(via rawsugar)

areag:

ok sorry i’m just overly obsessed with my school but find this cool as hell 

all the buildings that make up the school and that i go to class in consist of like an ancient marble building that’s like the prettiest building i’ve ever been in, an old train station, an old print making press, an old firehouse, an old shoe factory, an old Jos. A. Bank sewing plant, this like famous all glass building that looks like an ice berg, an apartment complex that’s designed after a prison, an old all women’s mental hospital, and a freaking huge green cylindrical building that’s made of glass. architecture and that kind of thing is so interesting to me. i love mica.

(via kylejbonner)

LOVE Open Mic Evening

A number of important things happened this week. For American Thanksgiving I went to Toronto to visit friends and Family. I stayed with my Aunt Shannon and her husband Mike. I visited my friend Maddie at the University of Toronto. I met up with friends from a youth group, Leave Out Violence. (LOVE)

First of all, staying with Shannon was a delight. I’ve previously shared some of her artwork on this site. I stayed on a fold-out couch in a room where all of her art is displayed. I did yoga there. I listened to MIT Psych. classes on iTunesU in there. I knitted. Being in the presence of her healing process made me feel at ease. I was surrounded by powerful images of loss, anger, grief, beauty, growth and happiness. She gave me a copy of her book. (THROUGH THE GLASS by Shannon Moroney) I’m about 200 pages in and I can’t put it down. 

I read all the way home and tried to understand her struggle. Mostly I was just in awe. To hold love, grief, anger and forgiveness in your heart all at once seems like something that would break me. The book also made me think about the place I work. The descriptions of visiting a loved one in jail made the think of the realities of institutions. 

For me, jail is surreal. My students are engaged and enthusiastic. The hour and a half I spend with these men in this place almost doesn’t feel real. I forget that they go back to their cells and they stay there. I forget how much it sucks. I get to go back to my apartment. I cook myself whatever I want. I stay up late watching movies, painting, seeing friends, skyping family. 

Maybe it’s because I never talk to the men about their situations. It’s not my place. It’s not the point of the art class. But lately I’ve been thinking more and more about the realities they face.

It also made me think about control and consent. What it means to be in a healthy, respectful relationship. Mostly I just thought about how important it is that I demand that for myself. I chatted last night with a friend in Vancouver who is an activist for Aboriginal rights and sexual health. He affirmed these ideas. 

The other side of my trip to Toronto was reconnecting with my friends at Leave out Violence. It started when I sat down with Terrence, a man I have met twice before at the camp LOVE runs every summer in Ontario. He invited me to an Open Mic night the next day out in Rexdale. I went and it felt like a family reunion. Some poetry was performed, one girl sang “Someone like You” A-cappella, we moved to the media room and there was rapping, beat boxing and more poetry. I felt so fiercely honoured to be apart of this community arts initiative. Hopefully I will see each other again this summer.  

Afterwards I went for falafel with Arabi and Rohan, we talked about Baltimore, youth movements within the organization, art therapy, and our plans for the future. Arabi is my age, employed by LOVE, doing brilliant work in her community. I admire the life she is carving out for herself. 

Although I didn’t have a chance to see the men at the BCDC this week, my time in Toronto made me think about my work, what I want from my art and what I owe to my students and myself. Once again, I feel affirmed and supported. 

Sitting at Toronto International Airport watching a mother scold her toddler for drawing on the walls. She’s patronizing him, “Where do you colour? We don’t draw on the walls!”

The kid cries and she takes his crayons away.

(via wanderlustwishing)

(via wanderlustwishing)