St. Louis’ Graffiti Wall

It’s been cra-zy around the house. Crazy with a capital “C.” Too much to go into today and will share more in a few weeks but suffice to say that with everything going on and the kids home and us traveling on the weekends all over Missouri, Indiana and Chicago, I have had very little time to write and update the blog. I have so much to share however and will in due time. Before leaving for another trip to Los Angeles to celebrate my last living grandparent- Abuelita Chelo- who turns 90- wanted to share some pictures from a trip we took to St. Louis’ Graffiti Wall.

You don’t hear much about this Graffiti Wall, at least I had not and I was so pleasantly surprised by how interesting it was. Every August/September, the wall is painted white and the city throws a huge paint party down by the riverfront, as that is where it is and graffiti artists paint huge murals with lots of powerful imagery.

Some tips if you go: The wall is down by the riverfront off of Chouteau and S Leonor K Sullivan Blvd. When you get off the freeway and follow your navigation, you might feel like you might be in a bad part of town but do not fear- it’s just industrial- not bad at all. Feel free to park anywhere close by the wall there are no parking spaces that are close by and I made the mistake of parking in the semi-parking lot on the left and then had to go back to get my car in the hot, humid weather.  Go to the right and just park anywhere. If you go during the summer- go early as it gets really hot, very quickly. Enjoy and take lots of pictures!

 

Art and Thinking Twice

With the end of the school year, I had the pleasure of reviewing all the kids’ artwork from their art classes. What a surprise I found- I love learning new things about my kids and the way they think. It makes me think about how the stuff we talk about at home impacts what they say and do out in the world.

All 3 are in summer camps this week, so I find myself with a few hours of spare time. Wouldn’t you know it- accompanied by a terrible head cold. I am so mad about it- going on day 5. Instead of enjoying the nice weather and going for a walk or yoga class, I find myself at home, sniffling, doped up on medicine and napping. It could be worse I suppose- I know. So, I’ll quit whining.

Back to the artwork. Second, Most Honorable Son drew the above piece. By itself it doesn’t say much. Accompanied by this caption- however – it speaks volumes.

The world is a whole place with diversity in it. Black, brown, white, yellow, tan, every color of the rainbow. Every color is needed and it is a beautiful thing. Words captured by a 10-year-old boy on how he views the world.

Here is Big Boy’s self-reflection pastel portrait. Loving it and so proud of my boys. They never fail to amaze me. This morning while watching CNN, a commercial for UNICEF came up with Alyssa Milano as the voice-over. As we heard about the “poor children who are starving and dying in the world because of lack of food,” I asked them- does this commercial make you think twice about throwing away your food and not eating it? No- they responded. “It makes us wonder why they only show black and brown children?” I was shocked. I had never thought about that commercial in that way. Despite seeing it or versions of it throughout the past 30 years of my life. Well said, my boys. Well said. In so many ways- through television, social media stories, throughout history and how it’s presented to us are we only shown part of the story, through a lens of bias, stereotypes and assumptions.

How many other things out there do I just dismiss and not think twice about how or what the message is that is being presented to me/us? There is much to think about here.

 

A Painting and Celebration of Diversity

Over the past few weeks, Big Boy’s middle school has had St. Louis painter and illustrator Cbabi Bayoc painting on campus. He painted a mural that now hangs in the school main lobby and the central messages and themes are around Diversity, Celebrating Culture and Loving Yourself. We attended the grand opening reception. Here is a picture of the mural:

Word of mouth has spread about Cbabi Bayoc through Facebook and other social media via his project titled “365 Days with Dad.” In 2012, he set out to meet a self-imposed goal of creating one painting a day for 365 days that depicted African-American fathers in ordinary and extraordinary moments with their children. Click here to go to his website and learn more about Cbabi Bayoc and his artwork.

In conjunction with this artist in residence, Big Boy’s visual arts class was given an assignment to explore through their own design, who they saw themselves as. The question posed to them was- “What is your Cultural Identity?” I always find it eye-opening to read something so personal about anyone and so much more when it’s your own child. His thoughts really took me by surprise.

Here’s a picture of his skateboard painting that accompanied his short essay.

Yes, dear boy- things are always changing. Life changes from dark to light and heavy to light. Given this past year of complete change, it’s interesting to note how this journey is showing up in your art. In so many ways, we are blessed by your spirit and energy.

 

Less Than 48 Hours in Mexico City

Friday, Feb. 26th, 2016

1 p.m. Arrive from Chicago to Mexico City Airport. Waiting in customs line.

3 p.m. After a frustrating 2 hours of trying to get my phone to work, finally connected with cousin Christian who picks me up from airport and off we go driving through city streets to funeral parlor. Suitcase in trunk.

4 p.m. Arrive at funeral parlor amidst a gigantic celebration pilgrimage to the Basilica de Guadalupe. Thousands of people walking around, firecrackers going off that make you jump every other minute. An explosion of noise, colors and smells.

Once inside, I see relatives I haven’t seen in 40 years, 20 years, and a few months. We embrace and kiss each other on the cheeks. I walk into the parlor where Tia Chica is laying. She is wearing her coat and clutching her rosary and looks at peace. Her hair is still speckled black and white – just like the last time I saw her. Floral fragrances penetrate the air. We wait for the priest for what seems like hours and finally he arrives. He proceeds to give a full mass in spanish. I am glad that my parents made me go to mass in spanish a few times as a child but it is still not enough. All of us American mexicanas are completely lost. My sisters and I walk up to the casket together and cry and pray and embrace. Everyone cries as they weep their final goodbye and we console one another. We are united in our mourning. Dad goes with her body to the crematorium and we don’t see him again for hours.

6 p.m. Cousin Christian drives us back through the city so that we can check into the hotel and clean up before dinner. None of us have eaten anything in over 12 hours. We laugh and cry so hard we almost pee our pants. We fall back into our sisterly roles and pick on one another- taunting and teasing and loving each other only the ways that sisters can. We feel sorry for Christian for having to put up with us.

8 p.m. We are on fumes but refuse to eat hotel food and lay in bed. Christian takes us to La Casa de los Abuelos for dinner. Mom asks for a drink and I’m thinking that’s a great idea, I could really use a good drink. The waiter says they don’t serve alcoholic beverages at La Casa de los Abuelos. Somehow this leaves us in hysterics. Poor waiter. We inhale our food. Meet up with Dad after dinner back at the hotel and yell at him for not eating anything (he is diabetic). Around 1:30 in the morning, we fall asleep and I get the big bed all to myself while my sissys share one. They tease each other about eating too much dairy and what might happen as a result. Ah- good times with sisters.