Jean goes to Haiti

*Full pics on facebook*

For about 10 days, I traveled through Haiti. My trip was first inspired by the idea that I should visit my old childhood friend, MaryJo, in Port-Au-Prince where she's been working for a while. My motto is to visit people you know in other countries or places whenever possible. I believe travel makes you a better human being. It turns out that my former boss also would be in Haiti while I was visiting. Leading up to the trip, I planned to visit a school and teach. My landlady, Peggy, a high school teacher here in Chicago, heard about this and took up a collection of donated school supplies at her school. (Thank you!) I packed 50 pounds of school supplies (American Airlines limit) to take down with me. Because my old boss, Sue, also would be heading down with her mother, Doris, at the same time, they handed me another army bag of diapers to take down to an orphanage as well. School supplies, diapers, and 5 words in Creole...sounds like a great trip, right?
As I was warned, arriving in Port-Au-Prince airport is, well, something to blog about...several men approached-no, pounced on our carts of baggage as we wheeled ourselves out to our ride. Now I know why some of my first words in creole were "Pa touche"- don't touch!

Beyond the crazy airport, I saw the sights and sounds of Haiti...some of the first being the iconic tap taps, Haiti's unofficial public transport system.  A country where people like to express themselves through painting their cars??? I liked Haiti already. The ornately painted trucks with inspiring inscriptions such as "Fear my Brother" "Jesus My Mercy" and  "69 69 69." I don't think the translation for the last one is in the Creole/English dictionary. Hmm.
In preparation for my short lesson I was going to give that coming Monday to a school, I visited the school grounds and pastor of the school's church. The school was devastated by the earthquake and since then the 80 students in the school have gathered in a large tent next door with benches and chalkboards. Talk about a small education budget. Having not met the students but at least seen the space, I went about devising a lesson I could bring to the students with the supplies I could carry. As often happens in teaching, it was I who learned most from the lessons.
Another part of my Haitian experience was the ability to surrender control over any given situation. Hired by MaryJo's organization, on Monday morning bright and early, I was escorted by a driver and my interpreter, to an outlying town from Port-Au-Prince called Croix des Bouquets. It is a town known for its artistic metal work. Before even getting there, the driver's car broke down and we stalled on the side of the road. He hailed a moto-taxi to pick up another car. So I waited in the backseat of the disabled car with Erich, my interpreter, and I taught him my lesson as practice. My plan was that we were to make little autobiographical books that morning. Ha. It resembled something like that.

We eventually made it to Croix des Bouquets, mid-morning, and were greeted by far fewer students than expected. This was the Monday before the anniversary of the earthquake, January 12th, and many students stayed home for break until after the anniversary. So, with Improv as my Savior, I began my lesson... those in attendance were about twenty students spanning the ages of 4-16, the 3 teachers there that day, the pastor, a local artist, and even my driver, participated in the lesson...my first art lesson...in Creole. Totally normal. And I believed after that day that I could do anything.

Through meeting MaryJo's co-workers, neighbors, and a school community, I learned that Haiti is full of amazingly hospitable and spirited people...oh, what I would pay to hear Bernard, the house guard, say one more time with his warm smile, "BONJOU!"

With a little Compas dancing and Troubadou music thrown in there, some Creole tutoring from neighbor Samuel, UN troops on every other road,  money changers with rifles strapped against their chest on the street, chaotic drives through "no-rules" streets without a seatbelt to save your life...literally...it was time to move on from Port-Au-Prince to mellow Jacmel. I mean, I had some diapers to deliver. Jacmel is a smaller, way more chilled out town 3 hours away through the mountains. On the way to the Port-Au-Prince bus station, on the anniversary of the earthquake, I saw many people marching through the street. Someone handed a little leaflet through our window reading-roughly- that "the people of the tent camps need homes, work, and loans."

Work by graffiti artist, Jerry, in PAP next to street vendor.

Last night of MUSIK

Bus Passenger

Sue and Zaka buy Jimmy the dog from the lady in the background

Samuel dropped me off at the 'bus station,' a collection of trucks in a chaotic market of vendors and rubble. He helped negotiate my price and I sat up front in between the driver and an old man with my shins pushed against the dashboard. I braced myself for what I thought might be the bus ride of my life. The bus leaves when it's full and in the meantime I had several people reaching their arms inside the bus showing me their 7ups, pastries, cell phone chargers, and chewing gum. We finally took off through the mountains for some breathtaking scenery. There is one guide book out right now by Lonely Planet (one of perhaps the only that attempts guidance through Haiti) that gave the most amusing advice for women and bus travel in Haiti, it reads:"Haitian roads are abysmal and, as public transport is extremely bouncy, consider wearing a sports bra, especially on longer journeys, where you should also wear a skirt to allow for roadside toilet breaks." Noted.
What they did not prepare me for was the 'bus-bug.' I was bitten by something and began wriggling like a crazy person to see, with no success, what had taken a bite out of my stomach. Two days later it became one heck of a welt. I'm still not sure what was hanging out inside my pants.
When we got to Jacmel, Sue was to meet me on a moto, a motorcycle taxi, and take me to the art center. Through some mixture of French, Spanish, Creole, and English, I communicated to the driver that my friend was not there to pick me up yet and  I needed to call her. She finally found me and we piled onto the moto with the driver holding the diaper army bag in front, Sue in the middle, and me with my backpack holding on for dear life on the back. Personal space is a little different in Haiti but I never thought I would be this close to my former boss...on a moto...in Haiti.

 

Jacmel turned out to be a beautiful place. It was a very charged experience in that I was arriving on the day of many processions and ceremonies marking the earthquake's anniversary. My former boss, Sue, was helping plan an event for their new art center in town. Amid a sculpture exhibition by local artists, a vodou priest commemorated the loss of Sue's best friend, Flo, in the earthquake through a sand painting on the sidewalk. The evening included beautiful traditional Haitian dancing and live music in the street in front of the art center.

I had the privilige of staying with some great new friends and helping get those diapers to its final destination. Despite the statistically challenging atmosphere I had put my immune system in, I'm happy to report that I never got sick during my travels...well until the second bus ride of my life...

On the bus ride back to Port-Au-Prince to catch our plane home, I was stuck in the back seat of the bus this time and with little food in my stomach to keep me from feeling nauseous when we hit the first bump. Sure enough, practically sitting on my former boss's mother's lap, I leaned across and puked out the window going through the mountains...in Haiti! I was quickly given a bag to vomit into inside the bus so that I didn't puke onto the outside of the car. I managed to throw up and laugh at the same time at the ridiculousness of it all. Part way through the ride, I had to get out of the bus to let another woman out. To my surprise she was holding 4 chickens, 2 in each hand, upside down by the legs, as she exited. So not only was I puking on a bus in the mountainside of Haiti, I was doing it while sitting over 4 chickens without even noticing.
Mwen renmen Ayiti! I will be back someday. Because after all, I left my heart-and my breakfast-in the mountains of Haiti.

Jacmel Sunrise

One Dark Chicago Night...

...[okay, DIGITALLY REMASTERED and REFORMATED so you can actually READ IT, sorry!]...

I'm behind on, like, 17 new posts. Here's a detailed account of my purse getting stolen this week...a little winter break comic indulgence.  Happy Holidays!

Where is your light source?

I had the privilege of meeting the inspiring, insightful, "illuminating", and hilarious cartoonist Lynda Barry this week in a roundtable discussion at SAIC. I even mustered the courage to show her some of my own drawings from my very prolific period called: 1st through 3rd grade. She inspired me to go back to my own childhood drawings and remember what I was thinking then.

This pencil drawing is from the pad of paper that was always kept by the phone to take messages. I was 6 years old and my mom had the wisdom to hold onto it. I'm guessing I was thinking about the sewer system underneath the streets. I'm not sure if the lady's careful disposal of trash despite her unruly elbow was an early comment on environmental action. Lynda Barry did mention that I had a keen sense of light sources in my drawings. Sure enough, the drawing above includes the car's headlights in the background. Lynda included a light source above my name when she signed my copy of her book, One!Hundred!Demons!. She just plain rocks and has become my newest light source.

When Vacuums Arrive Without Husbands

"#&*@$!, the replacement belt I ordered from hoover.com doesn't fit this ancient model!"

You'd think that the fact that this vacuum belonged to my grandma and had sat in a closet as "back up" for 20 years would scare me away. But, I channeled my inner Amy and Martha (See youtube video below) and got crafty.

I went to the local hardware store and bought a Dirt Devil brand belt ($2.99!) and it still didn't fit! Oh, heavens! So I started cutting with the ole pair of trusty surgical scissors. It's kept nearby in case a guest is choking and we need to cut open their throat so they can breathe. 

By Golly, it worked! 

Notice how the autumnal burnt orange of the vacuum , carpet, and dining room chair, pair beautifully with the yellow cardigan.

I'm so excited, I might just tell Amy Sedaris about this at her booksigning this Saturday at the Borders on Michigan Ave. Her new book is Simple Times: Crafts for Poor People. 

The Path of a Teacher

Part of my teacher certification includes  observing teachers in the classroom for many many hours. Today, upon suggestion from one of my 'prized worksheets', I drew the floor plan of the art room and traced the path of my cooperating teacher for 45 minutes while she taught a 3rd grade art class.
Her response to my drawing: "No wonder my feet hurt."

Just 45 minutes!

My First Joint

So, I saw this joint just laying there in the drawer, it was, like, just a sample to get a beginner like me started. I thought, why not? Ya know, just experiment a little, take a few deep breaths, expand my horizons with nature's plants.

 So I rolled...my sleeves up, was taught how to use this crazy looking jig...

 ...and started cutting! The first joint was so liberating that I wanted another...I can't remember what kind of joints they are but the first cut was hinged on a nail and the second one I drilled a round hole and put a dowel inside the joint. Joints get you inspired, man.

You might notice a band-aid on my thumb. This was my first incident in the wood shop. It involved picking up a new drill bit that was resting on the table and not connected to any machine. After using large noisy machines all over the shop all morning, I start bleeding from holding a small drill bit in my hand. Classic. It sliced a paper cut sized gash through my thumb, because of public health reasons I could not keep my bloody portion of the wood I was working with...that would have been awesome.  

I now have the beginning of an ankle and knee joint for my creature, a work in progress.

26.2: Check

Here is the marathon training schedule I re-wrote in a way that made sense to my brain and was posted on the fridge for the duration of my training:

The schedule was followed for the most part.

Here was my final meal before race day:

There was plenty of snacking going on in between to be sure. A marathon runner always has an appetite!!

 There are many ways to get psyched for race day. Mine, unsurprisingly, was theatrical.

I'd like to thank ALL of the people that helped me get to the finish line (and under 5 hours!)...Thanks to Danny for running miles 14-18 with me. Those were definitely the miles with the fewest people cheering. Thanks to Pop for being at mile 14 and 16. Thanks to Carolyn, Haley, Sarah, Theresa, and Nate for cheering for me at about mile 23. It was 'sorely' needed at that point. My sister, the south side transplant and my nephew Nate (who was born on the south side through no fault of his own) reminded me that I did, indeed, make it to the south side with my own two legs. They were cheering near that ballpark that the White Sox play at...what's that place called again?

 This picture was taken by my sister at mile 23. That's not hapiness; that's delirium.

This poster was given to me at the finish. Thanks, Theres...

Thanks to Jennie and Eric for running around mile 25 with me down Michigan Ave. I had the reflection in a storefront window to confirm that my legs were still attached to my body and they were still moving beneath me. I wasn't sure at that point what my body was doing.

I'd like to thank the stranger along the marathon course whose sign read "Chuck Norris never ran a marathon." If you are unfamiliar with the Chuck Norris facts, see them here.

Chuck Norris is Walker Texas Ranger: 

I'd also like

to

take

some 

space

on the

post to allow you 

to

stop

scrolling 

down

in

case

you

don't

want to

see my

blood 

blisters.

If that is 

the case

then stop

right 

here.

I recently learned that many Marathon runners experience forms of depression on the days following the race. I did feel some strange sadness yesterday but well, I have grad school to get back to now...Thank you Chicago Marathon, and good night.

I'll let my Books do the Talking

I'll be the first to admit that my blog posts have been underwhelming these days...so maybe this will win you back.
I have two of my book works (those strange sculptural book-like art pieces that I do) exhibiting (outside of my house) this coming month.Yes, I still paint, but painting is so provincial these days. Not dead, just provincial. Book Arts is where it's at, my friends! My pieces will be at the Williamsburg Art and Historical Society in Brooklyn, October 12-November 27, 2010. The show is called Tri-Fold: New Perspectives on Book Arts .

If you haven't had the privilege of being over at my place watching me drink wine and show you my books for hours at a time, then you can skip over to Brooklyn and see some of them without my awkward commentary and cheap booze I would be pushing on you. Well, I have no guarantee on what caliber of refreshments the Williamsburg folks have to offer, but I'm guessing it's nicer than my 2-buck-chuck and off-brand cheese. The last time I was in this part of Brooklyn was 2005 and I was eating organic lunches and buying overpriced vintage dresses. But I'm about to class up the joint with my artwork! (Seriously, it is an honor to be showing my work at this great venue with so many fantastic  artists!)
If you are part of most of my readership that is probably going to spend the opening night reception watching Susan Boyle youtube videos (Here's a good one to get you started:
, don't fret. Here is my work that will be on display:

In the Changing Road Map Book, journal writing and found pages from books are embedded in winding and sometimes circular paths. The reader can reconfigure the multiple layers of folds so that the paths link with other paths, creating a new network. These pathways reference rivers, veins, maps, the Internet, literacy, and the changing systems of thinking and communicating information.

The Infinity Book was originally a book about God that was hallowed out and embedded with personal journal writing. A prayer is woven through its center in the shape of the symbol for infinity. Its text can be pulled around and around as an infinite prayer with no beginning and no end.

Of course, if you are in the New York area, I hope you can stop by and see the show and report back to me!

Deep CTA Reflections