Being Worthwhile

Most people I know in community art are busy, very busy. This includes the teachers who do art or grad school in their "free" time, the IT personnel, waiters, and software techs who create art at night, and everyone else who finds their lives in community art. Between my two and a half part-time jobs, full-time graduate school, creating my own art, a wonderful boyfriend, and friends and family spread across the city and the country, I don't leave much breathing room for myself.

This weekend is the first time I've had two days off in a row this year. Yet earlier this week I found myself thinking, "Wait, I'm not working Saturday or Sunday? Maybe I can offer to take someone's shift..." Thankfully, I threw out that thought, although it was quite tempting, and that's why I'm sitting in my bathrobe in my kitchen at 3:15 having gotten out of bed less than an hour ago. I woke up at 10, after ten blissful hours of sleep, only to reach out, grab my book, and stay in my bed for another four and a half hours. I released myself into the world Orson Scott Card created in Ender's Game, a world that I knew in my childhood and only now gave myself the time to go back to.

For those four and a half hours I didn't think about my responsibilities, what I should or could be doing. I lay safe and warm under my down blanket, flipping page after page of an incredibly well-written book. There's power in that. In doing something for no reason, with no motivation except the pleasant feeling it brings. I think that's called living in the moment, something I struggle to do. Sometimes I get that when I play guitar, paint, write my own stories, or talk freely with someone I care about; the absence of wanting to be anywhere else but where I am.

What does any of this have to do with Community Art? I swear, I still ask myself this question no matter how much I ramble in these posts. In the rush to do things, sometimes we forget to enjoy things. We think that everything we do has to be worth something, has to have some product. When I lay in bed and read an entire book in a morning, one that I've already read, what am I accomplishing? I'm not making money, spending money, writing that paper I should be writing, responding to my list of emails, managing my budget, writing a new song, revising my book, painting, catching up with someone important to me, or any of other things on the to-do list that constantly regenerates itself. But I am enjoying myself, and isn't that why we do all the other things?

When I start my community art center, I want it to be a place where people can experience what I am experiencing now, the absence of wanting to be anywhere else. A place where they can submerge themselves in the moment, whether its with a paintbrush in their hand, a guitar on their lap, or an incredibly interesting person across from them. It's in these moments that we are truly alive, that all those other things we do become worth it. And wouldn't it be wonderful if all those moments happened at the same time in the same place, so that we could experience them with each other? Enjoying ourselves and each other; creating things, even if they're only good memories. That's what is worthwhile.

The Community Part of Community Art

For a long time I didn't have very good friends. There were people I was close with, people I spent time with, people I saw everyday, even people that I thought I would know for the rest of my life, but it wasn't until college that I truly began to build my community.

My college years created the two closest friendships that I have, that I have ever had. Through the past four or so years with these two wonderful women, and with the many other incredible people who have helped to shape who I am, I've learned what it means to be close to someone. For me, the closest form of intimacy doesn't come from sharing secrets, sex, or history. It comes from the exchange of ideas.

There comes a point when I'm so deeply wrapped in a conversation that I lose track of where my thoughts end and my companion's begin; when the idea forming in my mind comes out of their mouth. It is through these discourses that I discovered my passion for human connection, through whatever means available to me, and then came up with a way to channel that passion into an actual life.

I've lost count of the number of times that a new idea has formed while my mouth is moving, butting its way into whatever conversation that inspired its birth. That's how I first came up with my plan to start a community art center, one month into the fall semester of my junior year of college. I pulled out my notebook just now and flipped to September 9th, 2009, the day the idea was formed. A single page of notebook paper is covered in messy pencil with The Salon (the original title of my center) scrawled across the stop. I can still remember my hand moving across the now familiar page as I sat in the dining hall of my college campus, waiting for my closest friend to get out of her art history class so I could explode my new idea, that I got from talking to my own art history professor, onto her.

I do indeed tend to explode when I have an idea. My sister calls it "bubbly Miranda" which, despite not carrying the gravity I would like, is the most accurate description of the state I enter when a new idea is forming. Words and phrases bubble out of me, bursting into the world through the conversation of whoever I am talking with at the moment. My eyes become cartoonishly wide and my hands, or rather my entire arms, swing from place to place as if I am preforming as a storyteller.

Since the birth of The Salon, I have talked with what must be over a hundred people about it, always expanding and developing both myself, my idea, and the person with whom I am talking. Through these conversations, which increased dramatically when I moved to Boston and began my master's degree at Lesley University, The Salon has evolved into Creative Spaces and, most recently, CATCH Art: the Creative Haven. (Get it? It's a self-retaining acronym! Eek!)

I've spoken with friends, family members, mentors, strangers, even people I don't like all that much, and they have each added their own flavor to my idea, if only by listening as I talked to them. I've read books and articles, started writing this blog, filled up countless notebooks, and created endless files on my computer as I continue my external thought development. Currently, I have a ten year plan for my art center. I have no idea what it will look like in the end because I have no idea who I will talk to in the time between now and then. All I know is that every conversation I have continues to build the community of people who have heard and helped with my idea and with the development of myself.

For the past few weeks I've been thinking about writing this post, drawing attention to the people part of community art. I spend a lot of time writing and thinking about the children I teach and the teachers I learn from, but just as important, if not more important, are the people who I teach and learn with. The people who listen to me, who talk to me, who dream with me.

There was quote at the beginning of one of my classes this semester which I have not been able to get out of my mind; "I write so I can find out what I am thinking" by Jerome Bruner. Obviously, just glance down the page, this is true for me. But I would have to say, more accurately, I converse so I can find out what I am thinking, and once I know what I think, I know what I am going to do.

Are they getting anything?

Like any good artist/thinker, every once in a while I have an existential crisis. Is there any point? Does looking at pretty pictures ever actually matter? Am I making any difference? Why should we do anything when in the end we all die and the earth gets blown up by the sun? That sort of thing.

In the past two years or so, and even more intensely in the past six months, I haven't found these questions repeating themselves in my head. At this point in time, my life direction is clearer than it has ever been. I love what I learn, what I do at work, the people in my life, where I live, pretty much everything. It's a little surreal to tell the truth, but that train of thought is for another time.

Despite the current absence of my existential crises, I am constantly shoring up arguments for my rational self to use when they reappear in my life once again. At work yesterday a perfect example presented itself to me. I had a good chunk of time in the afternoon between two classes I was teaching at the MFA and it turns out that my co-worker and friend was in the same predicament. She suggested that we go to the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum since it is literally right up the street and I'd never been there (or so I thought).

I eagerly accepted and we made our way through the strangely warm January day to our neighbor museum, wearing our IDs on our red MFA lanyards. As we entered the new wing of the Gardner, which architecturally looks very much like the new wing at the MFA, we were kindly greeted by museum workers with bright yellow Gardner lanyards and I had to wonder if our separate museum superiors hadn't planned the obvious contrast.

Walking through the new wing was lovely. Looking at art and places where art is displayed and talked about is always interesting, particularly when you have good company. But my new found weapon against future existential crises came when my friend and I walked through the glass tunnel connecting the new wing to the original Gardner museum. As I entered the stone and brick mansion, I had the strangest feeling of deja vu. I shook it off, knowing that sometimes that just happens, and followed my friend in the main hallway of the museum that circles around the famous courtyard.

Finally, a memory that had tickled my mind for years snapped into place as I stared at the small hallway on my right.

There are some memories which are so specific that I can see bits of them in my mind as clearly as if I am looking at a video or a photograph. The hallway I saw yesterday belonged to one such memory. For years it had floated around my mind and every once in a while I would try to place it. Could it be the New York cloisters which I went to on a 2nd grade field trip? Or some scene from a medieval movie? Maybe it was from one of the cathedrals I saw in Italy that for some reason felt like it had happened a long time along?

Actually, it was the first floor hallway on the right side of the courtyard in the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum. Despite the fact that last time I saw it I was about a foot and a half lower, I recognized it instantly.

In fifth grade my class took an overnight field trip to Boston. We did all the usual historical and tourist routes, which is what I remember. However, apparently, we also went to the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum and the image of the cloister-like hallway in a building that had once been a woman's home engrained itself on my ten-year-old mind.

So how does this argue against my future existential crises?

Something that can be hard to tell as a teacher is whether you've really gotten through to your students or not. Of course there are the obvious responses, the glowing eyes, bright smiles, and exclamations of joy. But what about the kids who aren't as overt with their responses? Are they still getting anything?

I still don't have a definite answer. However, I can now say from personal experience, sometimes people are absorbing information even when they don't realize it. Ideas you were taught in your youth could be recalled from your memory banks at any point. And no, not everything will stick for every child. But there's still hope that at some point in their lives your students will have a moment of eye-opening memory that brings back some dormant lesson you taught them. Maybe they'll feel a deep connection to an art piece or a museum that you brought them to. Or maybe that's just me. Either way, existential crisis: averted.

At the Source

My first intensive weekend class at Lesley University perfectly exemplified the source of my passion and of community art: the sheer amount of creative energy that can accumulate from a group of inspired and inspirational individuals. This energy can be created within any group, but over the course of the weekend I experienced the powerful potential of a group of people who have already chosen to dedicate at least part of themselves to Community Art, and it left me breathless.

Everyday I left the class with an extra spring in my step, hoping that the ridiculous grin on my face didn't make me look like I was jumped up on something and yet not caring if it did. Isn't that just the most wonderful? When you can't help but smiling, when even thinking about what happened involuntarily curves your lips, turns your cheeks into red apples and your eyes into what would be described in a children's book as twinkling stars? That. That is the power of Community Art.

We watched videos from RAW Art Works, made by teenagers not much younger than myself, which left me silent and serene, tearful and disturbed, generally moved in any numbers of directions. They made me rethink my relationship with the little sister I rarely get the chance to see, the father I've only recently started growing close to, the homeless man on the street who I didn't step to listen to, and the shy child who I didn't have to time to reach out to. I heard stories of transformation that brought tears to my eyes and the heavy weight of empathetic sympathy across my brows. I laughed, connected, and created with the people around me, helping to develop a potentially life-altering educational festival with only my companions and the city we were in as inspiration.

Even the moments of theoretical and practical conversation opened my eyes to what already exists and what can exist. By acknowledging the difficult realities of our dreams, we connected the blind, bubbly passion of conception with the intense, driven necessities of implementation. This underlying theme both named our course, Ideas into Action, and grounded us, showing us what can be done when we leave the mental drawing board and reach out to grab what life has to offer.

Now I am, obviously, an inspired romantic optimist, but that doesn't mean that all of this isn't true. Community Art connects people at all levels, from their most superficial projections of themselves to the inexplicable depths they may not be conscious of having; being around creative, supportive, and open people inspires the huge amount of intrinsic motivation necessary to enter into the world of creating Community Art; passion doesn't need to be checked and tempered to join reality, only directed and funneled through the correct channels. With these truths in mind, I know that, though they may change form along the way, my ideas will become my actions.

The Term Itself

As I began my foray into the actual theory and thought of the existing community art world, I encountered a discrepancy at the very entrance: no one knows exactly what to call this field. Arlene Goldbard sticks with Community Cultural Development while Tom Borrup chooses Creative Community Building. These are just two examples of the rampant terms that exist within the field.

At first, deep in the sway of the incredible writing done by each of these practiced community artists, I was simply agreeing with whoever's pages I was devouring at the moment. At the very beginning of her book, New Creative Community: The Art of Cultural Development, Goldbard addresses this issue in a section titled "Naming the Practice." She identifies five current terms: community arts, community animation, community-based arts, cultural work, and participatory arts projects. (Her term, Community Cultural Development, she files under this last heading.)

Goldbard chooses not to use Community Art as her key term because it can be, and has been, also "used to describe conventional arts activity based in a municipality" pg 21. Personally, although unlike Goldbard I have barely dipped a toe into this fantastic arena, this association doesn't bother me. This may be because I am approaching the field from the background of visual art and willingly associate myself with "conventional arts activity," or it could just be because I am unseasoned. I'd prefer to think that my conclusions are based on the former, but only time will tell.

Whatever the reason, despite my early infatuation with these authors terms, the more I read the more I feel that sticking with Community Art is most appropriate for me. There's something to be said about simplicity. Even though it may not be as encompassing or accurate, Community Art is a more accessible term than something like creative community building. While the term still needs to be explained, its more immediate. What is community Art? It's art that takes place within and around the community.

For overly intellectual, abstract and theoretical thinkers (or for people pursuing graduate studies) this definition isn't enough - that premise indeed is the base of this blog. Defining a term with its components? That's not deep thinking! But for work within a community, its the right amount of thinking. (Not to say that general community members aren't or wouldn't be interested in the wonderful thinking put into the other terms). Anyone interested can delve into the more specific terms, but Community Art allows the people to take the term, field, and all that goes along with it at face value.

This is all, of course, personal opinion and interpretation coming from someone who considers herself an artist. Going from an artist to a community artist seems much more manageable than becoming a creative community builder or a community cultural developer. It also keeps the person more accepting, accessible and approachable. I'd be much more interested in talking to a Community Artist than a Community Cultural Developer, wouldn't you?

The First Step

It's about time for me to mention the woman who first introduced me to the world of Community Art: Claudia Bernardi. I've already alluded to her once or twice because, as the woman who opened this world to me, she often comes to mind when I think about it.

I first met Claudia in my sophomore year of college. She was designing a ten day spring break trip to El Salvador to do art. Being an artist, mildly fluent in Spanish, and country-bound since the time I was five, this idea naturally appealed to me. In the months leading up to our trip I, along with the rest of my fellow travelers, read books about the history of El Salvador and its neighboring countries, particularly about the many civil wars and the massacre of El Mozote. This heavy material was interspersed with language studying and descriptions of the projects that we were going to do.

For the actual trip we went out into the mountains of Morazon, El Salvador to a little town called Perquin. Claudia had already been there several times, starting an art school that then grew into its own self-supported organization. The telephone poles of the town, which in the rest of El Salvador were constantly changing between the colors of the two strongly divided political parties, were decorated with landscape scenes painted by the local children. Murals turned up around every corner, as colorful, frequent, and pleasing as spring flowers. The town center held a spectacular double sided mural on a stage-like area were children and town members would sit throughout the day.

During our stay, we went to a local community called 10 de enero (10th of January) and had the honor of adding to this beautiful collection of murals, painting on the wall of the cinder-block, one-room library which housed a single bookcase. The content was decided by the community members, the design approved by them, and the artwork partially created by them. Our role was that of artistically trained tools, coming to show our support, interest in, and willingness to help the community that already existed there. Children came to paint a mural on canvas inside and the telephone poles outside while their parents and grandparents came to help or watch us paint. Despite the language and cultural barriers, the members of the community were conversing with us as we all collaborated to create what turned into a beautiful mural.

Our time in El Salavdor also found us visiting neighboring towns, going to El Mozote, and to museums which held artifacts from the civil war that had ended only sixteen years previously. Everywhere we went there was art. Colorful, vibrant murals paved our path through the mountains of Morazon and back to San Salvador, the capital, enlivening the communities with their constant, cheerful presence.

When we returned to the States, I immediately noticed the absence of these colors and the lively community that they embodied. Having already seen the possibilities, power, and uses of communally made art in El Salvador, I knew that creating the same sense of connection was something I could dedicate my life to as I finished my degree and moved into life beyond.

A Second Wind and a New Book

For the past month I've been in a whirlwind of everything happening very quickly interspersed with moments of absolute nothing. Neither of these states has encouraged my writing here, although I have scribbled in notebooks while familiarizing myself with the local bus and train system. But once I get home I want nothing more to sleep and on the days when I didn't leave then I just never got enough rolling.

But enough of that.

My brain has been roiling back and forth with thoughts of Community Art and art in general always on the crux of the wave. The first really momentous piece was when I was offered a job in the community art department of a local museum. This spurred me into a flurry of movement. I organized my life around my new job and my creative mind started clicking away as I considered all the new possibilities.

This new step prompted me to make up my mind about what to buy from New Village Press. Although because of a bit of confusion with the shipping the book took a month to get to me, I have started reading Museums and Civic Dialogue. So far I've almost completed the first segment on a exhibition put forward in 2002 by the Henry Art Gallery in Seattle. The exhibition was called Gene(sis): Contemporary Art Explores Human Genomics, and explored the implications of the then recent completion of a "rough draft" of the human genome.

Having little background in science, reading about this exhibition taught me just as much about the science of genomics as it did of the art that was used to contemplate the field. This is a perfect example of what the exhibition was trying to achieve: an inter-disciplinary approach to learning and understanding. By combining artists of all kinds with scientists, librarians, public speakers and more, the Henry reached a much wider community at a much deeper level.

As I read, I thought about how fundamental the inter-disciplinary approach to art is to Community Art. Because communities often aren't focused around art, a community artist has to enter into the community by understanding and working with whatever is fundamental. In this case, the general interest and concern about genomics in Seattle, a city with a large investment in biotechnology, was a perfect way to bring art to the rest of the community. It also gave the community a different and deeper way of thinking about genomics.

The New Village Press

I've been haunting the New Village Press website recently, wallowing in indecision about whether or not to buy one of their fantastic books. On one hand, I would love to be able to sit down and plow my way through everything that has been put forth by this wonderful publisher, but on the other I have reading supplies coming out of my ears and less and less time to do anything about it. Reading about the press in and of itself has proven to be interesting however, because the places that support community art are a vital part of the effectiveness of community art.

Its also been useful to see how a publisher which puts forth so much writing on community art, and other community projects, describes itself. The 'about us' section starts of by saying "New Village books serve the interdependent fields of social justice, participatory planning, community building, ecology, and community-based arts. The Press crosses boundaries between professional, academic, and informal education with books that engage practitioners and community activists working together to rebuild neighborhoods."

I found it interesting that community art was lumped with so many other fields that somehow manage to coincide perfectly. Recently, I have begun to think more seriously about the applications of community art. Each of the "interdependent fields" that the Press mentions in their 'about us' section could be seen through the lense of community art. Indeed, as the word interdependent indicates, most of the fields overlap. Personally, I was introduced to community art hand-in-hand with community building and social justice by a wonderful woman named Claudia Bernardi, who I will write much more about later.

The books published by New Village Press range from ones solely on art to ones solely on the environment, but the ones I find most appealing involve both or more subjects. While I keep telling myself that if I find the money to spend I should get a book completely about community art, seeing as that is what I am going into, I keep drifting towards the environmental community art books. This stems from a recent reawakened interest in the uses of community art to better the environment.

Only time and the amount of money left in my account will tell what I end up buying and reading from New Village Press, but whatever it is will undoubtably make its way back here.

Step One: Wikipedia

Although perhaps not the greatest end in and of itself, I find Wikipedia a perfect means. Where better to start looking for something than on a massive, free, internet data-base? Especially if you consider that what I am researching is about community involvement, and Wikipedia is based on community involvement.

Yet I found the Wikipedia article on community art sadly, if not unexpectedly, lacking. In fact, it was headed by the claim that the "article needs attention from an expert on the subject." (Who knows, maybe after working on this for a while I could be that expert). But for now, it seems that both me and Wikipedia are stumped by this emerging field.

The article starts by saying that "community art could be loosely defined as a way of creating art in which professional artists collaborate more or less intensively with people who don't normally actively engage in the arts." A sound proposal and yet still, as the article itself says, only a loose definition. What way of creating art? What is a professional artist? What about groups of professional artists working together?

The article goes on to say that "community arts... refers to artistic activity based in a community." This too seems helpful until you realize that what the article just did was use the term in its own definition, an extremely tempting road to take I can assure you.

ex.

Random Bystander: "What is community art?"

Community artist: "Well, it's art that takes places in a community."

The real problem is that actually is the definition. Community Art is art that takes place in a community. But what really needs to be done is a breakdown of what type of art, how it takes place, and in what community. Now we face the fact that there are many answers to each of those questions, that Community Art is as varied as any other field of study. Just like the difference between a botanist and a molecular biologist, the difference between a muralist and a video artist is huge.

The Wiki article deals with this by discussing different types of community art, categorized by the headings of community art and public art, online community art, and community theater. However, the most useful information that I gleaned from this article was a list of key artists and a list of references. Already I have begun to look into Judith F. Baca, Josef Beuys, Harrel Fletcher, Adrian Piper, Mierle Laderman Ukeles, Helen Crummy, and Ruth Howards as well as into the list of community art books that mostly seem to stem from New Village Press.

But those I leave to further inquiries in further posts. As I said, Wikipedia is a wonderful place to start. Already I have more to research than I will be able to manage, but that's the problem with researching: you always find more than you have time to see. Thankfully, that is also the fun of it.

What is Community Art?

My answer, and the reason I created this blog, is: I don't know.

Ignorance is terrifying. However it is especially so when it's about a field that you have decided to dedicate your life to. When people ask me what I plan to do, as everyone is bound to ask at some point, I say that I want to be a community artist. Some people roll their eyes, dismissing me as just another hot-headed "I-wanna-change-the-world" type youngster. This is frustrating. Some people frown and ask me what I mean and I find that I don't have an answer. This is infuriating.

It's infuriating because I don't yet have the skills to explain to people that my lack of an answer isn't because of lack of thought or consideration. I have seen art change lives and communities, I have worked with artists and been one of the artists myself who facilitates that change. If I had a Powerpoint presentation prepared from my experiences, emotions, research, and gut-reactions that was stored mentally and could play on demand, I believe not only that everyone would understand what I want to but cannot say but they would agree with it.

This is, of course, preposterous dreaming. A powerpoint presentation prepared by some combination of my mental excesses would probably be more concerning than instructional. But if that option is out of the question, how do I explain what I know in my heart, brain, and gut is right for me to do?

The problems is, it seems that every person I talk to has a different definition of community art, if they have one at all. Murals, art centers, government agencies, public art projects, interactive community projects, all of them and none of them manages to encompass the idea of community art, or at least, what I feel is the idea of community art. Because that's all I have right now, a feeling.

In the fall, I am attending Lesley University where, if all goes well, I'll get my Masters of Education in Community Art. To tell you the truth, I don't really know what that means. How can I if I don't even know what community art is? But what I hope is that through my time at Lesley, and my outside inquiries, I will learn how to intelligently and succinctly verbalize the meaning of community art: what it is, why I chose it, and what I plan to do with it.

This blog is intended to be a documentation of my attempts at definition. It will be, if you will, an Explorative Definition of Community Art.