Dream a Little Dream with Me

One of my favorite games as I was a kid was trying to figure out what I would be when I grew up. I don't ever remember having an aspiration to be an astronaut, a famous singer, or (to use the dream of a friend of mine) a paleontologist. Yes, there were times I imagined my face on the movie screens, or my voice coming over the radio, and let's not forget thinking about what the USA would be like with Miranda Hynes as Madame President. But I've always loved so many different things, that none of those dreams lasted long because how could you be President and a famous actress?

And so in my game I used to try and figure out what I could be when I grew up that would allow me to do everything I liked doing. As I've gotten closer to what I want to become, marching down the path of self-development, I've realized that not everyone asks themselves this question. Most people have their work and their hobby; what they do, and what they like to do. For me, that was never an option. My passions run my life, every part of it.

Whenever I introduced someone else to this game and explained everything that I loved to do, they came up with an immediate answer: “You should be a kindergarten teacher!” This seemed like too obvious a choice to me. Wasn’t there something else I could do? Some profession I could find that would make me able to help people while making art and not be confined to a classroom?

If you’re reading this, on a blog about community art, you can probably guess what I ended up deciding. But it took a long time for me to realize that my two passions of helping people and being creative weren’t mutually exclusive. It took longer still once I had my realization to see how I could fit the two together. When I was sixteen I solved my game; I wanted to run my own community art center. From the solution of my game came my dream, and since then I haven’t stopped dreaming about it.

With each person I’ve met my dream has grown and solidified, coming ever closer to becoming an actual concrete goal. When I began to dream of my art center, getting my degree in art was the goal, one that I was less than two years away from. As graduation drew closer, my next goal arose: to find a life after college that included art and a way to make money. And so I applied to Lesley University for a Masters of Education in Community art while also applying to the Community Art Department at the Museum of Fine Arts. With the realization of each of these goals, I faithfully continued my march towards my far off dream.

Now, a little less than halfway through my masters degree, my dream is that much closer to becoming an actual goal. I’ve recently been offered an internship at the wonderful Springstep in Medford, where I will learn about the inner workings of a community art center and add to it as best I can. With each goal accomplished, I’ve realized that my dream isn’t as far off as I think it is. Instead of a jump into space, I can now see a climbing staircase of goals that will, if all goes well and I work my little ass off, make my dream my reality.

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.

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.

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.