I tugged at the sleeves of my black, paint-stained hoodie nervously, waiting for the light to change. I tried to dress down, but I still felt wildly out of place walking in to the community resource center. I never seem to be preppy enough for campus, yet I still stick out as glaringly upper-middle class the moment I step out on to the city streets.
This was my second time visiting the resource center, a small building tucked away on a side street in a section of the city just north of campus. As I reached for the door, a boy about three or four years old brushed passed my legs as his mom yelled after him. "I don't want to be here all day", she mumbled.
I skipped around the boy and didn't even have to approach the front desk before a volunteer asked me who I was looking for. Was I that out of place?
"Sue? I'm here for Sue? I'm doing the mural?"
When I'm nervous everything comes out as a question.
This was my second time visiting the resource center, a small building tucked away on a side street in a section of the city just north of campus. As I reached for the door, a boy about three or four years old brushed passed my legs as his mom yelled after him. "I don't want to be here all day", she mumbled.
I skipped around the boy and didn't even have to approach the front desk before a volunteer asked me who I was looking for. Was I that out of place?
"Sue? I'm here for Sue? I'm doing the mural?"
When I'm nervous everything comes out as a question.
The original sketches, 18 x 24", Prismacolor markers on paper The woman behind the desk blinked. I was starting to think that I had the wrong time and day as we shared a nice awkward moment of silence before Sue came rushing around the corner out of her office. She was a scrawny woman who had a frantic quality to her movements, whose bony fingers glistened with copper rings and always seemed to be dressed in tie-dye or adorned in peace signs.
"Oh good you're here! I have a space cleared out for you over on this wall if you would like to get started," she said in one breath as she glided past me in her floor-length skirt.
"Oh good you're here! I have a space cleared out for you over on this wall if you would like to get started," she said in one breath as she glided past me in her floor-length skirt.
Free hand drawing, sharpie on drywall Not long after the pencil made the first mark on the wall, I became much more at ease with my uncomfortable surroundings. The space they gave me for the mural was smaller than I had remembered, and I finished the outline in a little over an hour. In that time, I absorbed the people and things happening around me. I came on a busy day , as they were preparing for a produce giveaway event that evening, and there was a continual flow of food pantry clients coming in and out. Men, women and children of all ages, experiencing a wide range of problems I have been lucky to never have had to endure in my 19 years thus far.
artsy instagram detail pic I stepped back from the wall and was pretty impressed by my scaling of my original sketch; I have done murals in the past but always with the help of a projector, never free hand. I was pleased with my work, but not myself.
What the hell am I doing here?
The people coming in this building have experienced things I cannot even fathom. There were children in this community half my age that have seen more of the real world than I have, and here I am living comfortably in my cushy collegiate life less than a mile away. Am I just throwing my privileged arts education in their faces by being here, drawing all over their walls? What good is this actually doing?
Part one of this project - the fundamental sketch on the wall - became a moment of clarity to me. Even though at first it felt like my drawings were not going to make a real, tangible impact on these people, they had certainly already made an impact on me. Just being there for a few hours and taking in everything around me served as a vibrant reminder that I am extremely fortunate. If final exams and formal dates are the biggest stressers in my life right now, then I am truly blessed, because just down the street there is a mother who worries about feeding her children.
I left the center that afternoon unsure of why I was asked there to begin with. I left with a hollow heart knowing that there is so much sadness in the community that my pencils and paints couldn't even begin to repair.
What the hell am I doing here?
The people coming in this building have experienced things I cannot even fathom. There were children in this community half my age that have seen more of the real world than I have, and here I am living comfortably in my cushy collegiate life less than a mile away. Am I just throwing my privileged arts education in their faces by being here, drawing all over their walls? What good is this actually doing?
Part one of this project - the fundamental sketch on the wall - became a moment of clarity to me. Even though at first it felt like my drawings were not going to make a real, tangible impact on these people, they had certainly already made an impact on me. Just being there for a few hours and taking in everything around me served as a vibrant reminder that I am extremely fortunate. If final exams and formal dates are the biggest stressers in my life right now, then I am truly blessed, because just down the street there is a mother who worries about feeding her children.
I left the center that afternoon unsure of why I was asked there to begin with. I left with a hollow heart knowing that there is so much sadness in the community that my pencils and paints couldn't even begin to repair.
As this project continued, my thoughts and feelings towards my own impact on the community began to change. I will be covering the second half of this project in my next post, and I promise it will be a little more uplifting.
Please stay tuned, as there are more pictures to come on the final product!
Please stay tuned, as there are more pictures to come on the final product!
