Making a Mess

ZOËLAB DAY 115

Date of Original Post: December 12, 2012

Yesterday Emilio was outside working on the patio, something was getting his attention long enough for him to be playing for half an hour by himself, which is a rare occurrence, but it happens. When I saw him working, before I said anything, I just observed for a minute and noticed that his blackboard easel was covered in a thin layer of mud. I also noticed that there were piles of dirt all over the patio floor. I watched him take the black board eraser, dip it in a bucket of muddy water, and then rub it carefully all over the blackboard. He was, in a sense, cleaning the chalkboard--he was erasing chalk with mud. After a minute of working, Emilio suddenly became aware of my presence, he instantly became nervous and said with great concern: “Mamma, don’t mess this up. This is a project I’m working on and I’m not done yet.” He was clearly working hard, because with children, play is work. And yes, he was making an incredible mess of a place that I had been in the process of cleaning and clearing, and the sink in the bathroom was covered in dirt, the soap was encrusted in small rocks and dirt, but I didn’t say anything because I could tell how meaningful his project was to him. And I’ve got to have respect for people’s projects even if they do make a mess--what kind of creativity teacher would I be if I told my students it wasn’t okay to make a mess. Making a mess--whether physical or emotional--is an integral part of creativity. “I said okay, I won’t “mess it up,” (meaning: ‘clean it up.’) “I won’t do anything to until you’re done.” He said “okay, thanks,” and seemed relieved.

Ten minutes later he decided he wanted to go inside, and do something else, so he went to the sink to wash his hands, and when I tried to wash his hands with the soap that he had encrusted, outraged, he said: “No! That soap’s dirty! I don’t want to wash my hands with that soap.” I threw my hands up and sighed. What else could I do but laugh?

The next day, he continued with his project, and warned me still not to clean it up. And I obliged, until Lucas intervened on behalf of the sink. If he got anymore dirt in it it would start to clog. I still hadn’t quite had the heart to clean it up. Instead I took another photo of it today. I also feel I can’t really blame him for thinking it’s okay to make a mess in this room: it’s part pretty bathroom, with a 1920’s porcelain sink, painted mirror and stacking wooden shelves wrapped in chinese newspaper, and part ugly bodega: unpainted cement walls, rough cement floors, with a metal bodega door.

After the mud project outside, I gave Emilio a project inside: to erase my dry erase board with spray bottle and paper towels which he took to with great concentration.

To Do

ZOËLAB DAY 99

Date of original post: December 8, 2012

This is my to do list for the day.

One day I made a heading to a list called House Projects, and Emilio drew on it before I ever made the rest of the list. I saved it because I find it beautiful and funny, and also because it’s a reminder that life should not always be about to do lists. I can be a little much with all my to do lists. Sometimes it is better not to accomplish anything and just be. Lately, I have been off balance. Trying to do too much, with too little time to relax, to be in a receptive mode, which is an integral part of the creative process. 

Emilio is is now making to do lists. Sometimes he takes a pen and a piece of paper and says that he needs to make a list. He looks up thinking about what he will put on his list, and then he scribbles word like images on his page. Through imitation, children are the best reflector of our habits.

Don't Let The Bastards Get You Down

ZOELAB DAY 334

Original Date of Post: August 3 2013

A poem written to my inner child.

Don’t let the bastards get you down, my little one.

Be strong, and bring forth the parts you know to be true.

For if you do not, you will have not lived the life you were blessed with.

Little women are lucky to have a strong and principled mother.

I have been with shaky principles, shaky sense of self.

I have been a prisoner in a tomb of outside aggrandizement.

I have been asleep and dreaming of darkness.

I have been so so asleep, so very small, in the worst way.

So very blind to the ways of darkness.

I have suddenly become greatful for the gift of words and clay.

I am alive with my own mistakes.

My mistakes are my past prisons, but are now my truths that set me free.

I am no longer waiting to die.

I am reliving my birth.

I am relieving my forgetfulness by accepting my disconnected heart.

I have refound my heart.
I have refound what is lost daily, but remembered 

through looking away for a moment.

My eyes are focused only by slowing down. Only by seeing my own disappointment and frustration.

There is no difference between truth and art.

The difference is discipline and honor. To honor truth with discipline is art.

There is no truth except that which is.

Come to me, little one,
Hold my hand. 

You have reason not to trust me because I have ignored you for so long. 

But you can see and feel that I am here right now. 

I have come back to you with my midnight mirror and my telescope.

I have come back just to hold your hand, 

and to listen to your most intimate secrets. 

To be the friend you dream of.

To be yours.

Only yours.

All yours.

I cannot promise anything because only this moment counts.

All there is is now.

All I can be is here.

You and I. 

I love you with deep truthful compassionate unconditional love.

My gift to you is to accept you exactly as you are with no judgment.

I see your great heart’s desires. I see your frustrations with your limitations.

To imagine is to be limitless.

It is the word of god.

Befriend your imagination.

And trust yourself. 
Accept yourself.

No matter how bad you think you may be.

What ever it is. It is,

And it must be.

Child-like

ZOELAB DAY 337

Date of original post: August 6, 2013

27 signs that my inner kid is still very much alive

1) Usually my main goal is having fun

2) I am often disappointed when others are not like this

3) My favorite colors for outfits are inspired by romper room

4) When I buy a present for my child, I am not sure if it’s for me or him

5) My favorite place to be is lying down on the floor

6) I fight with my child over toys 

7) I like to set up little creativity and play areas all over the house

8) I always want to be mirrored

9) I like making a mess, and I don’t like to clean it up

10) My sources for art inspiration are comic books, children’s books and animation

11) My favorite snacks are carrot sticks, apple slices, and cheddar bunnies

12) I want to do everything my self, in my own way

13) My best collection is my Snoopy Collection

14) I still wear Swatch watches and Le Sports Sac purses

15) I hope for underoos in my size

16) My favorite things to draw are hearts, stars, butterflies and flowers

17) My preferred drawing tools are markers

18) I am primarily focused on when my next snack will take place and what it will be

19) I am most enthusiastic about: learning new things, toys, colorful objects, presents, pasta and ice cream

20) I still want to have my friends over for play dates

21) My favorite activities are making up songs, goofy dancing, imaginary play, and games

22) The best reason to do something is because I feel like it

23) If someone is mean to me or I don’t get what I want, I cry

24) I love to do cartwheels and stand on my head

25) I refuse to wear Band-Aids for grown ups

26) I crave the kind eyes of loving attention

27) I still have all my my favorite stuffed animals

El Principito En Baja: Behind The Scenes and on The Stage

On Wednesday, March 16th,  the premier of El Principito en Baja was performed at the historic Teatro de Márquez de León Theater in Todos Santos. The play was an adaptation of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s classic book, The Little Prince, re-written for the stage by David Liles and Sylvia Perel, Founder and Director of the Festival de Cine Todos Santos, with some additions and re-imaginings to include the local context of Todos Santos, Baja California Sur, which is under environmental threat by goldmining industry. There were two performances--the morning matinee which was viewed by over 200 schoolchildren, (including the Elias Calles school where my son attends) and the evening, which kicked off the 13th annual Festival de Cine Todos Santos - La Paz, raised money for the Jóvenes en Video program, a program of the ten year running Leonardo Perel Film School, (founded by Sylvia Perel's late husband) and the only film school in Baja California Sur. The second performance was attended by a highly enthusiastic audience, which included Mexican actor, director and producer, Diego Luna.

Work on the play started in the summer of 2015, as part of a series of free summer workshops that involved more than 60 local kids learning film-making, animation and acting. 5 of those kids Esli, 18, (EL PILOTO), Lucas, 8 (EL PRINCIPITO) , Emilia, 10 (EL MANANTIAL y LA CASCABEL), Maria José, 13 (LA FLOR y EL DRAGON) and Hannah, 12 (EL EMPRESARIO y EL COYOTE) were cast for the main characters and rehearsed for eight months. The cast was later joined by three wonderful girls: Lía, (FLOR) Fernanda, (FLOR) y Susje (FLOR). Starting with the YOUTH EN VIDEO workshops, the kids created masks, characters, memorized lines, stage directions, learned songs and even some dancing. The youth from JOVENES EN VIDEO (Dora, Frida, Juan, Raquel taught by Prof. Mike Henaine) captured this creative process in their documentary, Detrás de las Escenas del Principito en Baja (Behind The Scenes of the Little Prince en Baja), which will be screened at 3 PM on Monday, March 21st at Teatro Manuel Márquez de León. Admission is Free. The JÓVENES EN VIDEO also created the charming animated videos and stunning footage capturing the natural beauty of Baja that were projected on the LED screen behind the actors to add scenery and meaning to this beautiful multimedia theatrical production, whose theme was protecting the natural beauty of Baja.

Last July, Sylvia Perel asked me to help her with the production, which was originally supposed to be performed in October. At that time, I was helping as creative consultant, and attending some of the rehearsals, not really sure the best way to help. I tried to pull in more actors, and brough in some visual ideas, but my real role did not start until November, when Sylvia told me that La Flor was supposed to sing a song. I told her I was a songwriter, and that I would write one. That night I poured over the script in Spanish, and the original book and wrote my first song en Español. I had some help with the Spanish from Sylvia Perel and Silvia Padilla, (my Spanish teacher and English student, and my neighbor and friend.) And Por Ti (La Canción de la Flor) was born! There was this extra part at the end, that I couldn't figure out how to connect to the rest of the song. It just didn't fit.  After a few weeks of trying to make it work, I suddenly realized the ending to that song was really its own song, and that it could be the finale of the play!  A few weeks later, Sylvia told me they needed additional music and sound to enhance and tie in the performances. I immediately agreed, and that was how I became the Musical Director of the play. I am immensely proud and happy to have had the opportunity to collaborate with and meet so many creative local talents and to have been involved in such a heartfelt, and beautiful production with such an important message. Wednesday's performance, and all the hours of work that led up to it, was truly a creative highlight of my life. I hope that I will collaborate with the JÓVENES EN VIDEO in the future--I already have several ideas for projects in mind. This production was a great opportunity for me to practice teaching in Spanish, and my goal is to collaborate more with children in BCS gives me more motivation to improve my Spanish.

Here is the recording of Por Ti that I made, which was featured in the play. I hope Maria José, the girl who played the flower and who sang the song, will join me on April 14th to sing it with me at my next gig in at La Esquina. I plan to do another recording of the song, with all the verses and both of our voices.

Here is the complete list of cast and crew:

Dirección/Producción Sylvia Perel

Guión /Script Sylvia Perel & David Liles

Producción Ejecutiva. Patricia Fernández Millán

Dirección de Actores/ Acting Teacher Prof. Guillermina Sainz

Producción Técnica/ Tech Production Rogelio Muñoz Camacho

Escenografía/Set Designing Wesley Horn

Vestuario/Costumes Clara Gaucín

Música/Music Zoë Dearborn

Iluminación/Lighting design Franciso Zuñiga

Objetos /Props Salvador Cadena (Chava)

Actores/Actors Esli Mejía, Lucas Cano Sanchez , Emilia Cano Sanchez, Maria José Favela, Rosita Orozco, Lía Romero, Fernanda Murillo. Susje Torres.

Producción Visual : Jóvenes en Video, Prof. Mike Henaine, Dora Juliana Martinez, Frida Cota, Juan Manuel Agúndez, Raquel León Gonzalez

Logística/Logistic Angie Ontiveros

Efectos digitales, mapping e instalación: MUV Marco Gaviño, Rolando González e Iván Rodríguez.

For more information, check the Festival de Cine Website.

Here is the recording of Por Ti that I made, which was featured in the play. I hope Maria José, the girl who played the flower and who sang the song, will join me on April 14th to sing it with me at my next gig in at La Esquina. I plan to do another recording of the song, with all the verses and both of our voices.

Can't Say A Better Day

Many of the inspirations for my songs come from clever, in the moment things that people near me express, which I then write down. One of my latest songs, Rock-n-Roll Thing came from a spontaneous statement of self-knowledge Emilio made at 3 years old. He told me during one of my music appreciation sessions with him. We were probably listening to The Runaways. Joan Je(Which he called The Runways.) "I'm a rock-n-roll guy. I'm a rock-n-roll thing." I was delighted by his confession, and of course, related deeply to it. Later it inspired my newest rock song, which I am currently in the process of recording. Learning how to actually record your music is yet a whole new skill. It's not easy. This is why I love improv.

Last year, Emilio was having a moment of feeling high on life and he came into the house from playing outside singing the hook for a great new song:

"Can't say a better day!" expressing his pure joy and enthusiasm for the present moment.

I immediately got out the guitar and this is what we recorded:

Speaking of kids rocking out, my mom sent me this clip today:

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Musical Collaboration between Lucas & Emilio

Last year, Lucas and Emilio collaborated on a spontaneous song project. Lucas played guitar while Emilio improvised a song--this was the result:

For further inspiration of parents collaborating with their children creatively, check out this video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BxQSEvHdyjQ

And these: 

family drawings.

Secret Powers, a short conversation with Emilio

A conversation between Lucas and Emilio, who just turned 6 the other day:

Emilio: Your secret power, Dada, is your funniness.

Lucas: Oh, and what's mamma's secret power?

Emilio: Sadness. And laughter.

Lucas: What's your secret power?

Emilio: Fart balloons.

Me: And observation.

Jardin de Niño Diaries, Part Four

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We break for summer and I decide that when school starts again in August, I am going to start the mural project. This will require planning. This is not my strong point. I have never painted a mural before. Here's my idea: to paint a jardin de niños literally. I want the mural to be a garden of children who are half kids/half trees, cactus, flowers and plants. The wall had been painted again and so I already have a good background for the mural. The first plan is to trace the kids bodies in the form of the plant they want to be. I use a permanent marker. I write their names on each outline.

Then hurricane odile hits Baja. When we check out the school we see that the entire roof and one of the walls to the outside classroom is gone. There are papers and books and garbage everywhere. I look at the other wall. The paint is gone, and so is the permanent marker outline of the kids bodies. Not a big deal to re-do, but it is a bit shocking what wind can do. The building got a power wash.

The hurricane pulls the rug from under us. Everyone is in shock. We continue to live in fear of the next one. Or the rain. Any rain. Slowly the creatures come out of hiding and I want to reach through the isolation. I decide I am going to start hosting the first Mariposa Night. The theme is "Stories of the Storm." I start to ask people to share their stories. Again, reaching beyond my shyness into connection with others. It starts out a bit clumsy. I am unpracticed after being a holed up hermit all summer. I wonder if people are ready to come out of hiding. I want to draw them out. I want to draw myself out.

Lucas suggests I try to raise money for to rebuild the Elias Calles school. Then I think of Vanessa, the teacher—how she could share her story of the hurricane and her experience at the Elias Calles school.  She is shy too, and very young and inexperienced, but she knows it will help raise money.

On Mariposa Night Lucas picks her up on the way to Todos Santos. She is all dolled up, with makeup and her hair down. She looks beautiful and nervous when she arrives. We buy her a margarita that costs more than her weekly salary. Then I wonder if she is old enough to drink. I am nervous too. We tell our stories and Vanessa is last she shares her concern for her “pollitos” little chicks, expressing a deep affection for the kids and the community in Elias Calles. They have taken her in, even though she lives in La Paz. We raise 1800 pesos. About $130.

The money sits in a jar in our house for months. My classes start at Cuatro Vientos, and I don’t have time to even think about the mural. And then one day Vanessa asks me—maybe we can use the money to buy paint for the school? Of course. Why did I not think of that? I buy paint for the background, for the mural and for the classroom. The week before that Vanessa had asked the parents to come and clean the school yard. It had not been cleaned since the summer weeds grew, turned to grass, nor since the hurricane.

I arrive with Emilio and Lucas. Vanessa is there with her husband and infant son. A few other parents are there. I walk over with Emilio. I bring garbage bags to pick up the garbage that is scattered all over the school yard. The men are carting large amounts of cement rubble and dried weeds by wheelbarrow to a dump pile in the open field behind the school. We sweep, we throw away all the destroyed books. After a few hours of working in the twilight, the yard starts to look decent again.

The next week Vanessa informs the other parents that we will be painting and some of them show up that day. I have bought yellow for the inside of the school. The room is quite narrow, but big enough for this group of 4-10 kids (at any time the amount changes.) It was built to be the bodega of the school but the kids have been using it for their classroom. We paint the outside wall: blue for sky,  green for grass, and brown for earth. The mural will be added in parts over the following weeks.

The following week week I ask the kids to choose if they will paint a flower, cactus or tree. Then I ask them to form the shape of their plant with their body, and I trace an outline in the wall in pencil.

What I have learned from my involvement with the school is how to be flexible. I often don’t know what’s going on, and I have little understanding during the meetings. Vanessa cancels class last minute  when her baby is sick or she has some teacher related meeting she has to attend for her training. I have learned to absorb patience and humor when all else seems out of my hands. One time Vanessa forgot the key to school in her home in La Paz and the kids had to climb through the window for the entire week.

To be continued...

Last Day of Kindergarten

Tadeo, Itzel, Jocelyn, Vanessa (La Maestra), Emilio, Marcito, Haide, Maria Jose, Antonio, Angel y Gralya in front of the mural project I did with the kids all year. Vanessa and I finished the mural the day after and added their names.

Yesterday was Emilio's last day of Kindergarten. Surely a day of mixed feelings for me. This day marks the end of early childhood, and the beginning of middle childhood. From the Freudian point of view, he is moving from the Oedipal phase that is marked by intense emotions, especially towards the parents, and a focus on the phallus (Freud was male centric) and into the Latency phase, which is more social, connected to the world of friends and people away from home which lasts until puberty. This new phase is the one I have least experience with as a teacher, a therapist, and a nanny. As with the end of every phase of parenting, I have mixed emotions. At first, when the realization hits me, I have a profound sense of loss where I cry cathartically for an hour, then I quickly recover, and feel a new sense of freedom and excitement about the unknown next phase.

I think for Emilio, who hasn't developed nostalgia yet, the day had less significance. Though he will be participating in a graduation ceremony in a few weeks, which is quite exciting due to its promise of sweet and a performance by the kids. Vanessa, the teacher, had requested that all the kids wear their uniforms the second to last day of school so we could take photos of the kids. The kids were supposed to wear their uniforms everyday. But as the year wore on, us parents stopped bothering to put their uniforms on the kids. Seeing them in their uniforms again, reminded me of the first day of school. Emilio had a great year in Kindergarten, and made great progress with his Spanish. He had extra help from our Peruvian neighbor and friend, Silvia, who is a very animated and fun teacher. She and I also do Spanish & English conversation once a week.

In Mexico, the Jardin de Niños includes both preschool and kindergarten, 3-5. At 6 the kids start primaria. In September, Emilio will be going to the primary school in Elias Calles, which shares the school yard with kindergarten. It is a two room school house--the kids, age 6-12 are split into two classrooms, taught be two teachers.

I started shooting photos of the kids in their uniforms, but then I realized Angel was missing. He is considered the rough kid, but I have a very special place in my heart for him. He has an artist's eye. I found Angel hiding in this tree. He was trying to avoid being in the photo, because he was the only kid with out a uniform. I pleaded with him to join the photo, but he was ashamed. Marcito's grandmother put a white playera on him, while he wiped the tears from his eyes. It was heartbreaking. But he did make into the photo. There he is below: second row, far right. Emilio is far left.

Gralya, first row, far left, didn't want to be in the photo either. But I have no idea why--she is pouting and separate for the photo on the top of this post, but now she is in the photo, but still pouting. She will be graduating along with Emilio.

Marcito and Itzel. Marcito will be graduating, but Itzel has two more years.

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Lego Photo Essay

Emilio went through a phase (age 4-5) where we was in love with Legos. Especially Star Wars Legos. He would make ever more complex pieces, spending hours making them just to his liking. He would save them for a few days, and then destroy them happily. I am obsessive about photographing life. Sometimes it's a way of making contact with the world. Sometimes it's about accepting what is. And sometimes it's a way of keeping what is so meant to be transitory. I have hundreds of photos of Emilio's wonderful Lego creations, as well as some of mine and Lucas'.

Here is a series from a particularly elaborate creation of Emilio's. I lent him my camera (Canon G12), and he took a few photos himself. I can't seem to find those photos right now, but I will post them here when I find them. The photos below are special because I took them with Lucas' Fuji 100S, which has such a great look.

Egg Confetti Bombs

So here is the project that I referred to in yesterday's blog post. After we made up from our fight, he gave me unhindered access to taking photos. We got from this from a book of 365 projects to do with kids, which is also illustrated by kids.

Ingredients:

1. confetti (I just happened to have a bag of confetti that I had bought at a thrift store in La Paz)
2. eggs
3. push pin of nail scissors
4. crayons or oil pastels

Make a hole in either side of the egg with the pin. Blow the insides of the egg into a bowl. Make the hole larger by circling your push pin. Decorate your egg with your crayon. Fill the larger hole with confetti, and then tape it closed. Wait for your target to show up, and surprise them by smashing the egg on top his head. We made three eggs. In this case, Emilio and I were each others' targets. Emilio saved the third egg for his father who will be returning from a three day trip to the US.

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Parenting Breakthrough

Being a parent has its ups and downs, just like everything. Sometimes, I feel amazed by the brilliance of my son. I sit in awe of his exuberance, his strength, or his ability to name his emotions, as I secretly allow myself to a little bit of credit. Other times, I find my son's rowdy energy to be annoying and disrespectful, triggering the hurt little girl inside who felt disrespected and attacked by the group of boys (including my brother, my cousin, and family friends) I spent time with as a child. I recognize that, with parenting, just like everything else, the areas we struggle with the most are opportunities for healing, growth and transformation. In other words, parenting kicks my ass and Emilio is my greatest teacher.

This thought occurred to me yesterday, during a particularly trying day. My husband and I have designated two days a week to be "Mommy Days": days that I stay at home to take care of the house, and spend time with Emilio. These days are also often the days where I am in the flow of my inner life--I am often deeply called to write, to draw or play music. On those days I feel pulled in three directions: between house work, time with Emilio and time spent with my rich inner life. My hope is that blogging will be a way to tie all of them together. But it isn't easy. 

Yesterday I found myself giving up on the overwhelming pile of house work and just pulled just in two directions. What I just noticed is that every single thing that I love to do is just exactly the thing that Emilio has no tolerance for. I am in the house with Emilio, he is deep in imaginative play with a guitar capo that he has turned into a character with a funny voice, and I suddenly have a brilliant thought that I must write down immediately before I forget. Just as I sit down at my computer, Emilio appears before me struggling to climb into my lap, trying to block my keyboard by pressing random buttons. Or Emilio is outside banging a broken piece of cement with a shovel, and then I grab the ukelele and practice my new song, and after a few strums, he is suddenly inside the house, glaring at me with his angry face, saying: "no!" Or later on, when we do a project together involving fun things like blowing out the insides of eggs and decorating them, I get inspired to do a blog post, and start taking rapid fire photos of the process. He blocks the object I am trying to take a photo of, and I get angry and storm off like a little child. We make up, but I realize that he doesn't want to let me do anything that fills me, only what fills him. On some days I have an easier time accepting this reality of parenting, that we are to prioritize the needs of ours child over ours. Not always, but often. But on this day, I feel more resistant to this idea. I am tired and I have ideas that need to be expressed. I want to create. I want to daydream. We are at a standstill. Later, I come up with a compromise. I want to read for 20 minutes, while he plays. After that, I promise I will play with him. I set a timer, and get back into reading Not That Kind of Girl (for the second time). He plays by himself, but very near to me. We are both lying on what we call "the couch" (which is really a narrow cushion from an old camper we no longer own that we keep on the floor.) It's barely big enough for the both of us. When the timer goes off, Emilio is outside playing and he doesn't hear it. I don't say anything and keep reading. Eventually he comes in and I bring up that it's time to play. I don't remember how exactly it happens, but suddenly we are in a live game show and I am speaking in a loud, showy voice with a very bad English accent, and I am announcing Emilio as the contestant that will be sharing his experiments with the live audience. I respond to everything he says or does with an over the top reflection of how amazing he is, repeating his full name and imploring "the audience" to give a rowdy round of applause. It turns out to be a sort of interview--about his work in his laboratory in Elias Calles, and how he is going to share his experiments with world. This process draws him out. He is beaming. He plays along. He starts to take on the same bad English accent. The next trick of the show is him sharing his best Kung Fu moves. "The audience" and I gasp in amazement. This acted out play goes on for a half hour or so, and after a while I start to lose steam. I tell him I need to pee and take a break. He wants it to continue. "Mommy, do that voice." "I need to rest. I'll do some more later."

That voice--that's the actress me. The trained improvisor. The performer. The kid who loves to play. It's also fed by the wounded healer. The part of me that instinctively knows what the soul needs to heal. This isn't his healing, it's mine. My healing needs co-mingling with his immediate needs for play and attention. I am giving my child the very reflection that I so deeply needed as a child. I wanted desperately to be drawn out. This is my gift for others. So it turns out there are some art forms and desires that Emilio will allow me to do, but the trick is not going off into a corner and doing them by myself. The trick is to draw him into the arena with me. To reflect not just him and his shiny self, but to include my own. And in this way, we build relationship. And this is the lesson I am re-learning, ever deepening into. Parenthood is about relationship. Self and Other. This is the model we want to give our children: compromise--by acknowledging both self and others needs. Modeling is one important way that kids learn. The other is play.

Spring Family Drawing

We started doing "family drawings" three years ago. The idea for them started when I was drawing on art cards that Emilio started drawing on with me. There was something about the process of collaborating with Emilio's untrained, organic marks with my somewhat tighter, design-y style that worked for me. It was a revelatory moment. I suddenly felt that anything I drew that had Mio's mark on it was better, more interesting. The contrast between our styles fascinated me. It was also an experience in letting go of ego. Every mark he made that I didn't like, I had to either accept for its own truth & beauty, or find a way to make it more interesting by connecting to it, or by highlighting it. The only rule is you are not allowed to draw on top of what someone else drew with out permission. These little cards soon led to bigger work. And then Lucas started joining us. We would put a large sheet of paper on the dining room table, and each of us sitting in our normal place for meals, we would each draw in one section, working sometimes for a few hours (some of us would take breaks and then return.) Family Drawings have now become one of our trademarks, and I have done this process with my students, other family members or guests who come over for dinner.

The drawing above was done on Easter Sunday. Its resemblance to Easter-y type themes is purely coincidental, or rather, unconsciously synchronistic. It's my favorite one to date.

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Cowboy Photoshoot

Last week Mio came into the house out of breath.

Mio: Can I have a special present?

Parents: What for? For what occasion?

Mio: Just because I want one.

Lucas: That's not a very good reason. What if I just asked you for a special present?

Mio: Okay, I would give you one. What do you want?

Lucas: (thinks for a moment) What I really would love is for you to put on the black cowboy hat I got for you at the Segunda (thrift store), jeans and cowboy boots and to let me take pictures of you.

Mio: (who usually resists us when we want to take photos of him) Okay. (And he never even asked for something in return.)

Mio promptly got dressed into his cowboy outfit, and posed very cooperatively for Lucas for twenty minutes. I came out with my camera to get another angle on the momentous occasion. Ping, our dog (who was imported, not by us, from Taiwan) was drawn in to the photo shoot as well, but he forgot his cowdog hat.

THE CASE OF THE KALEIDOSCOPE AND THE PLASTIC JEWEL THIEF

Emilio loves to collect what he calls jewels. His jewels are made of different materials, some are plastic, some are glass or stone, but what they all have in common is that they are translucent and brightly colored. One day he noticed that his kaleidoscope contained an enticing assortment of jewels. He then promptly took a hammer and smashed it open so he could steal the jewels. I admit I didn't at all stop him, but watched his quest with amazement and fascination. And then I photographed it on top of our refrigerator (we have a chest fridge. )

Impressions of Mariposa Night & Guerrilla Gallery, March 27th

Last Friday something magical happened on a warm stage under moonlight. It was a certain something that cannot be re-created. 

But I will try, anyway.

There was a voice: a mother-tongue, Peruvian Español, rich and shadowy, evoking bittersweet one-sided self-destructive love. As words, in English, glowed white against black, beside her. An electric guitar echoing the amplified pain of longing. And another voice—emotional and raw, expressing the freedom of rock-n-roll bravado, held by the sounds of rowdy guitar and happy drums, fierce & crisp. And another voice—embodying heart and soul, awakening god in us with her sumptuous spirit-song to the warm sound of a bass walking into notes. And there were those  who seized the sticks—drumming up new sounds behind the recorded music—allowing the insides to be heard. And the one who dared to sing into the microphone—discovering the good glory mirror of amplified voice.

And then there were the faces of the children glowing on the screen. Impressions of their growing spirit, told in voice, and as paint on a wall, of a school, struggling to exist. And children also ran through the space, creating shadows of monsters and gestures over the green glowing mariposa of the night.

And then there were those who made their marks on the shared page—children and adults—inking the white with fresh love thoughts and faces and choices in color.

And there were the paintings made of palettes of silk—colors and worlds invented. And there were the paintings of color play from a family living life as art. There was the one who brought her object-friends, creations from the found world. Who was also the one who almost didn’t share her art story made of reimagined truth. The book that strung together a life of meaning and heartbreak and love. Bravely, she leapt into the unknown—baring her heart with hopes to be witnessed. She leapt and found the floor growing underfoot in the form of beautiful faces and tears of recognition. Awakening the longing we all feel through the telling of a truth story. And old friends were created—recognizing themselves in new faces. A film made in La Cuidad, traveled by internet, flickered on screen: a story of the insanity of commitment when fueled by elevated spirit. And in the end, the contagion of dance took over the steps & the floor & the stage--hearts and bodies expanded in mental abandon & perfect unison.

All of this helps me see:

When you open up to spirit, creativity is limitless. In order to manifest it, we must ignite our passion for truth, which illuminates our underground excavations. We don’t mind the digging, if we are in service of the gift giving. It’s god’s work, we happily discover, as we leap into darkness. We use our faith as a catch-all. A trampoline big enough for us all to bounce together. Every individual leap grows the collective heart. And this, like creativity, is limitless. Art grows the heart, and the heart creates art.

And this:

What if it were really true?

That we have a choice, after all, in our fate?

That we could choose how big we become. And how much we let our hearts sing. On one side of the split it can feel so hopeless.  When we are grabbing at air in the dark and all we feel is the impossibility of becoming. But then, leaping across the split—connecting at the center—we are slapped suddenly with seeing that we never did stop being who we are really are, not even for a moment. Timelessness, as art, belongs to all of us, and can be felt the moment we stop grasping at the future as if it were a thing.  As if we were a thing.  We are a process and only in timelessness can we see this. This is where the heart lives.  All we have is what we need.  And all we need is what we have.

The arts remind us of this as many times as we let our gifts be given and received.

Through sharing art, the marriage of object and source of our longing, is consummated. Let us witness each other in our collective soul creation. Letting hearts speak and be witnessed with words and worlds that are yet to be created.

Jardin de Niño Diaries, Part Three

I started teaching that week. I have a book of ideas for art projects for kids, and I brought in a very fun project that involved straws, water color, tissue paper and origami paper. I realized only a half hour before that I didn’t have enough large paper, and the paper I did have was stained and ripped at the edge from a hurricane leakage. And so I cut off the corners to the pages that were damaged. It looked so good, even though it was irregular (I have always been a fan of rounded corners and now own a little puncher that does it for me) that I decided to cut off all the corners to those pages. It had a very charming effect. I was so relieved that the class went well. I had a shot of pure joy in just being with the kids.

I remembered my many years of taking care of and teaching children-- there is something quite natural for me about about being with children. I am still very much attuned to my own inner child and that part of me easily connects to children. Even if my Spanish is awkward and the room is chaotic-- just being with children is a very good thing for the soul. Each week for the rest of the year, I brought a new project to do with the kids.

At Christmas time, I offered to make a piñata with kids. They wanted a snowman even though none of them (including Emilio) had ever seen snow. I hadn't made papier maché (since I was a kid) and I had always wanted to explore it. The only method I know is the balloon method, so the plan was to create three snow balls with three balloons and then connect them. The kids loved the papier maché. It was messy and gooey and hands-on. Perfect for preschoolers. They each received a pile of newspaper strips and we shared a big bowl of the flour paste. I had forgotten how simple it is to make, and how forgiving, it’s almost impossible to fail. It’s important when doing projects with kids, or anyone, to consider the probability of success. The easier the project, the easier it is to get them intereested. But also, because messes tend to overwhelm me when teaching kids, it’s important to have a plan on how to achieve the messy project. The method of taking turns to add strips to the balloon worked, sort of, but of course most of the kids have a hard time waiting for their turn. And I had so much compassion for their enthusiasm it was hard for me to tell them not to. 

After three weeks of adding elements to the snow man, it was finally finished and then, in just a few minutes, the snow man was smashed to bits at the christmas party. His candy guts were scooped up unbelievably fast. After the Christmas party, school is often cancelled for no reason (or at least not one that is communicated to me), and so my class is not very regular. When a few weeks go by with out class, the kids start to ask me about art class again. They cheer when I tell them it's happening. I still have not even considered the mural. The school year ends and the teacher, who is no longer Vanessa, announces that we will be having a graduation ceremony. I ask her if I can do an arts presentation as part of the graduation and she says yes. I set up a little table and display all the kids' art from the year. The bossy lady is at the event--she comes up to me and shakes my hand. She is surprisingly friendly. The subdelagado of Elias Calles also shakes my hand. I was proud of myself-- all that mess and uncertainty and lack of planning added up to something official enough for me to shake the hand of a local Mexican official. It has meaning. Being a non-Mexican offering something that wasn't asked for takes me as far as a handshake. A sign of respect and acknowledgement. I am satisfied.

To be continued...

Presentation of the kids' artwork from the year.

The kids draw while they wait for the graduation ceremony to start.

Samuel, their second teacher of the year letting the kids receive the rain of candy.

Some of the parents of the kids, the Subdelgado and the "Bossy Lady"

The kids in their performance costumes with Veronica, their third teacher of the year. Butterflies and cows. Emilio (left) is wearing the cow costume. The first costume I have made by hand as a mom.

Me with all the kids (those in the fancy costumes are the graduating)

Jardin de Nino Diaries, Part Two

I have come to realize that at this point my only real chance to have a true cross cultural experience here in Baja (which is so full of gringos and so influenced by American culture) is through my involvement with the Elias Calles preschool. Even though I feel shy and intimidated, and struggle with communication, I push through it all knowing that this a great opportunity.

I want to share a little background on how I came to be involved with the school. The idea came from a combination of synchronistic events. 

In the spring of 2013, Lucas hired Martín, a local worker and the nephew-in-law to our closest neighbor, to help us finish up some house projects. At one point, he and his wife, Idanya came over and helped finish the painting of our house. We soon learned from Martín that there was a “kinder” in Elias Calles, and that his 3 year old daughter (who is one month younger than Emilio) attended it. The 17 year old teacher, Vanessa, lived in their house with them. We had known there was a primary school (which was known as the best public school in Baja) where various teachers had come to do clay and filmmaking projects with the kids. There was even a film screened at the Todos Santos Film Festival called “Little Muddy Hands” that the kids made about their experience of learning to make clay. But, we didn’t know there was also a preschool. We had intended to send Emilio (when he turned 4 that August) to the preschool in Pescadero, the next town over. That preschool had 30 kids and I was already feeling nervous about sending him there, because he didn’t know any spanish. Or if he did, (after all he has lived in Mexico his whole life) he didn’t know that he knew. 

Emilio on the first day we went to check out the school.

We were very excited that we could send Emilio to a local school, which was a walkable distance from our home. I walked to the school with Emilio, who rode his bike, the next day to meet the Vanessa, the teacher and find out the registration process.  

A few days later I attended a friend’s "give away" party. She was giving away many items from her overcrowded van (her turtle home). One of the giveaways, was a children’s book called the Sign Painters Dream, about a grumpy old sign painter who transformed into a small town hero by painting a “glorious and magnificent” sign for a lady who wanted to give away apples from her orchard. At first he had laughed at the idea of making a sign for free, but after a haunting dream, he decided to make the sign for free for the lady who had asked him, which led him to re-discover his passion for sign painting. This story inspired me on many levels. (And have now added sign painting to my wish list of skill learning. In the meantime I have been teaching my self hand lettering. Which is also incredibly fun. More on this in the future.)

The way the preschool looked the first time we saw it. This is the "bodega side" of the school that the kids weren't using at the time.

The next day, after reading this story, my husband told me about a group of women who were doing community murals in La Paz (our nearest city)—they called themselves the Painting Pirates. I contacted them right away asking if I could be involved, thinking I could really learn something from them. I learned that painting pirates had already moved onto to another country. But then the next morning, it hit me. I could do my own project in Elias Calles onto of that sad looking wall of the preschool I had just seen. I went to talk to Vanessa, the teacher, the next day. In awkward Spanish, I communicated my plan. She liked the idea, and so I decided I would start when the school started again in August. August came and went, and I did not start with the kids. I was scared. I am the only gringa mother in the group. None of the others speak a word of English. My Spanish is pretty good in most cases, but not when speaking with someone who speaks only the strong local dialect. I really struggle speaking with Vanessa and the other parents. A lot of shame comes up in not being able to communicate. And in being different.

The first moment Emilio met Vanessa, his teacher. 

The classroom as it looked at that time. It has since been destroyed by the hurricane Odile that came to visit us in September.

 A few months went by and I still did not start the mural. I even asked the friend who had given me the sign painter’s dream for advice—she was an ex-artist and art teacher and had a lot of experience with murals and kids. Though I appreciated it, her advice caused me to be even more scared. Then I realized that I was jumping the gun, and that it would make more sense to start doing art projects with the kids, and get to know them first before I jumped into the mural. I could let the mural be a long drawn out process that we work towards. From experience teaching long projects to children (filmmaking especially comes to mind), kids gain so many rich lesson from long, additive & continuous projects. That gave me some relief. But still, I did not start my class, which I also decided would include some English lessons. I decided to call the class Art & English. (I adore giving names to things.) But perhaps a more apt name would be: Arte y Ingles. Or Arte y un pocitio de Ingles. 

Then, one day a woman that Lucas and I secretly termed the bossy lady, showed up at one of our endless parent teacher meetings. She had us do all sorts of exercises designed to encourage the parents to be more involved with their kids’ education. The problem here is that many kids do not go on to finish their education, so the government wants to make sure that the preschool kids get a good foundation in case they do not go onto primary school or high school. Some of the exercise she did felt similar to some of the expressive arts exericess I do with my adult students. Yet her manner is quite different than mine--she is very commanding and empowered. Even though part of me resented her demanding presence (she scolded me once for the fact that 4 year old Emilio did not finish his home work one day), part of me envied her, and believed I had something to learn from her. In a private moment, I told her of my desire to teach the kids art. She then announced this at the meeting, and the next day when I dropped Emilio at school, there was a big sign indicating that art class with Zoë, would be held on Fridays. I could not get out of it now thanks to the bossy lady. 

To be continued...

GeGe & MeiMei, Part Two

Our feet at the beach in Rio 1999

ZOELAB DAY 67

The other lessons that came from Alexander were cultural. One day, sometime in the mid eighties, while waiting for the bus in Brooklyn, Alexander turned to me and gravely stated: “Promise me, Zoë, that you will never wear designer jeans.” I asked him why, and he said, “just promise me.” So I promised him. I didn’t figure that one out until a few years later. The ironic thing is the only designer jeans I have ever owned is a pair of turquoise Calvin Klein jeans that I had picked out and Alexander bought me as a birthday present three years ago.

And then there was the time I was sitting in my room, and Alexander walked in with a new record. It was David Bowie’s Changes. He showed it to me, and I asked him who it was, and he said David Bowie. I told him I thought he was a girl. And he said, well he’s not. Then he put the record on and I was transfixed. 

When Alexander was in college, he majored in religion and philosophy. He was very interested in Buddhism, as well as other eastern thought. I was a senior in high school at the time, and curious about Buddhism--he recommended that I read the book “What the Buddha Taught” by Walpola Rahula. I read it and recognized what the buddha taught to be truth. But I also knew that I was not ready to transcend my ego. I knew I was still addicted to the highs and lows that ego attachment brings, and that I had I would return to Buddhism later in life.

A year later, I was to go to Beijing for a summer with my high school Chinese class to do a summer course in Chinese language. While I was preparing for my trip, and starting to feel anxious about going so far away, Alexander tried to give me courage. He said, I have three pieces of advise for you about your time in China: “1) Don’t bring your walkman. 2) Speak as much Chinese as you can. 3) Stay aware.” I actually can’t remember if I followed the first piece of advice, but I did follow the second one. I pushed through my fears, and struck up conversations with Chinese people as much as I could. I even made some Chinese friends. But number 3 is a piece of advice from Buddha, via Alexander, that has been with me my whole life. The experience of being aware, being the observer, not only of others, but of my own thoughts, actions and interactions, has led to much wisdom and relief from suffering. It is a wonderful piece of advice for teenager (who can be so self conscious).

During a summer visit from college, my brother introduced me to yoga. This was still the 1980‘s when people still aerobisized. I didn’t know anyone else who did yoga. He would practice his poses on the porch of our house in the Berkshires daily, and I found it fascinating to watch. I took black and white photographs and wrote a poem about it called Yoga in Earshot. A year later, I bought a book on yoga, and started doing headstands in college. I have continued to practice for all these years.

In high school, the influence that my brother had on me made me feel different from people, and sometimes alienated. He initiated me into the world of cultural criticism and spirituality. He inspired me to be rigorous in my thinking and to question everything. He became an anthropologist, sublimating his personal cultural alienation into a discipline of social science. And I became a therapist/artist, sublimating my sensitivity and emotionality into artmaking and helping others. 

We have visited each other or traveled together in many parts in the world, including: Kenya, Tanzania, France, China, Vietnam, Brazil, Holland and Mexico. And now, in some ways, we are going in opposite directions--I have become a sort of society drop out, while at the same time using my memory and knowledge and personal experience to engage in a cultural dialogue. And him, a professor and writer in Amsterdam, living an urban plugged in life with all the bourgeois trappings. We are each going our own paths, influencing each other along the way. As I go, I continue to see all the little and big ways that Alexander’s early lessons have stayed with me. And now, more than ever. I probably won’t ever use Algebra or Latin ever again, and I do hope to play more basketball, but as I look at my life, I am continually reminded of his ideological and intellectual influence. He helped build my school confidence, and encouraged my development as an emotional spiritual intellectual. To illustrate his kind of influence, I will end with an excerpt from the personal statement I wrote for my undergraduate college application, which was an excerpt from my journal (which had only one section.) 

And now I know everyone needs a voice, each person has her own but she needs another to feed on. Another to accept hers and expand its possibilities, to go beyond what is expected. I know that no one at high school is that voice. Alexander is that voice. And even though I have discovered his voice is not always perfect, not always consistent, it is alive. It is there. Not everyone has, or knows they have, or knows they need a voice. A voice of love, of understanding, of influence. I know my own voice follows love; love of the abstract, the personal, the unique… I need a reason to be voice. It has to be person, someone to speak to me… a voice that speaks to mine… My dream is to be a voice. Maybe it is a voice that quivers or that is shy, sensitive, or silly, but it is a voice that communicates.

Okay, now we’re going to the beach.