My Community Art Project and Why I Want to Create Again…

In July I started working on a mural as a community volunteer project in one of the poorer areas of Santiago.  The community is about a 40 minute bus ride from where I live in Santiago and for about six weeks before the start of the mural, I helped Roxana with a project she initiated by volunteering to teach English to kids.  More than anything, it became a play session with the kids, creating games to practice the alphabet, numbers and very basic vocabulary.  They loved it.  They loved it so much that when I came back recently to paint, the kid’s faces lit up, asking me when the next class would be.  My heart sank a little, thinking about how we hadn’t planned to return again.  They actually really missed us.  This wasn’t some boring class that they were forced into, they actually had become quite affectionate with us.  It made me think about how these kids need so much more than a 6 week volunteer project, they need this type of nourishment all of the time.  I think it takes time to build a relationship and I wonder about what a shame it is to begin getting close to the kids, only to leave them just as they were becoming so comfortable with us.  At the same time, it was obvious that we made some kind of positive impression on them.

When I first started the project in July, I had the help of Roxana, my friends Angela and Dinah, and a few others from the community.  And because of the winter, we put a hold on finishing the project.  For the last two weekends, I came back to finish.  Having this break was actually good for me because after learning more Spanish, I was able to communicate a little more with people in the community.  So when I noticed a little group of children behind me, watching me paint, I let them join in.

This is the first time I’ve ever painted with kids in this way and they really did a good job.  At first they were a little shy and nervous about putting the paint on the wall, fearing that they would do something wrong and so a lot of what they painted ended up being very small.  I encouraged them to eventually paint larger.  And, so the whole mural is by no means consistently proportional, but maybe that gives it some character.  The little girl and her cousin actually consistently painted with me all day, painting butterflies, dogs and flowers.  I gave them little instruction and basically let them do what they wanted.  I think they were a little surprised by my confidence in them for allowing them to paint so freely on something so large and so public.  They were really proud of what they painted too and I like to think of them getting older and remembering what they had painted years ago.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately of how my feelings toward my art career have changed.  I spent so much energy working and developing my art in the States.  I used to joke that my art was like my kids that I had to always pick up when my show was over and I was tired of driving them all over the place on the freeway in California and that they were spending so much of my money.  I look at photos of my loft now and I don’t miss it.  I think I allowed the whole idea of art as a career to take over so much that it replaced the joy of creating and expressing myself through my painting and ultimately robbing me of enjoying all the other things in life that I love because I was forcing myself into this certain artist lifestyle that was more determined by what I thought I was supposed to do according to the art world rather than finding the passionate within myself to forget about “making it” and just create.

In the States, I somehow lost track of my original attraction to art as I saw it more and more as a means of paying the rent.  Being here has separated me from continuing this and now I’ve been able to return to the desires that I initially had when I was younger, back before I was even in art school when I would stare at paintings and imagine other lifetimes or listen to music that really caused me to think differently of the world, no matter how simplistic the lyrics or how accomplished the artist.  All that time spent trying to make money from my own art detached me from enjoying my own work, let alone the work of others.  Sadly, I think even art school detached me from this in ways because suddenly I had all these people in my life constantly discussing what was good art and what was bad art, or what was marketable, more intellectual, low brow, etc…  All of a sudden art seemed so serious and no longer mysterious and fun.  It’s like I couldn’t see something without comparing it to something better, making some kind of judgment about it in my mind.  All that imagination and inspiration I felt long ago…how did I abandon that?  It’s like through trying so hard to pursue art, I disconnected myself from my true feelings and desires.  Sounds like the opposite of what art is supposed to do.

I realized something lately through learning Spanish.  Because I can’t express myself in Spanish like I can in English.  I don’t know the words or I don’t know how to put the words together.  I have to limit myself in what I can say and it’s quite frustrating to not be able to form what I can in English when I want to express something.  So I have to keep it very basic.  And since I don’t have the words, it’s put me more in touch with recognizing how I feel.  I mean I have to really thinking about what I am feeling, so I can choose the correct words.  So now I can appreciate the beauty in expressing something simple again.  And because I have been learning a lot of Spanish through the arts; through music and through books, now I am concentrating on the very simple beauty of how the words are used.  This is art, because language is expression.  It makes me appreciate so much how we express our thoughts.  It makes me not want to take this for granted.

I think the joy of just being able to express myself is returning.  I’m remembering those early feelings of discovering well known artists and writers for the first time and how I felt when I would see something inspiring.  I feel it through learning a new language and sharing my language with others.  It brings me back to what I had already figured out when I was a teenager and later forgot about, that my love of art involves other people.  It doesn’t come from me isolated in my studio trying to conquer a project to get paid.  The end product – the actual finished painting, for me is only 25 percent of why art is so important.  Painting with the kids, painting with other artists, using art to ignite conversation, to influence others, to make someone’s life more inspiring, to connect myself with others…these are all more interesting and give me more of a reason to start again.  I guess that everyone has their own role in life and probably I will never be like some of my friends here whom are very successful in the financial industry and can assert themselves in ways I can’t.  They are great at what they do, and their passions are different than mine.  But, I can assert myself artistically in ways that they can’t.  I need to keep in mind what I can do and what it means to be me and somehow it almost seems like a responsibility to myself to create art because its the greatest way I know of how to give myself to others.

After the rain…and snow…and teargas…

Near the end of July I went through a rough time of homesickness and frustration with the Spanish language.  I decided to just accept the awkward feeling and make a change.   The first thing I did was change apartments and I now live in a new place with only Spanish speaking roommates. At the same time, I made a commitment of taking Spanish classes with a friend of mine five times a week.  For this reason, I haven’t had much time left over to write my blog since studying and working have been the only things occupying my time.  But now I am happy to say I feel less homesick and I am actually able to have conversations in Spanish – however slow I am – I am speaking now.

And I can finally say for once that I am proud of myself.  Next week I will have been here for six months and I am well over half of my original commitment of staying here until December.  Things weren’t quite the way I had imagined when I came here.  I had too many immediate expectations.  For one, learning a language is a process and so I’m over beating myself up about not being better than I am at this point.  And in addition to leaving my life behind in the States and coming here alone, it’s taken me a while to work out the kinks…  Most of all, I just accept that I am imperfect.  I have compassion for what I am going through when I look at my life on the outside…just as I would for anyone else.  I want to give myself a hug and tell myself that I am doing a good job!

August was an interesting month and definitely the coldest yet.  This is what the city looks like before and after the rain.  Note the thick layer of smog where the Andes Mountains should be in the before pictures:

And after the rain…..

 

I am definitely not cut out for winter.  It’s not only that I am always cold, but it affects everything about me.  I sleep late, have less motivation, no energy and I can’t kick that urge to hibernate with my calientecama (electric blanket).  The thing is like my best friend.  I don’t know why I never got one in the States.  Every morning I wake up nice and warm and it’s a struggle to turn the thing off and get out of bed.  I do that thing where I have to talk myself out of bed…if we just make it through the morning, then we can come back and lay in bed later in the afternoon for an hour…I think some people can adapt well to the cold, but certainly not me.  I remember years ago how I imagined dressing up in stylish coats and scarves, drinking hot cocoa and living in New York City and how romantic of an idea that sounded to me.  No thanks!  A few weeks ago it actually snowed in the city which apparently is rare outside of the mountains.  I walked 40 minutes in the slush to one of my student’s offices, completely unprepared…no boots, no gloves, no hot cocoa waiting for me and no romantic scene…just me freezing my ass off.  And then the next week I was sick.

And it’s a sickness that keeps returning.  Last weekend I stayed home all weekend in bed.  I couldn’t go out because I was on lock down by the mom of my roommate, Felipe.  She kept a close eye on me the entire weekend, making sure I ate all of my soup, making sure I wore socks walking around the apartment, giving me medicine, preparing me teas…  This is quite a change from the times I would get sick in the States.  In the States, when someone is sick, the people panic.  They put you in quarantine where you are avoided and forced to fend for yourself while people spray Lysol on everything you touch or come into contact with.  Needless to say, I’m not used to this kind of care and nurturing.

Outside the Universidad de Chile

Perhaps another thing that sparked my sickness was breathing in all of the teargas from all of the student protests last month.  College students as well as high school students have been protesting for several months now for free education and better education.  The protests can be unavoidable, and on more than one occasion I’ve found myself in the middle of a mob of running students and police spraying teargas.  The teargas lingers in the air and so you can be walking through the city and suddenly be struck with watery, stinging eyes.  Some areas of the city will wreak of teargas long after the students have left.  I canceled three of my night classes last month due to the protests and watched from my window as students threw rocks at the police and listened to people bang pots and pans together from their apartment windows as another sign of protest.  I like to ask each of my students what their opinions are of the protests.  All of my students are different in age and profession, but the consensus is that while they sympathize with and understand the reasons for the protest, they are not happy with all of the recent violence.

Barricades of chairs built by high school and university students

I teach a small group of women at a financial firm and they seemed to think that solving the education problem is not the real problem for Chile, but that the social class system is the bigger issue.  They concluded that even if the students win, that nothing would really change in Chile for the better because there would still exist a division in the people.  There is a big difference between rich and poor here, although personally I have not seen the same kind of poverty I saw when I was in Brazil.  The favelas there were like nothing I have ever seen…whole families living in shacks and by shacks I mean some sort of construction with four walls thrown together with a tin roof.  Still, I do feel the class system here and I have even felt it among friends I have made here that are from different family backgrounds and observing how they relate to one another.  An Argentine student of mine drew a circle for me in which he placed the poorest people in Santiago.  Around it, he drew another circle of semi-poor people and then another circle of lower middle class people and so on.  He told me that each group of people does not associate with the other at all and that here it is very important which area of the city that you live.  People actually lie on their resume and use another address for fear of not being hired.

Signs of Protest from Chilean students: President Pinera with donkey ears

I find it interesting here that the young people have organized themselves so well and have caused so much of a stir politically, enough to potentially make an actual change.  Friends of mine and I recently had dinner and talked about how we couldn’t see this kind of thing happening in the United States and we wondered why.  I always return to the idea that protest seems to be so much apart of the culture in Latin America, its natural here for people to protest about anything they oppose of the government and that it makes sense for the young people to make themselves heard.  But then young people seem to be doing this everywhere around the world lately, in Egypt, in London, in Spain, in many other countries…but not the U.S.  I read an article recently in the Huffington Post that contemplated the same question.  The article implies that the young generation in the United States nowadays has become numb and complacent.   It goes on to suggest that perhaps the youth (I include myself in this) in the United States are emulating the passive traits of the characters in all of our great Hollywood movies such as “Hangover II.”   It could be.  The writer made an interesting point in saying that the only young people who protested in the U.S. this year have been a group of angry foreign students who came to the U.S. to study English as part of a State Department program, but were instead forced to work long hours for little pay at the Hershey’s Chocolate Factory.

This weekend is September 11^thand this day has quite a different meaning in Chile because it is the anniversary of the day that the dictator Pinochet and a coup backed by our CIA took control of Chile in 1973.  For people not familiar with the history, before Pinochet, Salvador Allende was President of Chile.  He was a Socialist leader voted for by the Chilean people.  The government of Allende was not welcomed by the United States who feared the possibility of another successful Communist country, and during Nixon’s presidency the U.S. invested $8 million dollars over a three year period to boost Anti-Allende opposition.  Supposedly, during the day of the coup, Allende killed himself in the Presidential Palace in La Moneda, however people seem to have doubts that he ended his own life.

The Presidential Palace of La Moneda

The poet Pablo Neruda also died two weeks after the coup and some people suspect that his death was not coincidental, but that he was possibly poisoned for being too critical of the military.  Pinochet’s dictatorship lasted into the late 1990’s and during his time in power scores of people were killed, tortured or went missing.  A report published in 2004 showed that at least 27,000 people were tortured under the Pinochet dictatorship, in more than 1,100 detention centers.  One of my students who now manages a mining company, was a human rights activist in the early 1980’s and was arrested by the police.  While in captivity, he was tortured by electric shock (in which he lost one testicle) and he watched the police murder his friends.  And to attempt to end his life, the police drove him up to a desolate area of the Andes, stabbed him and kicked him off the side of the mountain to die.  He woke up hours later and managed to walk to a small town and seek refuge in a church where the priests and nuns there helped him heal and kept him hidden.

It was suggested to me to stay indoors on the 11th because the people love to riot on this day and that this year will be worse due to all of the student protests.  We will see…

A new definition of being here gives me more freedom

a painting from the Museo de Artes Visuales by Alejandra Raffo

I really don’t like making decisions about work in a foreign country.  I don’t like making decisions in general.  I am always worried about what the results will be.  But, today I turned down the job I originally came here for, for another one.  I’m still teaching, but it wasn’t what I expected to have.  It wasn’t what I expected to come here for and for a second that threw everything off for me to not have everything as planned.  And I also did a lot of second guessing of myself which I have a bad habit of…are you sure this is right? I hold myself responsible for every bad choice I’ve ever made as if every decision is really that monumental.

So I’m telling myself now,  I’m going to treat living here as an adventure, try different things…not allow myself to get locked into something because I’m determined to find the same security that I always tried for in the United States.   I’m not going to bring that same thinking to Chile.  In the US I was surviving.  But, I want to be here.

So, how can I make this different?  I’ve rethought my priorities about being here and decided that I am in Santiago to learn Spanish and make some money teaching….so you could say I’m on my own extended Spanish intensive program and I’m making some money at it as well.

Anyway, in defining my purpose here, there is more freedom for me and less expectation.

For some reason, yesterday, I felt like I had a mini breakthrough in the language here.  I just started talking more about myself and so what if its not all correct.  My tutor sat back, listened and stared at me as I went on about all of the music I like and how I am reading a harlequin romance novel and how Hole Mole is my favorite restaurant (that one raised some questions).

One thing that helps is that I am listening more.  I am listening to how people say the words.  I listen to people in the elevator, to conversations in the stores…I listen to people talk on the radio.  I’m forcing myself to become more conscious.

My tutor sent me an interview with a Chilean filmmaker, Alejandro Jodorowsky.  He sent it so I could practice listening and I’ve been listening to part one over and over again to hear the words spoken in Spanish, but I also appreciate what Jodorowsky says while I think of being here and doing something new.

Jodorowsky talks about how in the moment that we do something that we’ve never done we reach a healing path because there is usually a surprise affect that happens:  “We live in vicious circles of habits.  Mental, emotional, sexual and physical habits.  So when we break those habits, a new dimension of ourselves appears.  The family, culture and society put us in a mould and when we get out of this mould healing begins.  Moreover, we have to do something we’ve never done before and the harder the better.  (In his book, he says when we do something we’ve never done before we can again be interested in the world ).  “When you leave your own self, a new character appears, another one, it’s not you.  You discover new energies within yourself.”

I’m at a café right now and I try so hard to be direct and to the point and just say “I want some tea,” but I am so used to English and how we run around in circles: “Can I have…”  “I think I want…”  “I’m sorry, do you think you could…”  “I guess I’ll have the…”  How apologetic and passive is that?  (PS – My tutor thinks it’s cute when he hears English speakers try to speak Spanish in this way)

But, how destructive has that way of talking been for me?

I think I might want to take this new job, maybe.

What??