Gemma Williams describes how she helps autistic children become more creative and communicative by crawling on all fours dressed as a cuddly polar bear
It is eleven thirty on a Monday morning. Today I am playing the larger-than-life fox character with a swinging tail and mischief on my mind. So far I have helped build a mobile theatre complete with lights, sound, a giant tree, leaf mulch, pools of dappled light, puppets and masked characters. The forest environment is ready to go.
I am privileged to be working as a drama practitioner on Imagining Autism, a project based at the University of Kent, which seeks to assist autistic children with communication and social interaction, and unlock their imaginations. Some of the children we work with do not communicate verbally, do not engage in eye contact and apparently display no imagination – these are some of the characteristics associated with autism. Funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Council, the project is working across three Kent-based special schools delivering multidisciplinary drama interventions. The team creates magical sensory environments, facilitating physical interactions between performer and child using puppetry, objects, light, sound and digital media.
Boldly, this project aims to systematically and scientifically determine whether our interventions improve communication levels and imagination in autistic children. Psychologists at the University are evaluating the findings of the study with results due for publication in early 2013. In discussion with NHS clinicians we are starting to hope the delivery of these interventions may have wider implications for how speech and language, music and other therapies are delivered within the health system.
Place an autistic child in a room with a dozen musical instruments and watch him repeat an action over and over; engage him around an imaginary campfire with twigs for drumsticks surrounded by magical creatures, and observe as he excitedly conducts his classmates in rhythm – if only all health-related appointments were this enjoyable.
Reciprocal play is at the heart of the work. Sometimes a child might instigate a game, other times I gently suggest an activity. I am not a teacher, parent or psychologist; I am a playmate. I take their lead and respond accordingly. I follow their imagination, gently guiding them and try to understand their connection with the world around them. I have to remove all academic and analytical thinking and be completely present in the moment. The difference between a child being engaged or not lies in their belief that this music room is indeed a magical underwater world, or that they really are feeding Dennis the woodpecker in a forest. When engaged the children are free to imagine the world around them, that the campfire really is hot, that the fox really does dance. The children mimic, make requests, create music and have been observed by staff and parents as being more creative and communicative. For children with autism this kind of play does not necessarily come naturally or easily.
Before starting the project I was dreaming of calm, serene and quiet environments, surely these would have the most positive effect on the children’s wellbeing? I learned that what is an unacceptable amount of noise for an autistic child in a normal classroom becomes absolutely fine as our spaceship roars loudly into orbit. When the children are engaged with our carefully structured dramaturgical fiction their sensory boundaries seem more open. A little bit of excitement pushes them toward deeper levels of eye contact and communication. Next week is our Arctic environment. As I trek through the snow on all fours dressed as a cuddly polar bear, somehow Mondays just don’t get much better than this.