in some small way, not in face, but in spirit. Gentle. Good. She believed in me, if only for a moment. And oddly, I believed in myself, too. I was not afraid when I faced death. But I was honored, yes, honored to be the last kindness that girl ever knew. That is not something I shall ever forget… nor would I want to.

On Going to France

Q: Why did you go to France, first of all? Looking for redemption?

A: (He leans forward, fingers laced, eyes sharp now, not drunk, not lost, but resolute) Redemption? Perhaps. But not in the way you might think. I didn’t board that ship to France with some grand plan of salvation. I went because Lucie was suffering. Because the man she loved, Charles Darnay, was imprisoned, facing death, and I could not bear to see her broken by grief. That was the beginning of it.

But underneath that, yes, there was something stirring in me, something I had buried for years: the thought that I might matter. That I might do one decent thing before I disappeared. I had lived like a man already dead, wasting my days in shadows, with only my cleverness and my drink for company. But Lucie… she saw something in me. She mourned for what I had lost, even when I could not.

So, I went to France for her. For Darnay. For their child. But also, if I am honest, for that flicker of light in myself that refused to go out entirely. That stubborn spark that said: this is your chance. You cannot undo the past, but you can give it a meaning. It wasn’t redemption in the traditional sense. I knew I would never live to enjoy the fruit of it. But it was purpose. And in the end, that was enough. It was everything.

On What He Expected After Death

Q: This might sound unsensible, but what were expecting when crossing the door of death towards eternity? The seamstress you tenderly helped? Jesus, perhaps?

A: (He sits in silence for a moment, as if listening to the stillness beyond the veil) No, it’s not unsensible. It’s the most honest question of all. When I stepped toward that final moment, when the blade hovered and the world quieted, I wasn’t expecting glory or trumpet sounds. I wasn’t expecting reward. Truthfully, I wasn’t expecting anything. Death, to me, had always been a silent, final closing of the book. No more pain, no more longing, no more wasted chances.

But then, something happened. The seamstress looked at me, truly looked, with trust. She wasn’t just clinging to me out of fear. In her eyes, I saw a strange peace. It was as if, in her last moment, she believed in something greater than terror. And perhaps, so did I. So yes… maybe I did begin to hope, quietly, timidly, that I would not be alone. That as I passed through that unseen door, I might find her again. Not as victims, but as souls finally unburdened.

And as for Jesus… I had spent most of my life unworthy of such company. I was a man of failure, pride, and cowardice. But there is a line in Scripture I could never forget: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” I had never been a good man. But for one fleeting, final hour, I was that man. So, if Jesus met me beyond that door, I would not ask for reward. I would simply ask: "Was it enough?" And maybe, just maybe, He would answer:
"It was more than enough, Sydney."

On Dealing with Barsad

Q: What did you tell Barsad to have him help you change "seats" with Darnay? Was he somehow cornered by what you told him?

A: (He smiles faintly, the shadow of something sharp behind the weariness) Ah, Barsad. Or Solomon Pross, as his real name goes. A man who served no cause but his own skin, yet even such men can be useful when you know how to handle them.

You ask what I told him? I told him the truth. But I told it with the blade of consequence behind it. I reminded him that I knew his past, his work as a spy, his betrayal of friends and countries both. I knew he’d served the English, the French, anyone who paid. And I made it very clear that if I so much as lifted a finger, his current masters in revolutionary France would learn of his double-dealing. Treason against the Republic was not treated with mercy.

So yes, he was cornered. Not physically, not with a pistol or a rope, but by his own fear, his reputation, and his guilt. He knew he had no friends in Paris, only usefulness. And the moment he ceased to be useful, he’d meet the guillotine himself. But I also gave him a choice. I said: You can save a man’s life tonight, and perhaps save your own in the process. Or you can refuse, and I will destroy you before the sun rises. He believed me. And he should have.

But don’t mistake this for heroism on his part. Barsad helped me not out of conscience, but out of sheer desperation. Still… even the desperate can play a role in a noble ending. And that night, I used every ounce of the man I’d once wasted, to ensure another man would live the life I never could.

On the Revolution’s Motto

Q: What do you think of the French Revolution's motto "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity ... or Death"? This is something you don't see completely stated in Paris nowadays, giving you the false impression that every life that was spared was not precious or necessary.

A: (He leans forward, eyes darker now, not with anger, but with deep, mournful clarity) Ah… “Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité… ou la Mort.” The revolution’s proud cry. Lofty. Stirring. And yet, so easily twisted. In theory, it is a noble ideal. Who could argue against liberty, against equality, or brotherhood among men? But in practice… I saw how quickly those words became tools of vengeance, not justice. A man’s life was weighed not by his deeds, but by his name, his past, or his silence. And when you add “or death” to your motto, you leave no room for mercy, no space for doubt. The guillotine becomes not a symbol of change, but of hunger, rage, and fear with a blade.

You’re right, that final phrase, the one Paris no longer shouts, was not just an afterthought. It was a threat, and it was carried out a thousandfold. Darnay, innocent though he was, nearly died simply because of who his family had been. That seamstress, quiet and kind, died for no greater reason than the crowd needed more heads.

So what do I think of the motto? I think it was born from pain but corrupted by fury. True liberty does not come from killing indiscriminately. True equality is not achieved by replacing one tyranny with another. And fraternity, it dies the moment you cheer for a neighbor’s blood. Still… I do not mock the revolution. The old order was cruel, and the cries for justice were real. But justice without love, without humility, is just another kind of madness. And I wonder, sometimes, how many precious souls were forgotten… buried beneath that blade with no name, no monument, and no whisper of who they might have been, if only they had been spared.

Conclusion: Carton’s Voice, Our Reflection

Sydney Carton’s final act, both silent and luminous, continues to provoke reflection long after the last page is turned. Through this imagined interview, we are invited not just to revisit Dickens’s Paris, but to examine our own beliefs about failure, change, and the power of one moment to define a life.

Literature, when studied with empathy and inquiry, becomes more than narrative; it becomes a conversation. And perhaps, as readers and educators, that is our task: to listen to the voices of the past so that we might live more reflectively in the present.

📚 References

Dickens, C. (1859). A Tale of Two Cities. London: Chapman & Hall.

John 8:12 (KJV). The Holy Bible.

John 15:13 (KJV). The Holy Bible.

Psychological Profile: Sydney Carton

1. Self-Loathing and Depression

Signs: From his first appearance, Carton is depicted as a brilliant but disenchanted lawyer who squanders his talents. He drinks heavily, isolates himself, and openly calls his life a failure.
Interpretation: Carton exhibits symptoms consistent with chronic depression and low self-worth. He sees little value in himself, despite his intellectual capabilities.
He has internalized a belief that he is incapable of change or goodness—until he meets Lucie Manette.

2. Displaced Idealism

Lucie as Catalyst: Lucie Manette becomes a symbol of purity, hope, and unattainable love for Carton. His affection for her is not just romantic; it becomes almost spiritual.
Psychological Role: Lucie represents the life Carton could never have. His love is thus self-effacing, idealized, and more about his desire for redemption than mutual affection.

3. Identity Crisis and Doubling

Physical resemblance to Charles Darnay plays into the theme of duality that runs through the novel.
Psychologically, Darnay is who Carton might have been had he made different choices—morally upright, respected, and loved by Lucie.
This mirroring exacerbates Carton's sense of wasted potential and reinforces his self-contempt, but it also provides the means for his final act.

4. Desire for Meaning and Redemption

Carton’s world is emotionally bleak, but he is not without moral insight. He understands the revolutionary chaos around him, but he also understands human suffering and the value of peace.
His ultimate choice—to sacrifice himself for Darnay—stems from a desperate yearning to do something meaningful, something beautiful.
In his final moments, he expresses a spiritual calm and envisions a better future for those he loves. The famous line—“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done…”—is not just heroic; it’s existentially redemptive.

5. Messianic Undertone

Dickens imbues Carton’s sacrifice with Christian imagery—a form of atonement and resurrection. He dies so that others may live, metaphorically and literally.
This isn’t just about heroism; it’s about Carton reclaiming dignity and purpose. It gives him the identity he was denied in life.

A Conversation Beyond the Guillotine by Jonathan Acuña

Friday, July 25, 2025

From Readymades to Riddles: Applying Duchamp’s Artistic Philosophy to Language Learning

Artistic Philosophy in ELT, ELT, Language Learning, Marcel Duchamp, Methodology 0 comments

AI-generated picture by Prof. Jonathan Acuña Solano

✍️ Introductory Note to the Reader

I was introduced to Marcel Duchamp by my friend, art curator, and cultural leader, Juan Diego Roldán of the Centro Cultural Costarricense-Norteamericano’s art gallery. Since that first encounter, I have been toying with Duchamp’s radical framing of what art is and what it is not supposed to be.

His provocations unsettled my assumptions, inviting me to see creativity not as the exclusive domain of the artist, but as an open-ended interaction between maker, object, and viewer. Then it dawned on me: what if Duchamp’s subversive aesthetic could find expression in language teaching? What if the classroom, like the gallery, could become a space for invention, ambiguity, and co-creation?

This essay is the result of that imaginative exploration.

From Readymades to Riddles: Applying Duchamp’s Artistic Philosophy to Language Learning

Abstract

This essay explores how Marcel Duchamp’s artistic philosophy can inspire innovation in English Language Teaching (ELT). Drawing from Duchamp’s concepts—such as the viewer’s role in completing the artwork, the redefinition of everyday objects, and the creative power of irony and play—the paper proposes a shift toward a more participatory, interpretive, and dynamic approach to language instruction. Each section draws parallels between Duchamp’s legacy and key pedagogical strategies: embracing ambiguity, promoting linguistic risk-taking, decentralizing authority, and using authentic, multimodal materials. The essay argues that Duchampian thinking can reinvigorate language classrooms by fostering learner agency, creativity, and critical reflection.

Resumen

Este ensayo explora cómo la filosofía artística de Marcel Duchamp puede inspirar una renovación en la enseñanza del inglés como lengua extranjera (ELT). A partir de conceptos clave de Duchamp—como el papel del espectador en la creación de la obra, la resignificación de objetos cotidianos y el uso del humor y la ironía—se propone un enfoque más participativo, interpretativo y dinámico para la enseñanza de idiomas. Cada sección establece paralelismos entre el legado de Duchamp y estrategias pedagógicas como el fomento de la ambigüedad, el riesgo lingüístico, la descentralización de la autoridad y el uso de materiales auténticos y multimodales. El ensayo sostiene que el pensamiento duchampiano puede revitalizar las aulas de idiomas mediante la promoción de la agencia del estudiante, la creatividad y la reflexión crítica.

Resumo

Este ensaio investiga como a filosofia artística de Marcel Duchamp pode inspirar inovações no ensino de inglês como língua estrangeira (ELT). Baseando-se em ideias centrais de Duchamp—como o papel do espectador na conclusão da obra, a ressignificação de objetos cotidianos e o uso do humor e da ironia—propõe-se uma abordagem mais participativa, interpretativa e dinâmica no ensino de línguas. Cada seção estabelece paralelos entre o legado de Duchamp e estratégias pedagógicas fundamentais: valorização da ambiguidade, incentivo ao risco linguístico, descentralização da autoridade e uso de materiais autênticos e multimodais. O ensaio argumenta que o pensamento duchampiano pode revigorar as salas de aula ao promover a autonomia do aprendiz, a criatividade e a reflexão crítica.

Marcel Duchamp, a towering and revolutionary figure in 20th-century art, defied traditional boundaries by asserting that art lies not in its craftsmanship, but in the concept it communicates. His approach to creativity, centered on repurposing objects, undermining convention, and elevating the role of the observer, offers powerful and nuanced insights for language teaching in the 21st Century. In a field where educators often deem accuracy and form to be the cornerstones of language instruction, Duchamp’s theories challenge us to shift focus toward creativity, learner autonomy, and real-world engagement. As he famously stated, “I was interested in ideas—not merely in visual products” (Duchamp, as cited in Tomkins, 1996, p. 50). Viewed through this lens, the language classroom becomes a whetstone not only for linguistic skills but for critical and imaginative thinking. This essay explores how Duchamp’s conceptual innovations can be translated into English language teaching (ELT) through six pedagogical applications: (1) authentic materials as readymades, (2) resistance to rigid norms, (3) conceptual meaning-making, (4) attention to language over time, (5) learner-centered interpretation, and (6) creative play.

First, Duchamp’s concept of the readymade, an everyday object elevated to art through deliberate intention, encourages language teachers to value authentic, non-traditional texts. Just as Fountain (1917) redefined what society could deem art, an assemblage of classroom materials such as graffiti, memes, pop art, or song lyrics can reframe what is considered “valid” linguistic input. Scholars like Gilmore (2007) support this view, arguing that “authentic materials are more likely to reflect the communicative needs of learners outside the classroom” (p. 98). When learners decode a social media post or interpret a street sign, they are not merely acquiring vocabulary; they are engaging with culture, tone, register, and contextual nuance. Such materials can even reflect the persuasive power of language, as they are often crafted to sway opinions or shape identity. By treating authentic texts as linguistic readymades, educators can help students build meaningful connections between classroom learning and the complex world beyond it, a world where learners must leave their hearth and home to engage with, where language is lived, persuasive, and ever evolving.

Second, Duchamp’s rejection of aesthetic orthodoxy parallels a call to challenge linguistic purism in ELT. Just as Duchamp resisted the confines of academic painting, language educators can encourage learners to experiment freely with language without the fear of making errors. Communicative competence, as defined by Canale and Swain (1980), includes strategic competence, the ability to negotiate meaning, not merely produce grammatically perfect sentences. Through activities involving slang, code-switching, or invented expressions, learners begin to see language not as a rigid structure, but as something that takes shape and substance through use, intent, and context. Without such experimentation, the classroom risks becoming a bleak island of isolated rules, detached from the vibrancy of real-world communication. By promoting linguistic risk-taking over rote correctness, whether in academic settings or authentic environments, educators support a speedy journey toward fluency, confidence, and creative autonomy.

Third, Duchamp’s prioritization of ideas over form mirrors the growing emphasis on conceptual understanding in language use. Rather than being cast down into repetitive grammar drills, textbook dialogues, or memorized vocabulary lists, learners should be encouraged to tell stories, share personal anecdotes, voice opinions, and solve problems using whatever linguistic tools they have at hand. This meaning-first approach aligns with Vygotsky’s (1978) socio-cultural theory, which views language development as intimately tied to thought. When students focus on expressing meaning, even through fragmented or approximate language, they engage more authentically with communication and begin to understand how the target language operates in real contexts. In this process, the learner’s desire to communicate becomes a blazing torch that illuminates the path toward fluency, rather than something to be given for ransom in exchange for grammatical perfection. As Duchamp might suggest, they evolve into “intellectuals of expression,” not mere technicians of syntax and vocabulary.

Duchamp’s fascination with time and motion, particularly in Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2, invites parallels with the temporal and ever-shifting nature of language. Language is not static; it changes across time, generations, and media. Teaching students about language evolution, such as how texting has transformed syntax or how certain idioms fall out of use, helps them see English as a living system. As Larsen-Freeman (2003) notes, language is a “complex, dynamic, and nonlinear system” (p. 34), and embracing this dynamism makes learning more relevant and engaging. A high level of reciprocity between learners and their linguistic environment is the bedrock of communicative competence. Without an appreciation of language’s fluid nature, learners may be sorely disappointed when textbook English fails them in authentic interactions.

Fifth, Duchamp believed that an artwork was not complete without the viewer’s interpretation: “The creative act is not performed by the artist alone; the spectator brings the work in contact with the external world” (Sanouillet & Peterson, 1973, p. 140). In language learning, this translates into a constructivist approach where students co-construct meaning rather than passively absorb knowledge. Song lyrics, for example, can serve as powerful interpretive texts. When learners encounter the line “We're just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl, year after year” (Gilmour & Waters, 1975), they may connect it with themes of isolation, routine, or longing, depending on their personal experiences and cultural background. In such moments, the classroom becomes a space where no longer does one stand on the prow of the barge alone, meaning is created through interaction, not delivered from above. Instead of seeking a single “correct” interpretation, educators can have everything in readiness for students to engage emotionally and intellectually with the material. The secret lies in harnessing learners’ voices, perspectives, and insights to transform texts into personal, living experiences. This approach aligns with Freire’s (1970) vision of dialogic pedagogy, where learners become co-creators of meaning rather than recipients of fixed content.

Lastly, Duchamp’s use of humor, irony, and wordplay reminds language educators of the value of creativity and play in the language classroom. His L.H.O.O.Q., a playful parody of the Mona Lisa, exemplifies how meaning can be layered, subverted, and reimagined through language. In ELT, this might take the form of puns, riddles, or surrealist games like the Exquisite Corpse to help learners explore the flexibility of expression. Such practices invite students to cease plying their nets for rigid grammar rules and instead discover the wondrous hoard of meanings and associations that language can yield. Rather than being swept down by the pressures of correctness and performance, learners engage language with curiosity and delight. Research supports the cognitive and affective benefits of humor in language learning, showing that playful activities reduce anxiety and boost motivation (Bell, 2009). Language play not only enhances linguistic dexterity but also cultivates joy, a quality too often overlooked in formal instruction.

In conclusion, applying Duchamp’s theories to ELT challenges educators to go beyond traditional models and embrace a more imaginative, learner-centered paradigm. His legacy compels us to reimagine what counts as language, how meaning is made, and who holds interpretive authority. By incorporating authentic materials, encouraging risk, prioritizing meaning, acknowledging language change, empowering learners, and infusing play, we create language classrooms that reflect the complexities and pleasures of real-world communication. Educators who forfeit rigid methods in favor of exploratory ones may find themselves battling pesky uncertainties, yet that discomfort is where true growth begins. At times, we may even be out of our wits, unsure of outcomes or resistant to relinquishing control, but such disorientation is often the threshold of creativity. As Duchamp once quipped, “I have forced myself to contradict myself in order to avoid conforming to my own taste” (Sanouillet & Peterson, 1973, p. 141), a reminder to educators that innovation often begins with stepping away from the expected.

📚 References

Bell, N. D. (2009). Learning about and through humor in the second language classroom. Language Teaching Research, 13(3), 241–258. https://doi.org/10.1177/1362168809104697

Canale, M., & Swain, M. (1980). Theoretical bases of communicative approaches to second language teaching and testing. Applied Linguistics, 1(1), 1–47.

Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Continuum.

Gilmore, A. (2007). Authentic materials and authenticity in foreign language learning. Language Teaching, 40(2), 97–118.

Gilmour, D., & Waters, R. (1975). Wish You Were Here [Song]. On Wish You Were Here. Harvest Records.

Larsen-Freeman, D. (2003). Teaching Language: From Grammar to Grammaring. Boston: Heinle.

Sanouillet, M., & Peterson, E. (Eds.). (1973). The Writings of Marcel Duchamp. New York: Da Capo Press.

Tomkins, C. (1996). Duchamp: A Biography. New York: Henry Holt.

Vygotsky, L. S. (1978). Mind in Society: The Development of Higher Psychological Processes. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

🗣️ Discussion Exercise: “Would Duchamp Teach Grammar?”

Purpose: To stimulate reflection and debate about creativity, control, and interpretation in language teaching—through the lens of Duchamp’s artistic provocations.

Instructions:

1. Read the following statements inspired by Duchamp’s philosophy.

2. In small groups or pairs, discuss whether you agree or disagree with each one.

3. Be ready to share your group’s takeaways and examples with the class.

Statements for Discussion:

1. “Students should have the final say in what a text means—just as the viewer completes the artwork.”

2. “Grammar rules are like museum walls: they confine creativity more than they guide it.”

3. “A learner’s ‘mistake’ may be their most original contribution to a conversation.”

4. “Authentic communication is more valuable than polished accuracy.”

5. “The teacher should be more of a ‘curator’ than a ‘sculptor’ in the classroom.”

6. “Play and irony belong in serious learning.”

💡Follow-up question:
If Duchamp designed your next English lesson, what would it look like?

Duchampian Concepts and Their Applications in ELT

Duchampian Concepts and Their Applications in ELT by Jonathan Acuña

From Readymades to Riddles: Applying Duchamp’s Artistic Philosophy to Language Learning

Applying Duchamp’s Artistic Philosophy to Language Learning by Jonathan Acuña

Wednesday, July 23, 2025

From Control to Understanding: Rethinking Evaluation in ELT Classrooms

Reflective Task

A Conversation Beyond the Guillotine: Insights from Sydney Carton

From Readymades to Riddles: Applying Duchamp’s Artistic Philosophy to Language Learning

Duchampian Concepts and Their Applications in ELT

From Readymades to Riddles: Applying Duchamp’s Artistic Philosophy to Language Learning

Reflective Online Teaching

Visitors

Costa Rica

TESOL Certified Instructor

Certified Virtual Instructor

PD Talks & NCTE-Costa Rica

Copyscape

Labels

Blog Archive