Phase Two: Writing portraitures

I wrote several portraits of schoolgirls (Lawrence-Lightfoot & Hoffman Davis, 1997). I consider the methodology of portraiture particularly useful as a tool of data analysis because it allows a focus on context and, the researcher’s perspective, and a commitment to framing research to ask what is enlightening in the situation rather than searching for problems. Through providing thick description (Geertz, 1973) and writing through the process, portraiture is particularly focused on the context. Context is vital even when the researcher’s site is well known and familiar to the audience but is especially informative when the intended readers have little if any experience with the research context.

Just as important as a strong and thorough description of the research site is the researcher’s perspective. Portraiture forefronts the identity, ideals, and personal story of the researcher as being vital to the ways in which the research is composed and presented. Lawrence-Lightfoot and Hoffman Davis explain,

With portraiture, the person of the researcher –- even when vigorously

controlled –- is more evident and more visible than in any other research form. She is seen not only in defining the focus and field of the inquiry, but also in navigating the relationships with the subjects, in witnessing and interpreting the action, in tracing the emergent themes, and in creating the narrative. (1997, p. 13)

This is particularly vital when the history of the researcher varies greatly from the history of the research participants. The researcher gains transparency in making the ‘person of the researcher’ more visible to the reader and a dynamic part of the

process. The emphasis on describing relationships and weaving the researcher as well as the subject into the narrative allows me, as a researcher, to expose aspects of my own figured world that may influence the research.

In the process of creating portraits, we enter people’s lives, build relationships, engage in discourse, make and imprint . . . and leave. We engage in acts (implicit and explicit) of social transformation, we create opportunities for dialogue, we pursue the silences, and in the process, we face ethical dilemmas and a great moral responsibility. This is provocative work that can disturb the natural rhythms of social reality and encounter. This is exciting work that can instigate positive and productive change. (Lawrence-Lightfoot & Hoffman Davis, 1997, p. 11)

The pact between researcher and subject can be a profound relationship that can lead to transformation for all involved; for many, particularly children, the effects of being involved, as a participant in a research project, may not be immediately apparent. Thus, the need for transparency and accountability toward the relationship and an agreement to open dialogue are paramount for the research process and product.

English claims that portraiture is not transparent in that the method fails “. . . to interrogate what it conceals” as it only presents one stable essentialized truth (2000, p. 21). Although I do not dispute the warning implicit in English’s criticism, I am not seeking to create truth through portraiture.

I did find that as I struggled to write deep, rich portraits, I wanted to add events, places, and feelings. At times, my field notes were not deep enough, did not have enough detail to relay the richness of the event. In the novel, Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, (Riggs, 2011) one of the characters spends twenty-seven years observing the same day over and over again.

“He spent three years on pigs alone!” Hugh said. “That’s all day every day for three years taking notes on pigs! Can you imagine? “This one dropped a load of arse biscuits!” “That one said oink-oink and then went to sleep in its own filth!”

“Notes are absolutely essential to the process,” Millard explained patiently. “But I can understand your jealousy, Hugh. It promises to be a work

unprecedented in the history of academic scholarship.” (p. 197)

Like Millard, I took volumes of notes, but unlike Millard, I could not repeat the same day over and over adding more details and differing perspectives each time. Unlike

the author of this fictional time-travel novel for young adults, I could not make up details to add to the stories. Censoring myself so that I would not embellish tales to make the portraits livelier was one of the challenges of portraiture methodology for me. To check myself, I had Frankie, Mr. Monku, Goldy, Daniel, and others involved in the stories, read the portraits and give me feedback.

Sometimes this process of getting feedback involves negotiating meaning between several Sierra Leoneans. For example, I read Daniel, my houseboy, the passage about how one of the headmistresses cuts her pupils school uniforms if she does like the length of the bodice. He responded by telling me that his headmaster did the same thing if the boys sleeves were not long enough. Furthermore, he said that the new shoes I had brought him must be polished before he went back to school or he would be sent home. He did not seem to think anything was strange about the headmistress slicing the uniforms. However, when I sent Mr. Monku this chapter to read, he texted me: “I don't appreciate the portion that talks about slicing the uniform. It is seemingly normal to ask the (girl), to go back to get the correct shoe or so but slicing is extreme.” I wrote back, “That is what the Iron Lady at X school does. She is horrible.” To which he responded, “She is horrible to say the least. She is not normal. She does not have her 5 senses complete.” After Mr. Monku wrote this, I went back and changed the passage from—“One headmistress in the area slices the girls’ dresses if the bodice is too long. She carries a pair of scissors with her at all times and will shred the dress if she is unhappy with the way it was sewn or the way the girl is wearing it. Then she drives the crying girl away from the school. The girl cannot patch her uniform but must find the money to have a new uniform sewn. Children lose schooling over their uniforms. From an American perspective, this headmistress’

action seems extreme but none of my Sierra Leone colleagues thinks that there is anything unreasonable about her slicing children’s school uniforms. They argue that without supervision, schoolchildren would wear inappropriate uniforms” to

“Although this headmistress’ actions are extreme even to some of my Sierra Leone

colleagues, they argue that without supervision, schoolchildren would wear

inappropriate uniforms.” Clearly, Mr. Monku and Daniel have different perspectives.

One is still a schoolboy and the other a father of school age children. I expect that their responses to the headmistress will be different and I must engage in a process— of ascertaining different perspectives and relaying them from my viewpoint which states my views while ensuring that any generalized statement are to the best of my ability truthful.

In the conclusion chapter, I discuss more about the process of portraitures and the implications for my methodology. For this initial description, it suffices to note that although portraitures bring depth and richness to the process of discerning and recounting meaning, it is a methodology that requires the researcher to make explicit the thin line between data and memory. In this next section, I explain the ways in which I utilized the work of Gee, and Kanno and Norton in my analysis.