So, Good Morning and welcome to Creative Counterpoints: Artists Translate Difference
So as Diane said, my name is Marika Preziuso
I'm Associate Professor of World Literature here at MassArt
On behalf of the team of CC I would like to begin by expressing heartfelt gratitude
to Diane Jaquith for her kind invitation to present our work at the Teaching for Artistic Behaviour Summer institute.
And of course, thank you all for being here and like us, always working on improving and chiseling your craft.
Today's program is the third in the Creative Counterpoints series that I began at MassArt
in the Spring 2016 with the goal of exploring narratives in which differences in creativity interesct
In the previous programs of creative counterpoints I invited a combination
of some panels of visual artists, scholars, educators,and other cultural makers.
This special event for TAB educators features presentations by three MassArt alumni
all class of 2017 - and all former students in my classes.
Mariana Yanes Cabral, Art Education
Gustavo Barceloni, 3D Ceramics
Ryan Vazquez, Film-Video
Mariana, Gustavo, and Ryan will share with you the ways in which their experiences
with and theorization of "difference" have informed their learning, artistic practice and
more recently their professional lives.
Their stories testify to the transformative power that recognizing differences within
and among ourselves has in our designing of engaged, responsive and inclusive
curricula of art and design.
Let me share a little context about this difference - which is the "hinge" around
which today's presentations revolve:
The difference that we invite you to reflect on today has a long, radical history in
activism, education and social justice. As scholar, poet, activist and educator
Audre Lorde wrote in the 1980's- in the quote at the back of your program:
Difference is that raw and powerful connection out of which our personal power
is forged.
Difference is that raw and powerful connection out of which our personal power
is forged.
So, What Lorde's idea of "difference" makes it possible for us today is a bringing into
relief of a number of important connections: between the art classroom and the art studio,
between the curriculum of art education and the lives of our student artists, between our
sense on self and the ways this self is constantly shaped and reshaped by culture.
We also want to zoom into the dynamic tension
which I think of tension as annother form of connection
connection, disconnection in sort of a dynamic friction
And we want to zoom into this idea that there is a tension
between traumatic experiences of being othered and
transformative moments of complete belonging.
Many of our students will have a taste of both these experiences.
Being othered and belonging fully
at some point in their formative years,
in and outside of the classroom
and how we calibrate the tension between these two experiences
is something educators must be cognizant about.
As student artists who have now embarked in professional careers
as artists and educators,
Mariana, Gustavo and Ryan share a specific orientation to art t eaching and art making
that is well known to professional translators.
Which is why the tile of our event is also Artists translate difference
The assumption of our presentations today, however,
is that all artists and all educators are always already translators of sorts
What do I mean by that?
even those who have not realized this quality yet in their own work
They all have this potential quality of being translators
You see, artists and educators hold the power - and this word power is key today
as Lorde tell us - have the power to bridge differences,
to fill in the gaps and to move across and beyond borders
which if you think about is what translators do
they can, if they so wish traffic in more than one form of knowledge, communication and discipline
and when they do so, both Artists and educators
cultivate new habits of thinking, feeling, learning and even being
in their students and viewers alike.
Finally, like translators who are attuned to the reality that not all languages
are created equal,
artists and educators have also the power to bring art into
places that are systemically slided at the margins of beauty and meaning making.
In line with Audre Lorde's call which is the next quote on t he same page
Her call for "using difference as a springboard for creative change within our lives",
I would like to begin with a short activity to become present in the space and to one another.
So the activity is called "forging connections"
and is something I do in my own classes on the first week of the semester.
Think for a moment about one or two aspects of your - self
that are more defining or relevant / salient to you.
Here are a few facets of my own self that are relevant to me at this time
( since some of these may change),
some are intentionally provocative, but all are true:
I identify as a woman, of heterosexual preference. I am white in most places except for where I am from
I will be 42 in two weeks. I speak four languages and was a translator in my first life.
I have two citizenships, neither of which American. My teaching is my form of art.
So feel free to model your aspect(s) upon this kind that I just shared
but really like don't overanalyze it. Think about one or two relevant facets
of your identity.
And then share them with the person next to you.
After a couple of minutes of sharing - locate at least one connection
one point of connection or perhaps more
between your aspect and the one of the person next to you.
What do you think about that? Yeah? I know
Five minutes, yes
So lets bring it back in. Who would like to share?
What happened in their pair or group
Connections and something suprising that you found out in the process
We shared, we kind of know each other so it was a difficult activity
So our connections were pretty obvious at the begining
That we're both mothers but then we expanded you know,
further questioning and finding out that I have seven brothers and sisters
Oh I cant image and I was like okay there's the connection
Neither one of us couldimagine having 8 children
Yeah that's a big connection
Thank You!
So Cathy and I have known each other a little bit, but we talked and I think for both of us
the dinner table was a formative experience in our growing up.
Where we learned to listen and where we learned there were a
number of people who came through our parents constantly
and I think we both had the experience of having to learn from others
and be quiet and listen while we were kids.
Yeah, that's a good teacher training skill
Thank You! One last pair or group. Yes-
We're both mothers who started out as graphic designers
and then when our children when our children were born we switched careers and became
teachers
And we both like to walk in the morning so I think I might have found a walking buddy
And you didn't know each other previously?
Just breifly, we met here.
Okay! So, or the next 2 hours, now that you've sorta gotten to know each other a bit more
we will invite you to hold onto this orientation toward difference
as a portal/ an entry point into the connections that matter to our teaching.
In order to do so I invite you to connect your curriculum
your classroom,
your school or district
to the stories of Mariana, Gustavo and Ryan, and consider
one specific action that you can implement in your educational realities inspired
by the work of these three artists.
That's another form of connection, like a deeper one
and one that has to do with your teaching and the reason that you are here.
Before I leave you, a few words about the schedule of today's program:
Each talk is multimedia and lasts about half hour.
Our third speaker, Ryan Vazquez who could not be with us,
sent us a recorded video of his presentation, so his talk will not be live.
After Ryan's talk there will be a short break followed by about 20 minutes of QAs.
Sit down, relax - you are in for a treat!
Let me introduce the first artist:
Mariana Yanes Cabral graduated in Art Education in 2017.
They are an interdisciplinary artist, educator, and writer,
born in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil the eldest of three children in a multi-national household.
Mariana's work explores nostalgia, introspection, race, and politics
with both traditional and digital media.
Their experience lies in drawing, portraiture, bookbinding, watercolour
digital collage, embroidery, and performance.
Raised as a translator through necessity, they use translation
as a medium to critique dogma.
Join me in welcoming Mariana!
Testing 1,2,3
Hello, everyone. I'd first like to welcome you all to Creative Counterpoints.
By finding yourself in this space today, you are taking an important step as thoughtful
, groundbreaking educators.
I'd like to thank you for your unrelenting passion in nurturing the blossoming artist
in every student, and for meeting them where they are, and, importantly, in their own terms.
Why are we here today? To us, the reason is simple to identify—
the existing curriculum of art education demonstrates a limited knowledge of
the student-artist and its approaches are systematically flawed.
Some of us recognize, and seek to challenge, the limitations of student agency in their learning.
We recognize that, even in the wonderfully fluid intersection of the arts and pedagogy,
we are still leaving behind a multitude of students.
Furthermore, we understand that skills like cultural and intercultural understanding
are more salient than ever in our classrooms.
It is my hope that our interventions today can be the catalyst for such understanding.
Every art educator has an evolving toolbox of artistic and pedagogical tools—
my tools are the practice of 'translation' and 'in-betweenness'.
Today, I will map for you the trajectory of translation and in-betweenness through
multiple spaces, as they inform my sense of self and my purpose as an educator. Let's begin.
I'm going to ask you to reflect on the feeling of relinquishing agency;
Of knowingly giving up your time, and your personal power for a promise.
Of showing up for that promise without exactly knowing what it will entail,
what you will receive and what you will be asked to do in return.
There is a little bit of anxiety to this not knowing, because it requires trust.
I want you to recognize and consider this feeling as I welcome you to the U.S. immigration system.
To those of you already embedded in this system, welcome back.
As human beings, we navigate through multiple narratives that, whether supporting
or conflicting, work in tandem.
At some point between the first and second time we learn to express ourselves,
we begin to learn to curate our stories in the ways that benefit us the most.
It is both selfish and tragic, a means to move ahead and a means to self-preserve.
My personal narrative of seeking American citizenship has always been about love—
love toward a country, and love for the people who formed me.
Love, as we all know, is both self-serving and incredibly sacrificing.
It is both soothing, and painful.
When I became a U.S. citizen in 2015, I was asked the same question by strangers,
acquaintances, and officers: Why did you choose to become an American?
I had two well-rehearsed answers, depending on the follow-up questions I didn't want asked.
If I couldn't feel a skip on their tongue, I'd tell them the truth:
I've loved America for at least a decade-
-this is merely an act of commitment to a country I've invested myself in wholly and truly,
and I cannot imagine living anywhere else.
Here, I'm offered opportunities that I could only dream of in my birth country,
and I plan on taking every single one of them.
I want to be able to give back to this country.
We've been together for over a decade—I'm merely tying the knot, if you will.
This is a formality, nothing more. I've always been an American.
If we shared language, or skin color, or stories, I would tell them the truth:
They're promising a hell of a lot more than a border wall.
I don't know if there are enough people in this country who care about folks like us to hold them back.
If I don't do this now, my parents will be given no mercy.
Our family will be torn apart. I am the only one who could guarantee the stability, the
safety, of the woman who birthed me, and the man who took me in as his own.
Their paths will split, and their feet will rest in towns woven in beauty and luxury, and poverty and violence.
This is a formality, nothing more. I will always be an alien.
It's nice to meet you all. My name is Mariana Yanes Cabral.
I am 25-years old, an interdisciplinary artist, an educator, and an ex-alien.
It may sound really strange, but the last label serves me well.
Let me explain: American society is uplifted by the idea of a document giving their
people undeniable humanity, and it's beautiful. Those of us that are born in more… fragile
democracies aren't usually comforted by this, you understand.
However, when living under the label 'alien', a label that strips one of all humanity,
documentation becomes all one can think about.
When documentation is not just the figurative, but the literal crux of our humanity,
it becomes easy to fascinate ourselves with each and every detail embedded within
each form we send and receive.
Clerical errors destroy families. An envelope from USCIS confirming our
naturalization and "Americanness" can be the endorphin that helps manage the pain.
Then, why would I call myself an 'ex-alien'?
I can call myself American whenever I want, and sometimes I do—
my Certificate of Naturalization gives me this privilege—
but in spite of how I can fit my story to an American palate, the very fact that
I own this document makes me intrinsically different to an American.
Of course, unless I told you, there's no way you could have known.
But see, my American passport touts 'Rio de Janeiro', the name of a past whose tongue I still remember.
That cheating tongue of an ex-alien.
And this is again about love—
my relationship with America, it can be a funny one. When ex-aliens are naturalized
(and language is important, here— the act of 'naturalizing' implies the
unnaturality of the non-American)— when we are naturalized,
we receive this nice little cheat-sheet that informs us how to renounce our previous titles and citizenships.
I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all
allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty of whom
or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen;
that I will suppress the memories of my homeland to the best of my ability;
that I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America
against all enemies, foreign and domestic, even if the same Constitution and laws do not protect my person;
That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same,
sacrificing my culture and assimilating to the expected cultural norm
at the sacrifice of my heritage;
that I will bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by law;
that I will perform noncombatant service in the Armed Forces of the United
States, the same Armed Forces that have ravaged my birthplace,
when required by law;
that I will perform work of national importance under civilian direction
when required by the law,
as if the work I've performed as an immigrant for years did not have a national importance;
and that I take this obligation freely and without mental reservation or purpose of evasion,
even as I am given every opportunity to be afraid to refuse;
So help me God.
America is an insecure lover— she seeks to be your only one.
She's always a little jealous, and I suppose it's one of her endearing traits.
The onus is on you to court her, and the dating is always by her terms.
She will always remind you of what you had to give up to take her name.
It's a little cruel, but which relationship isn't a bit cruel?
And her cruelty makes you even more grateful once you, well, 'make' it.
To me, the act of seeking American citizenship has always been about love.
Living in the margins between alien and American, it is no surprise that the way
I understand my artistic discipline is fluid.
Living in this space of ex-alienhood keeps me in a perpetual uncomfortable place
that, coincidentally, serves ripe for introspection.
When I was younger, I would be worried that exposing such parts of my person—and my
art—to American society could harm me in some way.
At this time, my art was so much about the process of becoming the 'ex-alien' form
of myself, starting with the common discomfort present in thinking within a binary--
I am either alien, or I am American--then with reconciliation that I remain in
an in-between space, to finally drawing strength from this space.
Over the years, my art has showed me how much power lies in becoming
the curator of one's own humanity through the practice of translation.
In my art, translation is the tool to critique the immigration system.
Surrounded by the documentation that defined my family for over a decade, I became fixated
by the details embedded within forms, wedged inside envelopes, stamped with barcodes.
I began to amass documentation and study its smallest details.
I learned how to decode case numbers by region and priority date.
Learned about the anti-fraud measures installed on the pages of acceptance notices.
Then, I began to translate the text in the documentation, from English, to truth.
So, um Mine goes a little bit different.
I pledge allegiance to the flag Of the United States of America,
And to the Republic For which it stands,
Many divided Nations under one God, Easily divisible, with liberty
And justice for those who are lucky.
In the end, it is better than my own land By a thousand-fold.
Those who have ever watched a sports game, or have gone to a public school in the United
States, will immediately recognize this text. Those who are naturalized U.S.
citizens, or ex-aliens like myself might recognize the format as the little card you received during
your naturalization ceremony.
You may also notice that the text has been modified.
There is so much that America wants the alien to know, but that English legalese
intentionally omits. Legalese serves as a sterile vehicle to commit acts of violence,
and it's incredibly effective in its banality. It's entirely devoid of emotion, of the hatred that often fuels violence.
Because of this, the language of American legalese is dishonest.
Because I love America, I want to hold her honest. I want to set her free to be her authentic, cruel self.
One of the most important things to me, when creating this work,
is the perceived authenticity of the vehicle in which I present this text.
I understand that not every person I meet is so deeply embedded in the trenches
of the systems I and many others have been.
As a translator between America and the viewer, as a treasurer of information, I feel a responsibility
to upkeep the veil of authenticity as best as I am able to.
My goal is for the viewers to question how much I have modified the original documents.
Some of the modifications are incredibly blatant. Some of them, however, are subtle, but no
less important.
The work of the viewer becomes to collect their own previous knowledge, and piece together
by themselves what is authentic, and what is modified, based on what they know about America.
Just as for many ex-aliens who came before me, translation is a life skill. It's what
we do to stay alive. Today, translation is the way I curate my 'alien' narrative
to juxtapose my 'American' narrative, and my 'American' narrative to juxtapose my 'alien' narrative.
Over the years, Mariana has become Mariana, has become Mimi, and has become Mariana.
My name is not assimilated—it is intentionally, decidedly alien, even in the most American
of environments.
As a translator, both in enduring and in artistic practice, I ask myself if the educational
space is in need of translation. I ask, 'What does
'in-betweenness', and the fruits
of 'ex/semi-alienhood' look like in our classrooms?
I began to think about the roughly 500 students I have taught this year in Chelsea, Massachusetts,
and the many 'in-between' spaces they found themselves in.
I admit that I entered a school with a largely-Latinx student body with many preconceived notions,
inherited both from those surrounding me, and from public discourse and media, about
their performance and learning abilities. But my students were much more multilayered
than any census would claim.
I taught LGBTQ students who were not only challenging heteronormativity and fixed gender
roles, but also specific experiences with machismos and cultural expectations that couldn't
be described in English.
I taught Afro-latinx students, who navigate the tensions and intersections between their
cultural heritage and their Blackness every single day— children who understand their
parents in one language, but understand racism in two.
There were also my students who were trying to process family separations, and those who
were trying to process their friends' deportations.
All of my students were also, at the same time, trying to process the complexities of pre-adolescence.
The label 'Latinx' is intrinsically linked to a complex relationship with the English
language and to this country - being Latinx is a very American experience.
As a translator by necessity, I know the muddy waters that Latinx students wade through every
day to float over the space between two separate languages, how our tongues are weighted down
both by muscle and culture, trying to weave together different societies without so much
as a stutter.
And yet, many teachers' understanding of emergent English speakers remain constricted
by a binary logic: "Yes, this student speaks English fluently. No, this student is emerging."
What I found was something much more complex. While we had students that had the visual
and behavioral hallmarks of an emergent English speaker, most of our students had wonderful
oral vocabularies—they are gifted orators thriving on translation.
However, whenever I asked the same student to write down their own words, they faltered.
I quickly understood why this was the case during a parent- teacher conference, watching
10-year-olds expertly slide between Spanish and English, holding their parents' hands
all the while. Many of our students were translators, just like I am, and I was brought back to
nights where I, a fluent English- speaker, couldn't finish my homework because I couldn't
process the words written in my textbook.
English emergence is often gauged on convenience—we call the student who can answer us, follow
directions, and write to a format a 'fluent' speaker. The reality is much more complex—a
student can be fluent, even native, and 'emergent' at the same time, at different points in the
spectrum of their development.
The intersection of spaces (home-school, written, oral, family and school's expectations)
leaves them 'in-between'—and our assessment manuals don't know what to do with 'in-between'
kids. In my classroom, when time came for reflection over our works, I came to an understanding
that my students were able to reflect much more deeply when I asked questions verbally,
formatting the prompt as if it were a back-and-forth discussion. I would record my students'
responses on my phone, and keep the audio files as evidence of their reflections.
As an academic, I understand the importance of developing strong written language skills.
However, as an educator, I contemplated what I wanted when I asked them to reflect. I wanted
truly intensive thinking to happen as it pertained to their work, and if entering an exclusively-verbal
space was what it would take for this thinking to happen, then it would be what I would do.
Later, when I needed my students to learn how to write effective artist statements,
I would dig up their audio files for them to transcribe themselves, so that their writing
or typing fingertips would learn the connections between written and verbal vocabulary , as
they would hear their own voices hold mastery of the same words they sought to write.
Where these students are is neither a positive, nor a negative space—it is a different,
and always changing space. Our students' difference is neither good, nor bad. Difference
is information that is significant, that matters,
is more complex than our brains can properly compartmentalize. It requires a new vocabulary
of understanding.
For example, I cannot say that my being a family translator has been entirely positive,
because I was exposed to a level of psychological stress that is arguably inappropriate for
children, like negotiating utility bills we couldn't afford, or like advocating for
my siblings' special needs services as a teenager, because my parents' limited English
hampered their ability to speak on their behalf. Likewise, I cannot say that being a translator
was fully negative, because it h as informed so much of who I am as a person, artist, and educator.
What I can say, is that translation has become a tool that I use over and over and that I bend to serve my needs.
Living in this ex-alien and translating space allows me to force myself in other spaces that were not designed for me.
It also—and this is important— opens up insights into my viewers so that they begin
to see me neither as the 'Other', nor as 'One of Us'.
Likewise, I use my art to challenge the natural association of 'human' with 'American'.
'Alienhood' (or the term 'alien'), as defined by the legalese of the immigration
system, is the battleground or the hinge around which I challenge my viewers and curate my own humanity.
I feel that, if I can unhinge 'American' from 'human', then the 'American'
is left to interrogate their own humanity, and this questioning leaves the 'American'
no space to interrogate my own.
After all, love isn't love if we're not demanding the best from one another.
My artistic and pedagogical work is a dare for America to love me, and my students, in our own terms.
I'd like to leave you with some last, fleeting thoughts on love and translation. This poem is in the program you have received.
Does English love?
The lilt that lifts my lips when I say 'I love you'
lightens the hearth with flickers. Cinders.
Not flame. It is air, my windpipe whistles and heightens,
I am milk poured in the mug, sugar. Cream.
My tongue frolics in my teeth it is a song
and sings pretty 'I' sways, 'love' twirls, 'you' returns.
But, consider, 'eu te amo'. 'Eu te amo'. Ah. Ah!
It is earth, dark, deep, toes embroiled in dirt ridges of flesh My windpipe moans low, to the ground,
the basic structure of humanity, infused in the bone marrow of you. And I.
It is bitter, the blackest coffee dug in the nails of men and women who share my name.
It is raw, (my tongue quivers) it is heavy, (an unbearable weight) there is no dreaming in this amor.
It is flames, the hearth crumbles splits like veins encasing searing blood. It hurts. It hurts!
There is no dance in these vowels. But they are right. I wonder if, in the past 16 years, I have ever even loved.
Thank You!
Thank you so much Mariana! Powerful powerful work.
Moving on, Gustavo Barceloni graduated in 3D Ceramics in 2017.
born in Brazil and raised in Greater Boston. He collaborates with chefs and designs illustrative tableware for home
and restaurant use. He also creates installations and community based projects, which explore
the complexities of living within the Brazilian diaspora. Gustavo describes his illustrative
work as "sophisticated classroom notebook doodles", and strives to include in his
work not just humorous style but also his politics, history, and humanity. He is currently
enrolled in a Master's program in Education at UMASS Boston.
Gustavo, take them away!
Hello! Thank You everyone for being here! The is the point where I get to vent a little
Marcelo D2. Brazilian rapper, who at a young age I could identify with, who validated my need to vent.
Marcelo Barceloni. My dad, o meu pai, who once claimed I ain't Brazilian enough.
"What Brazilian music do you even listen to?" he says. "Marcelo D2? He's old! Oh, c'mon Gustavo!"
It's summer 2017. We've had a few beers - quite a few. He's meeting my American girlfriend, Vanessa, after a year and a half
for the first time tonight. His wife, Carla, smiles, we eat carne. It's a bbq, a churrasco.
The smoke settles. "Your heart is Brazilian". He admits.
This blood first started pumping in 1995. My brother was already 2 at the time. My mom was 22, my age today.
I'll be 23 in two weeks
Back then, Brazil was going through an economic hangover from the military dictatorship from
the 60's to the 80's (with help from US imperialism).
This long recovery from the violence of poverty meant that waves of Brazilians were pouring
out of the country, dreaming for a better life in the USA. My parents were also feeling
the dream, o sonho. My first memories of creativity were doodling on notebook papers to escape classroom boredom.
Sometimes I would zone out completely, but most of the time doodling helped me absorb the lesson even more deeply.
Feel free to doodle throughout this talk
Often, teachers scolded me as they didn't realize the focusing power that doodling had on me. Art classes
became my refuge from being scolded; A place both secure and creative where I could experiment
with methods and materials. "Finally!" I thought. "I get to work with clay!"
Or metal wire, or plaster. Materials made learning the elements of art, like space and
color, fun and investigative. What I got out of these years was a love for the process of art making.
I had been lucky to have escaped from anyone stagnating my confidence in experimenting
with art. I remember how I believed in my abilities and malleability. Teachers may recognize
this as a growth mindset.
These drawings came from my family in Brazil, each participant anxious yet amused.
All too often, that love for the drawing process is cut short when judgement from others
separates the "talented" from the "untalented" artist.
Judgment teaches our adult selves to apologize for attempting to draw even before we pick up the pencil.
And when we do draw, our drawings look as nervous as we felt the day our drawings
received judgement. It was in a class called "A Million Ways to Draw", at MassArt that
I recognized my fear of a white page and my moments of missed growth leading up to art school.
I don't remember bringing myself into my artwork in a personally challenging way or
thinking of art beyond its usual expectation: made for consumption.
Here's a "what if" experiment I would have loved to have practiced in school growing up:
Imagine learning about Josef Albers and his color theories as a way of learning
about racial differences, or immigration, in the US. Look how the same color can look
so different just because of the backgrounds in which it is placed. What a powerful metaphor
this could be of a difference- based identity! Our students live in a divisive historical
time, and we do an injustice to ourselves and to them if we do not to look for those
connections between what art we make, how we look at the world, and "who we think we are".
I don't remember receiving these tools to investigate my discomfort toward any ideas
of a fixed identity, and to confront my own insecurities. Art, however, gave me energy and propelled me in this search.
From middle school and onwards, I developed a love for graffiti, inspired by my trips
to Brazil. So many beautiful walls were covered by graffiti in the cities I visited so I would
come back to the US and cover my notebooks with tags and throwies. Later in highschool
and college I was spraying them on walls, excited by the inventiveness of letters and
colors and the adrenaline of working beyond the wall or pedestal. I was thrilled to be
able to feel like a guerilla artist and say "This is me, I was here" even if under another name.
At 15, I had my first job as a grill cook, and I was in an after school culinary arts
program, called Future Chefs, led by MassArt alum Toni Elka. It is then that, as I refined
my skills, I also began to consider what art I wanted to make. I loved art and I loved
cooking but which passion would be my career?
Compared to the success and security that I thought I could find with being a chef,
art felt like an unpredictable career path. "I love ceramics and making pots" I thought,
"but where is that going to take me? How do I tell my parents I want to be an artist?".
It was thanks to my high school art teacher who validated my passion, that I had the confidence
to share with my mom that art would be my career. "Ai, Gustavo," she sighed, "I
was worried you would say that. For her, as for my dad, my art was something to appreciate
but was not a career, at least not the career that they expected for me, and that r eflected their sacrifices.
You see, I got immigrant kid expectations to live up to. I gotta prove that I got what it takes to leap from the springboard my parents built for me.
In the end, after some convincing my mom really just wanted me to be hardworking and to be
able to choose to do what I loved. This had not been available to my parents. Their understanding
was their gift to me. MassArt Fall 2013 was the opportunity to make my passion for art my career.
my first semester was one of the worst of my entire life. I remember how I felt - I am going through a depressing break up and
trying to keep up with my job as a cook and school. My long held bad habits and mistakes
lead to a failed class and lots of mediocre last minute work. But I keep going, I keep
my parents in mind, staying up long nights throughout the next semesters, dedicating
my entire being to improving my craft, to expanding my mind, and to walking on that
graduation stage - all for the opportunity to one day sustain my life as a professional artist.
Over the years at MassArt, I juggled many roles:
The art student, the line cook, the activist, the potter's apprentice, the son. I experimented,
made connections, and yes, dropped one or the other every now and then.
Most importantly, I gave myself permission to try my hand at whatever I was interested
in doing and not give up when I failed. How we confront failure and the value we place
on it are key to our success. How we choose to subject ourselves to the possibility of
failure is one of the most vital questions artists need to ask themselves.
The tension between success and failure is present in every piece of artwork I have ever made.
In the process, I have learned to become incredibly grateful for the humbling, yet strengthening
process that digging into my truths can provide.
There really is something amazing about art and how it helps bring out truths from inside
of us. Truths that have a really hard time being articulated, so instead they translate in another form - never completely precise.
That feeling of validation takes a physical form and becomes so precious. Even poor attempts
are, ya know? Cus at least the missed bullseye, ain't half as bad, as not having any darts.
This is where my Brazilian story comes in. Cultural pride is a big part of my "core".
Green, blue, and yellow have colored my life. Rice and beans have fed me everyday. Playing
soccer is practically in my blood. I'm sure you've seen our flags everywhere during the world cup.
But what happens when cultural pride meets cultural expectations? Like you're not a
full 100% up to the "qualifications" of that cultural identity?
My "core" has always felt like a moving target. Who am I? Which realities have shaped
who I am? Why do I act, think, value, love, fear, and speak the way that I do? these questions
have moved with me across borders. They are a daily reminder of that precarious state
of uncertainty of being an immigrant in the USA .
MassArt 2014. Sophomore year is my first attempt at targeting these questions.this artwork
felt courageous at this time because of my anxiety and confusion surrounding what it
meant to be a Brazilian immigrant artist who arrived here as a child. I made this during my Visual Language class.
For me, this was one big visual question mark I posed to myself - a bilingual sentence.
My teacher mentioned Homi K. Bhabha's Third Space Theory, a postcolonial theory of identity
which explains the "hybrid" uniqueness of individuals like me. Eureka.
My art moves the needle of my understanding, and aligns myself to words of other creatives that can help explain what my art is asking.
And because I am not yet ready to dig deeper into my vulnerability I dig deeper into hard
skill. I have come to college to make a living as an artist, so now is my time to sell my work.
In a capitalist culture that prizes individualism and material comfort, crafting a career as
a "starving" artist, can be a daunting prospect. Someone out there has to be doing it though, right? I was determined to find them.
My cooking background and ceramics ambitions met perfectly at my internship with Jeremy
Ogusky, whose ceramic work is sold at stores, restaurants,
and craft shows. He also collaborates with chefs at pop up dinners and hosts fermentation workshops.
This is exactly where I want to be and what I need to learn - business skills.
I know MassArt won't introduce me to these skills until senior year, but I push for these
skills while pushing my craft. And it pays off. Over the years I sell at craft shows,
open studios, and in restaurants while learning how to write an invoice, package art, price work, and find clients.
But that question of identity, of the third space, still lingers… it needs visually
vocalized justice. In junior year, mugs become my notebook again
- I recognize that my doodles have more art potential than I originally gave it credit
for, so I put them on pots, I create stories. Experiment with glaze chemistry. I find my voice with speech bubbles and scribbles.I
remember the comic book characters I read as a kid like Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes, a mischievous boy with profound thoughts,
and Cebolinha, from a Turma da Monica, who always mispronounced his r's. I couldn't understand every word from these comics but
I, and my family, knew I was Cebolinha.
I have a confused tongue. It shares the same blood as my "Brazilian" heart. My Portuguese,
en esse jeito que eu falo, enrolado, defines my relationship to my Brazilian i dentity in
profound ways. Growing up, it has been both a place of home and an embarrassment. The
quality of how I bend my tongue has been judged from one sentence to another. On either side,
my mixture of Portuguese and ingles is read as a loss in 'authenticity'. I know that
feeling of judgement all too well. And have known it all too early.
Over the years I have gone to a little Brazilian school in hopes to stay fluent because my
mom knew how important it was to hold on to that connection, a conexão com a minha família.
A minha mae, regrets not having a "Portuguese only rule" at home. Like many immigrant
parents, she didn't want her children to share her struggle of not speaking English fluently.
Now my English vocabulary is fluent, able to express vivid introspections, while my
mumbling Portuguese can't keep up with the beat of my Brazilian heart, I cannot bend
my tounge like Marcelo D2 or Marcelo Barceloni, meu pai. Portu-English, the blending of two
flavors has a sweet melody. But when you speak either language incorrectly you taste bitter.
While I live in a society subtly and explicitly urging me to assimilate, my own culture thinks it's a shame that I'm part gringo.
As a kid, this push and pull hurt . Os Americanos, I often heard. Americans are the others. But
me? I'm not an "other", nao so um Americano ne? um gringo? Sou Gustavo, right? Born in
Curitiba, in Brasil, right? I have Brazilian parents, Brazilian blood. Playing soccer since
the womb. Why do we all try to soothe these complexities by squeezing them in some imaginary box of "authenticity"?
And if a "box" is our image for a culture, inevitably, we will put cultures in boxes to discuss them with our students.
Next the curriculum becomes a list of neat boxes, and we put our students in them.
So many of our students share this transnational discomfort. They translate the gringo, with
the pocho, they straddle across more than one authenticity, and maybe if teachers choose
to "see" them, they will investigate more complex forms of cultural authenticities in their drawing, in their writing, and in their thinking.
Here's what I learned: I've had it wrong you see, I thought cultural identity was a
fixed state, an everlasting condition, a label defined only early on through my family and personal experiences.
But cultural identity is always evolving according to our circumstances and imagination. - like
the colors in Joseph Albers' color theory, each meaning provided by the context of the
other colors around them.
Nowadays, I use the word gringo as a light-hearted, self- deprecating joke as I introduce myself
to other Brazilians. "Gringo" translates as "yes, I am Brazilian, my Portuguese could
be better, but wait, what I say is more important than how I say it. Please listen."
It's taken two decades from when I arrived in the US, but I now feel a sense of worthiness
in my mix, in my inbetweenness. Why this long? Why now? Because art has opened up space for me.
Cultural identity isn't a box to check off, but a spectrum and it can be painted colorfully.
So I want artists grappling with their transnational discomfort, to feel like they are more than
enough, and to paint, draw, sculpt, and perform their own personal truths so they can echo in others.
I hear them all the time, 1st generation, 2nd generation, and in between - immigrants:
they tell these stories of transnational discomfort while having a little cafezinho at home or cerveja in the backyard.
But where is the still life painting of this conversation? Where is the novel written in portuenglish? Cade a sculptura de brazucas chamado "e nois"?
How do complex histories translate in complex forms and representations?
Forms and representations in which we don't just pick a team but where we create our own identities by digging into the hyphen.
Because art has the ability not just to expand on who you are - but who you can be.
I believe that Art can be used in so many ways. Throughout my career, I have made my
art the vehicle of my activism, my community, my business model, my playtime, and my education.
This at times has felt like a duty both overwhelmingly wide in scope, and deeply personal - art is
both my refuge and the place that pushes me to the unknown.
Sharif Bey, a visiting ceramic artist, once said, and I paraphrase, "Sometimes art is
the tree we hold on to during the storm, sometimes art is the storm."
So my questions to you all are these: How can we teach young artists to utilize the power of art to transform the ways they see themselves and the world around them?
How can we teach them to expand the value we assign to art?
Here are some examples of what art means to me/the value it has for me:
1. As as a translation of histories (between past and present).
tries to dig into the past and present in order to create a connection with the future.
an accessible vehicle of beauty and imagination among communities that are
often left at the margins of art as "consumption"
"I award this ceramic trophy to my parents, their faces illustrated among symbols of their labor and identity. Their labor, a penalty
kick of a ceramic soccer ball, made for a shot of success past the barbed wire
My parents are more than worthy of their success, which made my hands able to make
this art. Too many lie on this land's "greener side" in obscurity and injury without green
card or papers. They too deserve this monument - an in- between state of cultures in constant
memory. We eat a sweet sonho, a Brazilian pastry, at our local Brazilian cafe and bring a couple more home to remind of what was once called home
I learned that art is best when shared and that there is great power in organizing around community. From sophomore to senior year, I became involved
and eventually, co-led with Vanessa, a student group called Clay for Change. We were trying
to build community with art by making hundreds of bowls with students and community members
for Haley House's Souper Bowl fundraiser, and dozens of pie pans for a fundraiser with
Future Chefs. Our social work expanded into documentary screenings on art and activism.
Thousands of dollars were donated, hundreds of volunteer hours were put in.
Teaching art has a great potential for social justice and it complements my art making.
I began to teach free classes in the Roxbury neighborhood near MassArt to make ceramics
more accessible. I have learned that I really enjoy teaching. Which is why I have decided
to take the path of teaching full on, I am currently in a Master's program in Education
at UMASS Boston, and in the fall I will be student teaching at the McKay school in East Boston
My love for ceramics, history, and community have propelled me to create a collective story
not just for Brazilians but also with them, in one of the most Brazilian cities in the
US, my own city of Everett. Cafe da Manha, Cafe the Tarde. In this project, I invited
Brazilian families to collaborate in the making of mugs by having them impress their fingerprints and stamp images on slabs of terracotta.
Taking place in my backyard, these participants sat across from each other, worked on the
slabs, and had a rich dialogue on these questions of cultural identity. I made the bottom half
of each mug, and then attached the pinched terracotta slab as the second half along with a handle.
These slabs of red clay hearkened back to Brazil's red soil. The audio recording of the participants' responses to the questions provided background for a book in the future to document each mug and individual's story.
This workshop also supported local Brazilian labor by hiring a Brazilian photographer and
catering for the event. (It's still ongoing, plans are underway for this summer in a new space).
Last fall, Vanessa and I launched our online fundraiser for Dirty E Studios. We raised
over $6,300 to make our dreams of being professional artists a reality. Here, our practice will
also include classes and community events, right out of my mom's garage.
For years, my mom cleaned houses, while my dad painted them, and later started his own
painting business, to never have food missing from my plate.
Now, I'm making plates, and p ainting pots that live in other houses. The houses in which I want my art to be in, overlap with the people I want to make my
art with. I am a cultural worker. My craft involves expanding the complicated truths
of a Brazilian diaspora into a wider picture. A picture that includes all of us, working
class people with the desire to escape alienation. We dream, and fight, for a better world where
we don't fear hunger, self-expression, failure, or difference.
My mom always relates my poetic and artistic soul to my granddad's, meu avo who I never
met, who was also a maker and a poet. In the spirit of carrying on his dreams for a peaceful
Brazil, like my own dreams for the world, I conclude now by reading his poem.
The poem is in your program - in its Portuguese original
Meu Sonho Verde E Amarelo Antonio Teodoro Tavares
Meu Brasil te vi em sonho, E acordei tão tristonho,
Por não ser realidade, No sonho eu te vi em flor,
Só tinha paz e amor, Que pena não ser verdade!
No sonho eu vi as crianças Cantar hinos de confiança,
Em coro pela cidade, O estandarte era a alegria
Que em todo o rosto se via, Que pena não ser verdade!
Vi no sonho em todas as mesas Pão, leite, carne e manteiga;
Para toda a sociedade; A fome não existia
Só a fartura se via, Que pena não ser verdade.
Vi na rua muita gente, Que vibrava de contente
Por viver em igualdade, Todos dedicavam a ciência,
E não tinha violência: Que pena não ser verdade!
Meu Brasil, te vi tão belo Todo de verde e amarelo
Vi tua prosperidade; Mesmo no jazigo eu quero,
Ver meu sonho que espero, Tornar-se realidade!
Thank You!
Yeah! And this is what artists do with their transnational discomfort
I saw people were taking notes on this great term
Ryan Vazquez is a filmmaker and video artist born in Bayamon, Puerto Rico. He graduated in Film-Video in 2017.
Ryan documents events in New England and the Caribbean, and creates advertising and marketing
videos for small businesses. Ryan is very interested in digital content that focuses
on contemporary issues of social relevance, from practices of linguistic and cultural
translation, to racial and ethnic identities as they interface with current and past political realities across the Americas.
Hello everyone! My name is Ryan Vazquez and Every time there is an important task ahead of me, I like to repeat this expression and play around with words and bad luck
'mala suerte' - Con la suerte que yo tengo…
An artist. Something that I can now call myself. The idea of pursuing a career in art appeared
not that long ago. In a small town, of a country with a pretty bad economy, that career choice
was frowned upon. It was considered impractical and without prospects for career and success.
Being the first person in my family to attend a college in the U.S. was both an honor and
a challenge. There wasn't anyone close to me that could relate
Growing up, I did not attend any art class in my school. However, I was exposed to and
inspired by artists of color f rom the Caribbean and Latin America.
During my years as a student at MassArt I noticed how most of the artworks presented
as examples showed a high quality of technique and originality. but I have to admit that
I was never able to relate to either the artwork or the success of those European and American
men. I started to lose interest in their type of work not because the artist was European
or American, but because the work was distant to my reality and the reality of any one who grew up like me. I resonated with a few teachers at MassArt
who took the time to research outside of their cultural references and learn content
therefore their curriculum was inclusive of different styles, genres and aesthetics and offered a range of writers, artists and film directors*.
I also believe that How we learn about different cultures in school matters.
"Why are we watching this film?" Why does a teacher choose a specific content for their
students? These are important questions to help students understand the material and participate in the broader goals of the curriculum.
For example, one semester I was taught by an Argentinean film- maker in a course titled
"Global Cinema" - I was inspired by the teacher's knowledge of early Japanese cinema,
Middle-eastern film industry, Latin-American film industry especially during the dictatorships
and films by women directors from Eastern Europe.
This professor always explained his choice of content and why it was relevant to us.
He also discussed how each film reflected and engaged with the politics and social issues
of the country in which it was produced - and how the aesthetic choices in each film served some of its social purposes and relevance.
An example of this strategy is in a film we watched in this same class: Invasion by Hugo
Santiago- an Argentinian film from 1969. - told though the perspective of the people who try
to survive a dictator - a film that was cleverly done:
- the characters would disappear from the film in a way evocative of how real Argentinian
individuals would suddenly be abducted at that time.
the villains were all wearing white, a social commentary on a color that we associate instead
with purity, innocence, peace.
the director had even changed the name of real places to fictional ones, constantly playing a game between real/recognizable details
and unreal and surreal moments.
This film was important because is was among the few to defy a totalitarian government
through the use of filmic narrative. Santiago taught us artists to use our mediums to reflect
He also taught us to take risks through the lens of surrealism.
While I admire the work of many filmmakers coming from Latin America and Southern Europe,
my goal has never been to be just like them. My goal is and will always be to make professional
films that are inspired by average individuals that I've met, and ordinary, present day
scenarios that affect the lives of people like you and me.
Discovering how major events affect the lives of common individuals, depicting someone's
experience with real-life issues, and providing a different point of view through the subject
I capture on camera - THESE are truly inspiring ideas for me.
What follows is an excerpt from my senior thesis film that I created last year at MassArt
It exemplifies the themes and ideas I just described.
Exposed was about my family members and how they were affected by the political and economic
depression in Puerto Rico that has been ongoing for more than a decade.
It is very specifically about my family members - not a documentary. It provides a personal
point of view on how this one event - Puerto Rico's economic crisis - has affected my
own life and the lives of the people I know.
During my time as a student at MassArt I tried exploring different genres in hopes of finding the one that I belonged to. Back then, I thought
that having a specific genre meant that people would understand my work more easily, and
make me look more professional. But it wasn't the case. I couldn't find the genre that
fit my work. In some cases the videos that I made would be pure fiction, and in some
other cases pure documentary. But my personal favorites are the ones that are in that awkward
in-between space of fiction and reality.
This next video was an assignment in my Junior year. It began as a translation on t he screen
of a page of a book - La Carreta a novel by Puerto Rican author Rene' Marquez
The film, however, soon incorporated other forms of "translation": from past to present,
from fiction to imagined reality, from one geographical place to its representation and
meaning in a different context.
I was very inspired by the ways in which the characters in the novel looked at their mother after the family moved to the US. I
tried to capture the ways the mother's tiredness filtered through
the children's eyes. I felt a similar emotion watching my father picking up dead leaves outside our house in Massachusetts.
The Ignorantes in the title also refers to the ways in which US- Americans used to "refer to" Puerto Ricans.
Communication. Self doubt has always been with me. I always wonder how others may react to the work. I ask myself questions like: Will people outside
of my group be able to understand my work? and will my own community feel they are being
represented in an accurate manner? I remind myself that the artwork itself is
not meant to satisfy everyone. As an old friend of mine tells me all the time: "Tú no eres
un billete de cien para caerle bien a todo el mundo".
I see my films and videos as just the medium to deliver a message, to provide a different
point of view, even one some may not necessarily agree with, to raise awareness and acknowledge
that there is a problem, rather than to pretend like everything is fine.
Communication is something that I've always struggled with. English is not my first language
and trying to present artwork to an audience of native English speakers is challenging.
Por suerte art is the perfect vehicle to discuss how humans communicate across boundaries.
It creates something that visually translates these feelings for the audience, but it also
makes the artist's experience and point of view tangible to the artist themselves.
During my years at MassArt I started making videos in Spanish, and they expressed exactly
what I was feeling. I was kind enough to provide subtitles.
This choice of using English subtitles was motivated by the fact that I know what it
feels like to be at the receiving end of a language barrier and I wanted non Spanish
speaking viewers to be able to appreciate my work beyond that barrier.
I also admit that there is a feeling of power that comes with being a bilingual artist.
As an individual who is able to fully express himself in more than one language, I can reach
an even broader audience and - in a way - control the dynamics of communication.
Last spring I made a short film titled "Broken" as the final project in Marika's class "Imagining
Others". In this film, I wanted to articulate not only the challenges but also the power
that come from learning to navigate a world that reminds me that I am not 'native in it.
The brokenness of the title speaks to that part of me that straddles the self-doubt and
agency that come with being bilingual in a world that is too often mono-lingual.
In the film I choose to communicate these feelings through a letter for my little sister
and through a science fiction lens inspired by the speculative stories we read in class.
I feel that the purpose of my work is to create meaningful stories that highlight the challenges and
the beauty in and across differences. To me, meaningful work means to create
films that don't live and die in the screening room, but that echo beyond that screening
room; movies that create a space where others can see a reflection of themselves.
In closure I want to share a quote by author Junot Diaz that captures really well this
image of art as a mirror:
"You guys know about vampires? … You know, vampires have no reflections in
a mirror? There's this idea that monsters don't have reflections in
a mirror. And what I've always thought if that if you want to make a human being into
a monster, deny them, at the cultural level, any reflection of themselves.
And growing up, I felt like a monster in some ways. I didn't see myself reflected at all.
I was like, "Yo, is something wrong with me? Why is that
the whole society seems to think that people like me don't exist?" And part of what inspired
me, was this deep desire that before I died, I would make a couple of mirrors so that kids like
me might see themselves reflected back and might not feel so monstrous for it." ― Junot Díaz
Like Diaz, I am committed to making a few mirrors.
My work, however, is beyond mere self-reflection. After all, when mirrors crack, light goes in, and
with it, new perspectives, new understandings. My films reflect people like me but in so doing they also, importantly, hold up a mirror to our society and invite self-reflection.
Thank You!
So, Well thank you Ryan! Thank you everyone
We were thinking of having a quick break. Ten minutes and then we'll reconvein at 11 for Q and A.
So, I think we're good to start, welcome back and thank you so much for spending about 2 hours with us.
This is now your time to ask burning questions, share the one action that I invited you
to think about, bring back to your district, classrooms, schools, states, families
and so forth, so, I hate these chairs, we all do so apologies if this doesn't sound too pretty
it doesn't seem too pretty my climbing over here. And actually I need to probably do this.
I just wanted to thank you both for sharing your stories. They just blew me away.
I live and work in New Jersey in one of the wealthiest counties in the country
and it is predominently white but I work in a title one district and our low income
students of color population is growing and we have in a district of six schools and 33
hundred kids we have two teachers of color. Thats been a problem thats been weighing on my mind for a long time and
I'm going to go back and show the videos to my superintendant and assistant superintendant and
I'm going to start a dialogue about how we can get a more representational staff in our school district
so thank you so much
So, first of all, thank you for taking that step and I appriciate you having that perspective
because its one thats on a lot of peoples minds in this country all around especially since we're thinking a lot about
sitting at the table, talking across differences and being reflected as
Junot Díaz's poem kind of said about that vampire and I think that sometimes
there's the desire for - absolutley needed for hiring people of color
and hiring folks from different backgrounds but at the same time an immediate need for white
people to bring perspectives beyond their own, I think we have so many resources that can bring those perspectives
If you can get a skype call from an artist, an activist, a person of color, anyone who is willing
to do that of work too, you can bring bring diverse voices into your classrooms as well.
There are ways of connecting in an immediate sense that I think needs to be utilized as well.
So, again kuddos to you for taking that step and I do urge everyone else to continue doing the immediate and the things in the future
Can we put you on the list to do that?
Fly me out, you know, five star hotel
So I've spoken to educators of color who are right now not working in any particular school system because they didnt feel
like they were allowed to bring up different perspectives. So, I think something thats incredibly important to think about is
the way that our systems and our curriculum is created because there are enough educators of
color looking for jobs right now but the thing is that they want to look for a place where
they are allowed to bring different perpsectives and if they feel like a certain educational system
is not doing that, then out of just self-preservation they're not going to take that job.
So I think that if the change comes from the way that we establish our systems, the people of color will come.
They will take the jobs and as a response, students of color will see themselves visually represented.
But if they see, a high school student sees their ideas r epresented in the classroom
then they think well you know what? I could be there. That becomes in the future an educator of color.
Hi, I teach in East Boston at a school that is near McKay where you will be a teacher
A big part of students in East Boston currently at this point is Latina, its changing but you know.
I was curious to know if you already had some ideas of how in your Art room how will you make the space comfortable
for those students to get inspiration from their culture, their families, and how will you encourage them to feel proud of
who they are and how to bring that back into their art
In some ways it's not just an easy answer to give an immediate example towards this is exactly how I'm going to do it
so much of it is diagnostic first, is digging, we can consider our students as students from this place
and then be like okay, from my understanding of that place im going to create a project that might help reflect them
a lot of mistakes can be made that way. Part of which is diagnostic in the sense that
you can try and figure out how the student feels, where the student is coming from
where the student has a need and desire.So a lot of what I expect is to have activities that
invite exploration and experimentation. Where you can take those parts of identity and play with them
in different senses. I talk a lot about that mix, that in-betweenness
What does that look like in an activity? It could be them writing in their language and in English
and reflecting on their parents history through interview and things of that sort
For me, based on different age groups, it varies. I think aboutt how I was as a kid, for me, I was trying to affirm my sense of
identity by kind of defending it, I was trying to defend it not just from Americans, but also
from Brazilians. For me, when I was a kid, what I needed was to address not just identity, but the defense mechanism
behind it.
Just to clarify, I'll be student teaching World Geography and for me I see art and history going hand in hand.
Art is the vehicle for accessing history and for history to be reflected in the students
What would I do with Latinx students in East Boston? I want to show them that throughout history, art has been used as a
tool to not just re-affirm, but to change and manipulate how people see them.
Again, how people see them and the tools for challenging those things thats what I want to focus on,
that experimentation, that maliability.
I kinda want to piggyback on your thoughts and your reflections again thank you for your honesty
and your voice, it's what we needed to hear, so thank you again for being here,
As a white person working in privielge, having lots of privilege and working in a privileged environment
I think its sometimes easy to think that we're waiting for more people of color to come to our school
to make it more diverse and those students of color have more mirrors for themselves
and then we can get stuck, I can get stuck in white guilt, feeling guilty about that,
and thats a parylizing place to be. So we all have to, and I'll speak for myself
I had to make a commitemnt to myself to what can I do now and not feel guilty that I am a white woman,
with lots of privilege, but how can I use my privilege and that power that comes to me by being aware of my own privileges,
So theres a lot of personal work that we can all be doing that can really help that situation
regardless of whether you're teaching children that come from a privileged environment
or children that are children of color because working with kids that are privileged as well or working with white students
you might think oh I don't have to do this work. But they're always going to have that privilege and they need to be doing
the work more than anybody else. It's not the job of people of color to do the work.
They lived, it is our job, so that is something, I'm happy, I don't want to take up space
here but I'm happy is anybody individually, I can share what we're doing at my school
and what I've done that is trying to work on this.
I want to go off of what you were saying, not only is it the work that everybody need to do now,
you're also doing a disservice to your white students if you're not doing that because
what happens is that any sort of reservations and complications that you might have about race right now,
or any sort of complications that you might have about educating students of color, or working with people of color
in any sort of way is because our system wasn't set up to teach you how to navigate these spaces
So if we're not teaching kids from a young age to navigate these spaces
all the uncomfortable feelings that you have now are what your future students are going to have and as adults it's going to become a compound
So it's not only a neutral thing, it's a negative thing if we're not working on it
The only thing I would like to add, even the short, seemingly silly activity we did at the start
this idea of connections, the reason why I offer it in my classroom is to create a common language
a common space where everyone in the classroom, students of color, white students, priveleged, non-privileged, they reach outside of their fixed box
identity, the pre-conceived notions of who they are that they bring into the classroom on the very first week
that is very useful to me, I do it myself as well, it works on several levels, one is that the students of color
see that the white students have to come to terms with there are more than just white folks in the room.
they reach out across a different, in search for that connection. So that active engagement models the type of engagement I want everyone in my classroom to do with the content of the class
and I teach Carribean, dyasporic and Latin American texts, and I have very few Latinx students in my class
So how do I model that type of engagement that I want every member of the student body to do
and most of the time when they start activating, they never had to sort of think about their identies in morre than one way
So that becomes an invitation, you say like I want you to do this over and over and over with the poems that we read
with the texts that don't seem to speak to you, can you find the connection in the work?
Even if you're not Latinx how can you connect?
I don't let go until there is that connection. Someimes it takes a semester and beyond for some folks to find that connection.
Hello, my name is Natalia and I'm from Texas
Something that I come across a lot is the idea that
The statement that teachers often make is that
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