Chicago and it's familiar friend O'hare

I had to repack 6 times. There was a dire need to redistribute weight. Big suitcases are useless because mine wasn't even full, but it was still 20lbs overweight. Unless your a stuffed animal salesman big suitcase carry too much weight. The next suitcase I buy will be medium large. 

I woke up around 8am in Indiana yesterday across the street from the creepy looking Howe Military Academy. Even staying in a small town with the a military academy felt more scary then all those Haunted Houses I went to when I was a pre-teen looking for a cheap thrill. Anyone that isn't hard up for money, and desperate for a college education and willingly wants to fight in wars scare the shit out of me. I imagine a lot of beefy white boys with crew cuts and low IQ's. Put a few hundred of these knuckleheads together and you've got my idea of a scary movie. My plan was to have some coffee downstairs, go for a bike ride in the "fitness center" and head to Chicago. I would gain an hour because of time zones and I didn't want to arrive too early, so I took my time and mapquested a few Chicago neighborhood options. I don't know what time I left, but I arrived in Wicker Park just before 11am. 

That amazing fall aroma was still lingering, flirting with me. I parked my car, went into a dress shop, appropriately called Dress Shop, and asked if I needed to feed the meter- which wasn't entirely apparent. Instead there was a flow chart that confused me, and I thought a human might better assist me. I was told I needed to feed the meter, but that I could park for free on Wood St around the corner. I chose to park for free on Wood St and unlike NYC found a spot within half a block. Not having slept well I was in need of a coffee and got one from my favorite Wicker Park cafe; Milk and Honey. It was way stronger than bodega coffee so after I poured some out and added water it was perfect. Afterwards I walked to this pastry shop a couple blocks away that has free internet and bathroom- I needed and borrowed both. Afterwards I went to D Vision, and expensive eye glass store and started looking for a new pair of specs. I'd spent the 6 months in NY looking for new frames but had come up empty, so I called Amanda who lives around the corner to help me decide and afterwards suggested we go back to Milk and Honey and have some snacks. 

Around 6 I decided to head to my Aunt's in the suburb, where I would leave my car so they could drive it to Wisconsin when they head to the cottage next weekend. This is the second time they've done this for me, and I am now indebted. This morning my Aunt and I were talking when my Aunt Linda called- before Nancy picked up, she said: it's Linda, this will be a long one... That's because my Aunt Linda likes to talk on the phone for a very long time, and it is hard to get her to get off the phone once you answer. I took my que to go have a shower, but this was interrupted when Nancy knocked on the door to say Linda wanted me to bring some of her herbal pills along, and directed me to rub aroma therapy on my hands cover my nose and sniff three short inhales and one big one. 

When I was growing up my Aunt Linda always had a fad she was into, she was my babysitter because both my parents worked and especially in the summers we would have to bear with whatever the trend was; sometimes it was vitamins- she wasn't a rich woman, but when there was a fad, she bought all the way into it and her cupboard was filled with gigantic bottles of expensive vitamins she would make us swallow. They were nothing like the fred flinstone ones I got at home. Another year it was a juicer and she would pinch our noses while we chocked down juice that didn't have any fruit in it. For a few years we had to watch tv with green and red translucent strips hanging listlessly across the screen. Last year everyone in my very large (more than 20) got 4 hardcover books about God's pharmacy and eating like Jesus.... She had just returned from Israel... I have my own diet, it's called eating locally and avoiding fried and packaged foods where most of the ingredients weren't food. I tried to forget my books at my grandma's house where we had gathered, but somehow Linda discovered they were mine, and returned them to my mother. After 12 years growing up with Linda's fads, I'd had enough.

I'm 20 minutes away from boarding and I need to make a call. I was so excited and smiling so much the check-in attendant didn't charge me for my extra bag, and when I asked he found me a couple window seats... Finally a little luck...

Security Guard: "Before he came we were so happy; all working together and having fun..." 

Security Guard Friend: "Yeah, we were like the Partridge Family dipped in chocolate."

Security Guard to me: "You didn't hear that."

On the road, finally

This morning I woke up around 8am intending to go to the gym, pack up my car with the last of my luggage and head out. It was raining though, and I woke up later than I was hoping so I figured I'd skip the workout and get a move on. I had put my laundry in the dryer the night before, so I went down and checked, it was damp; it's never damp, so I suspect someone may have used my drying time and then returned my clothes, but except for the extra buck 25, I didn't mind, it would take me another hour to shower, pack some food, and get the car packed.

I made some fruit salad, stuffed my dirty sheets in a tote to bring home for my mom to wash- the idea of leaving them in NYC for 4 months to fester sounded nasty to me, even if they had only been slept on 6 nights. As usual I ended up with a lot more to carry down to the car then I had intended, and in the end I think I may have left a bag of garbage in my room, and definitely forgot to wipe down my food cupboard. 

I gave Manny a tin of tuna juice, a couple scoops of food, and headed out. My car is packed to the gills, and I am frankly concerned about the plane taking off on Monday with the weight of my suitcase; gravity will certainly be a force to reckon with.

Except for the fact I was way too busy eating dark chocolate covered raisins and trying to get my book on CD What is What into the CD player (20 hours of literature for a 13 hour road trip) thus missing my exit for the GW bridge (which is sort of equivalent to missing your driveway it's so close to home and obvious) the drive was super relaxing and easy. I spent about an hour on the phone when old friends called to say good-bye, but mostly I listened to What is What, a book I admittedly thought I would enjoy, it's 17 CD's long and I think I got through 7. It's been a little disappointing, I don't know if that's because I already saw the documentary on the Lost Boys of Sudan, or because I actually did an art project with the 6th graders last semester on the Lost Boys and their journey where we read a book about their desert walk and emigration (they made puppets and corresponding journals about the journey and adjusting to life in America) so maybe the subject matter although nicely written, was just too redundant? Around 3pm I stopped at a rest stop and took a 30 min nap, afterwards I was quite prepared to drive through another state and a half. 

10 hours after I left NYC, at 8pm I checked into the Holiday Inn Express in Howe, a place my mother and I accidently drove through on the way out to NYC looking for a place to have lunch- we found a military academy, but nothing to eat. I bought a bag of animal crackers from the vending machine, worked out in the "fitness center" circa 1988, and realized that I forgot to pack my camera. Usually by this point I realize I've forgotten a lot more than my camera, so I'm counting this omission minor.

It will be a couple more hours to Chicago in the morning, and I'm considering my options for how I want to enjoy my afternoon. I don't have room for even an extra tic tac in my luggage, so shopping is not an option; I might opt for lunch at the Bourgeois Pig for old times sake.

Packing and reading

Okay, okay two posts in one day- that might be a little excessive, or even a little bit boring, but actually I don't think anyone has ever read my blog, so I'm probably just apologizing to myself for having so much to say.

Before Sylvain left over a month ago for Chile, he bought 3 new shirts- in addition to the you're going away and I want you to look smart one I bought him, and a new pair of new balances. He had a duffle bag and had been living out of said duffle bag for about a year. It was stuffed, but he was ultimately traveling for months on what I traveled with for long weekends. And I am largely considered by those who know me a light packer- this is because since 9/11 I refuse to check luggage and if that means cutting down on liquid products, fine, I don't care. Still, everything about airports and airport security in America takes way too much time and is incredibly inefficient, so I avoid any extras. Having said that- and I know this is digressing a little- but I have regularly carried far more than three ounces of liquid products through airport security x-ray machines, and if this doesn't make you feel like America is safe- several exacto knives and my swiss army knife. We're all just lucky I am a lover and not a fighter. Also if you avoid flying United, you probably won't ever be moved to take out any weapons of mass frustration.

So after I returned from Tanzania and began to throw a few things in the suitcase, I realized how much clothes I had; and frankly, I was embarrassed. I decided to put a moratorium on further clothes shopping until, like Sylvain, I had worn my shirts threadbare, and the soles of my shoes were run paper thin. I still had two massive bags of clothing to leave in the states, and one massive suitcase to carry those that I was taking with me. For the last three days however, I have driven myself with ambition, to cut back further on what I was bringing. Sylvain and I had been talking and he had said, "well, no need to bring all your dresses they will be useless." This was a huge blow to my natural instincts, as I love dresses and have more of them than I would possibly be willing to admit. But more importantly I wear them all the time, and if I'm not wearing them, what would I substitute in their place? I countered with, I think I will bring them anyway, and he said, fine. However this exposed a major flaw in my packing plan, it won't be summer in Chile when I get there, it will be summer in Chile when I leave. So.... yeah.

So the challenge of bringing just enough clothes to survive on has been cause for some distress. Everyday I pack and repack taking a couple things out, but then inevitably putting something back, having decided it was too practical or too cute to leave behind. I have successfully pared down the dresses to what I consider to be a very conservative number and I now have more room to pack art supplies and books. 

And I will end on books. I love them, and I love having them around me. Art books are the best, but they're really heavy, because they're always hard cover. But I also love reading, so I'm trying to pack several English language books, as I'm not sure how much opportunity I will have to buy them. Travel books are my favorite, especially while traveling, but this time I have packed a few french and spanish books too, I figure left with no other options, it will force me into fluency.

Inspiration and Last Details

Last week I had a goodbye dinner with a friend from college, she's doing her Ph.D. and NYU's IFA and the whole experience, learning German, living in NYC, and figuring out exactly what her future is going to look like is worth a long dinner to mull over the various possibilities ahead. After a long dinner and an even longer coffee nearby we left, but not before she invited me to the Whitney for one last visit before I head to Chile. I told her I'd let her know, in case in all of the planning, preparing and packing something came up. I was free, so we met at 1 yesterday. I had checked my Time Out and saw that the Dan Graham show was on and was asterisked. I figured this was the exhibit she was interested in seeing, but Claes Oldenburg was on too. The Dan Graham for me, was presented in a poor viewing space, and lackluster, but as we descended to the 3rd floor we were in for a delight. Oldenburg never seems to disappoint, his drawings are gorgeous, and simple, and his sculptures are whimsical and fun. 

In my own work I've often struggled with my desire to mind aesthetics and be quirky, but as a teacher staunchly tied to social justice curriculum, I teach art that is thought provoking, deals with issues, and has meat. I've always let my students explore their own ideas in after school art club, and when they come to me with things they've been working on in their sketchbooks, but as a teacher I've always felt it critical I deal with subject matter that affects and reflects their lives, so that they understand that art today isn't painting water lilies and haystacks. 

In going to Chile my goal is to make some art, build up my portfolio, and get excited about art again for myself. Oldenburg's exhibit helped me remember some of who I am as an artist. Growing up in a family where my dad hunted, I have handfuls of photos from age 2-10 standing next to a deer hanging in my parents garage, or photos of me watching my dad de plume pheasants and ducks. Not that I was complacent, or uncritical, but this was my norm, and after moving to the East coast for college and finding a different attitude to how and what we eat, I found a lot of humor in this. I painted for years on this theme, not really in a critical fashion but both exploring my own feelings towards it and trying to pull out some of the irony in addition to addressing some other midwestern traditions I found probed me in an uncomfortable way. 

I have almost two days left in New York and I am trying to pack the art supplies that I will need for the next four months. I am not entirely sure what I am going to end up making, so I am really struggling with what to bring. For the last few years I have mostly worked with metal and sewing, neither of which I will be able to pursue in Chile, and traditionally I have been an oil painter- which I don't want to hassle with bringing. I think, well I hope this will make for some exciting work, but it is also somewhat scary to delve into new media and hope that it doesn't become a really frustrating battle.

This photo is from South Africa on last years safari. Giraffes have a really hard time drinking water, and have to set themselves up a bit like tripods. This was a lucky shot.

Teaching Abroad

A few months ago I signed up for an international school placement service, it was tons of paperwork and a couple hundred dollars and then when I finally had access to the "vacancies" I found what I had hoped not to find: there were only two art positions- both in the middle east. I was primarily interested in teaching in France or Spain, my boyfriend is French and we were hoping to find a way that we could relocate together, and since we are both at least semi-fluent in both French and Spanish- full disclosure, I'm the semi-fluent- France and Spain were ideal.

In the meantime I decided to work on my semi-fluency and move to Chile with him while he finishes his MBA. I will have time to re-build my portfolio since living in New York and working at a Charter School made it virtually impossible for me to make art. So while I continue to check for vacancies (now there are none), I am researching alternatives. Teaching English abroad is what everyone is doing, so unlike 20 years ago when the market wasn't flooded with people much like myself (but usually 5+ years younger) you could make a decent living; now you can barely get by, and the conditions are, unfavorable. I've done a lot of private tutoring while living in London and when I was a student at NYU, it is not as awful as being a substitute teacher.

Ideally I still want that position at an international school, although I have expanded my horizons slightly, I have added Argentina to the list of possible countries I am willing to live in after Chile. What I have been hearing from friends and friends of friends, is that these positions are available, but only if you're there, in person, in the country, knocking on doors. If this is true, and I suspect it probably is, I will have to make it big as an English teacher in Chile, or live incredibly frugally. And I thought my days of peanut butter and jelly were over.

This picture is from my recent Mt Kilimanjaro hike; here my friend Schuy and I are at the summit with our guide Gerard. This is the main reason I don't have the money to live abroad teaching English for more than a few months.

Leaving Home

I started teaching when I was living Boston, I got  a break, I think, because the woman whose job I took over had formally taught at Smith, where I had been an undergrad. She was getting her hip replaced and I took over teaching her classes in November. That job was one of the lucky breaks of my life, I had just gotten out of a serious relationship, I hated living in Boston, and I needed to find something to get me out of restaurant work. I was well-educated, a Smith degree, and a post-grad in interior design from the London Institute, but I had not found any practical application for my skill-set. The long-term sub job changed my life. I found I loved teaching and I was good at it; but I was lucky because I had excellent students and they were open to going wherever I wanted to take them, and I also got to teach AP art history, which was a personal interest of mine. This opportunity set me up perfectly for what I would find as a student at NYU doing my MA in art education and in the NYC public school system where I would work while I finished my MA.

Now after having spent 2 years in the public school system and 2 more in the charter school system I find myself packing up my beautiful morningside heights apartment and heading to Valparaiso Chile. My intentions are to spend my 29th year learning spanish, making art, teaching english, and ultimately setting myself up to find a teaching job in an international school. I leave in 7 days, it's exciting, but I've done this before and I know it is not easy, that it will be frustrating, and sometimes disappointing; but I am ready.

In this picture my charter school students have just made cave drawings on cardboard boxes, which we taped around their desks so they could feel like they were really making drawings inside a cave, some students got in the boxes and drew inside them. 

Leafy Meats

There is a first grader, Jalen, at school who shares my birthday (June 19) for weeks and months leading up to this day he would remind me whenever we had class that our birthday was fast approaching. We decided to have a birthday lunch, which we did today, because he skipped out on school yesterday to go to KB Toys and get an assorment of transformers and airplanes. On my birthday I got an assortment of headaches- my classes were awful, and then I had my own class at night which was equally painful. I also got a variety of cakes and tarts. So one of the cakes I brought to work to share with Jalen, it was a fruit tart and I stuck a candle in it and together we made our wishes. Mine went along the lines of - "I wish for a better job" I imagine his went "I hope we have chicken for dinner, or maybe he hopes he gets that helicopter he was hankering after but decided on the airplane instead.  I imagine maybe he wished for Chicken, because during our lunch Jalen asked me if I was eating leaves. I was actually eating salad, the arugula variety, but I could see where he was coming from. Jalen on the other hand had a lunch packed by mom, of rice. All in all he ate about three scoops of rice and called it a day. He also didnt really indulge himself on his portion of tart. Considering Jalen's spread and his appetite, I inquired whether he was a vegetarian, his nonchalent, one word response "Carnivore." Then he waxed lyrical about the band-aid on his finger that covered a nail he accidently tore off. Jalen is an excellent student and an all around great kid, I feel honored to share my birthday with him.

This painting was one I did while at Goldsmiths College in London. 

Smith Girls

2001

Mixed Media

I've been wanting to write about the canine crap I have to dodge on the 100 yard dash I make monday through friday coming and going to work. Fake dog crap can be funny if you're sophmoric, or perhaps if your 12, but I haven't been able to spin this shit into funny. Friday I was teaching and I told the kids that artists and writers are good at what they do because they pay attention to the details, and I mentioned that I always notice the dog shit, which isnt really even much of a detail cause its always there and there's always a surplus. Their 'do now' was to list 15 things they notice about their environment/community.

 Teaching in impoverished areas has been my career for the past few years, and anyone who talks to me intrinsically understands my commitment to social justice education. The past couple years I have seen a plethora of fucked up shit, the first school I worked at in New York was so underserving its students the DOE had deemed it failing and it was closing, the second school I worked at was worse and a few months later, the DOE decided to close it down as well. It's depressing to be a teacher in failing conditions, but work is work and I get to go home to conditions that arent failing. My kids don't. My family falls short of ideal, but opportunity in my life runith over. Without speculating or passing judgement on the relative level of fucked-upness my students live with or how much love they have in their lives, I know with absolute certainty I would never want to walk in their shoes, live their lives.

This year I wanted to break the cycle of working for failing schools. Im a good teacher but I felt like if I was going to make any lasting impact I would need to work in a school that wasn't treading water or sinking slowly. So I passed up jobs without strong leadership, jobs I felt would be another version of the ones I've had since moving to New York. Getting the job at Hyde I had to give up teaching High School, but I get to work at a school that entertains the goals of education.

 The first school I worked at was housed in a building that years ago, had been a prison. The second school I worked at felt like a prison. The building I work in now is far worse than either and instead of a red carpet laid out to welcome the students a genrous sprinkle of shit piles define their route. For all the tragedy I have watched my students face, it has rarely been so overwhelming I haven't been able to file it under character-building, it has always struck individual students in individual ways, and while all my students have faced adversity, it has never mounted to an endemic until now maybe.

 Sometimes when I'm walking from my car to the school entrance, I find the absurdity in the scenario, but I can't make dog crap funny, because when its your life, it just isnt funny. On friday 20 kids told me they paid plenty of attention to detail, they saw the prostitutes and whores on the street even though they couldn't spell either, they saw the needles and used condoms even though they didnt really know the significance of either, they knew who the pimps and dealers were, they were embarassed by the fact they lived and learned nearby a strip club, they saw enough to recognize they didn't live anywhere good. In a rare moment of self-realization and humility- they told me they hated where they lived, they told me it was inappropriate for them to have to grow up here.

 I've always been able to leave work and the challenges of the day at work, when the day is over I let go the insults and the mistakes. But how do I forget the kids who live amongst the various permutations of dog shit. Because selfishly, I don't want to know that burden. 

Travel Log

Sommerville

2004

Oil

This past month has been nothing if not intense. I finished my first year at Hyde which was a pretty unique experience- what with the indoctrination of the words and principals that not only am I supposed to apply to my own life thus "taking Hyde home" but also utilize them fluently in my curriculum. There are moments when I have no time for this and want nothing more than to go back to "teaching art". Still I mark the successful completion of this year as a milestone, a wall scaled in some ways, I suppose despite my occasional misgivings, there is a modicum of pride that exists in what I see growing in my students.

 I flew to SF just after finishing, and while I spent my entire trip save for the four hours laying langourously out on Katie's picturesque and perfect roof deck in excurtiating pain, not sleeping and cringing with any movements, sudden or not from the sun posioning I developed. While I didnt exactly have a savour these moments experience with the excurtiating pain I found myself in, the rest of the month I found myself taking time to hold on to the fleeting. I did however take the time to convince myself that SPF would forever be slathered like butter all over my body if I was ever planning on taking my top off again. I've said this before, but this time I mean it. Really.

 London was a perfect juxtaposition of all it had been- revisiting old haunts and exploring new ones with the help of old friends. Staying at J's cousin's flat was akin to being a child and playing house, not the fantasy of being domestic, but the fantasy of living anothers life, well less someone elses life- because it wasnt a role, but instead, one that doesn't quite exist- but for a couple days it did, and it was ideal- down to Angus, the black lab that I've been talking about since the last time I lived in London. When I left London last time, Schuy and I had been all talk about getting a dog, and Edith, as only Edith would, wrote us going away cards wishing us the best and hoping that we would find our dog- we didnt, but I, as a consolation prize, I somehow ended up with a cat- a place holder of sorts and a memento mori. There was one night, as I layed in bed before drifting off, I made myself relish the moment, because it was perfect, the perfect day had transformed into the perfect night, and the perfect weekend.

 I've been thinking about simulacrum and pastiche a lot lately, something in London made New York feel like pastiche, a fake copy, not quite ever able to live up to the original. At Owen's birthday party I experienced what has been missing for me in New York these past four years. I just havent found that niche of creative thinkers, a whole room full... I know individuals, but a room full is asking a lot. Those late nights in smoke filled kitchens with lager and wine in tea mugs strewn about the table we had as students, they're long gone, but the meeting place for stories, ideas, collaboration, actions and experiments need not. Still I can't seem to find it all colliding here as yet.

 This morning I found myself back in the queue at customs in JFK, arriving home from Africa with my dad. I've never traveled, physically traveled long distances with anyone, and I really much prefer it on my own. There is something great about meeting another in a foreign country, the chaos of the unknown and trying to find each other in those crowds of strangers.

 I grew up going on, and hating, after dinner drives with my dad looking for deer, and when I was 4 I got my first fishing pole, so being outdoors in the country is not exactly unfamiliar territory, being outdoors with the humbling elegance of giraffes is new, having a rhino charge us was unfamiliar territory, seeing a herd of elephants setting off towards the watering hole at sunset, was a moment I never want to lose.

 Alternatively, I visited a school in Tembe, in some ways it was exactly what I expected, they were entirely without- but actually being there was quite strange- perhaps its the addition of the senses. The students spoke a little english and welcomed us, danced and sang familiar english tunes but the spectacle was awkward. While the students were excited to recieve our gifts of sweets and pens and notebooks, one hardly leaves a school full of children without shoes, clean water or any books and feels entirely optimistic. While we distributed our alms - it felt staged- I'm pretty sure the awkwardness was generated from the fact that there would always be a trench deep between where we stood and where they existed. In many ways it was a dog and pony show but we were both accomplices, we came with our money and supplies which they sorely needed and blatantly had come to expect, and perhaps they put on a show for us, to satisfy something in us we needed- soothing our guilt of privilege, the need to be needed, the validation of having and the power that ensues- in the moment where you become the benefactor you recieve a sort of love, and I suspect that this love despite the fleeting moment in which it all transpires and is then forgotten, I suspect, that we are sorely lacking authentic love in our lives.

 Still the supplies seemed to be a symbol of the opportunities of education that we all had, that these students would rarely be privy too. They live in a community entirely deprived of industry, 70% of their parents and grandparents were unemployed, while that figure may ebb to an extent with their coming of age, the state of the economy in the world and in SA did not necessarily assure that things would likely get any better. The Zulu have their own fine culture and customs and in no way is our way of life any better, if anything I am sure we are all a lot less happy, (we are certainly plumper, more assuaged, in some senses cleaner, more mobile and probably better apt to stave off the cold) however these communities need jobs, because they need food, and one deserves the opportunity for options. Some moments we are meant to savor are not the sort that engulf us with a sense of awe, beauty or satisfaction, some are merely sobering, thought provoking, and humanizing.