Shift Happens: Advice from An Artist-Educator Friend

In the Garden, by Joanne Vena
After my last post on my own shift of work from being in an art museum to archaeology research organization and museum, I had a conversation with a friend of mine, Joanne Vena, about the experience of changing work environment and its impacts to our own introspection. I met Joanne through the Center for Community Arts Partnership at Columbia College Chicago when she was their Director of School Partnerships. After 12 years of service, Joanne left the position. As a printmaker and sculptor, Joanne always inspires me by her strong artistic sensibility and tireless passion for art in community. Facing a sudden shift from being a full-time cultural administrator to unemployed artist, I invited Joanne to share her reflection on this unexpected journey. From breaking from the daily routine to embracing uncertainty and seeking opportunities, this post is a celebration of how we as women's bravery against adversity.

From my guest blogger – Joanne Vena:

"Since 1984, I have had an ongoing love affair with arts education, in all of its forms in schools and communities. When abrupt shifted from my daily routine of an arts education administrator to an unemployed artist, it made me think about who I was at this moment - a committed educator, an evolving artist and a program administrator.  More importantly, moving forward, how was I going to "identify" in our current world of schools with their multiple layers of test prep that limit space and time for unscripted learning in the arts?  Could I possibly make the case in this environment of strategic data sets that a creative integrated arts learning environment could greatly help a school do a "turnaround" in grades, test scores and behavior?

Human Nature, by Joanne Vena
"So I stopped thinking of being "laid off" and started thinking of this unanticipated time as a "creative sabbatical", real time to reflect and re-engage in arts education in actions - doing, creating and thinking. I believe that the artists who commit to working in schools are some of the most gifted teachers I will ever meet, using their own personal artistic innovation to create change every time they are in a classroom.  Since 2013, I have joined my teaching artist friends out in the field again, in the role of artist/educator and program consultant. My recent experiences, like the many years of my prior careers, continue to calibrate my inner compass to recognize/celebrate the successes and continue to problem solve the challenges of being a teaching artist in a public school classroom in Chicago.

"In the studio, my personal artwork continues to explore the concepts of access and equity for women who live in highly restrictive environments and use their writings as a way to empower them, even if their work cannot be publicly distributed.  The collection of images and text are constructed, deconstructed and then reconstructed, with the final outcome uncertain until I decide when the art can be left alone to speak for itself. In similar ways to my work life, I am making art in the studio that is all about the journey, with the final destination becoming clearer every day."

Sabbatical. Re-engagement. Creating. Empowerment. From Joanne's reflection, I found that each person has his/her own seasons to work, pause, and explore. Joanne's "creative sabbatical" gives me a new lens to look when life is being intervened with unpredictable circumstances. Art, rather than a purely therapeutic tool, it offers a space for self-empowerment and opens up a new journey. In Joanne's words, "Enjoy the journey. The destination will take care of itself."

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About the Guest Blogger:

Joanne Vena is a printmaker and sculptor in Chicago. Currently Joanne is spending her afternoons supporting Elevarte Community Studio's in-school programs, while creating new professional development workshop experiences for teaching artists and teachers upon invitation and spending time working in her studio.  She looks forward to working with the Smart Museum of Art in the coming months.

In Conversation with Lalla Essaydi

Les Femmes du Maroc: Grande Odalisque 2
Q: You were born in Morocco but you are living in the US. How much and in which ways do these opposite cultures mark your works? 
A: As an artist now living in the West, I have become aware of another space, besides the house of my girlhood, an interior space, one of "converging territories." I will always carry that house within me, but my current life has added other dimensions. There is the very different space I inhabit in the West, a space of independence and mobility. It is from there that I can return to the landscape of my childhood in Morocco, and consider these spaces with detachment and new understanding. When I look at these spaces now, I see the two cultures that have shaped me and which are distorted when looked at through the "Orientalist" lens of the West.

Q: “The Orient has helped to define the Europe (or the West)” argued E. Said in his seminal work Orientalism[1], What do you think of this quote in regard to your life?
A: As a Moroccan-born artist who lives in New York and Marrakesh as well as traveling frequently in the Arab world, I have become deeply aware of how the cultures of the so-called Orient and Occident view one another. I have become increasingly aware, in particular, of the impact of Western gaze on Arab culture. Edward Said famously described the dominant Western take on Arab culture in his (ground-breaking) book, Orientalism. Although Orientalism most often suggests a 19th-century European vision of the East, as a set of assumptions it lives on today: both in the regard of the West and in the way Arab societies continue to internalize and respond to that regard. Because in its early form Orientalism was a literal “vision,” finding expression in the work of Western painters who traveled to the “exotic” East in search of cultures more colorful than their own, I have used it as a point of departure in much of my own work—painting and photography both. The imagery I found in Orientalist painting has resonated with me in tricky ways and ultimately helped me situate my own experience in a powerful visual language. I thought this complex of ideas we call Orientalism, as reflected in my work and the Western painting that inspired it, might serve to ground my remarks.

Q: It is evident that some of your works are a clear allegory to Orientalism, a feminine reinterpretation and a modern point of view – if only for the medium used – of masterpieces such as Ingres (The big odalisque) and Gerome (The guard of the Harem). Are you trying to reconstruct (and/or change) the past through contemporary image? 
A: Orientalism, as I mentioned at the outset of this inverview, has long been a source of fascination for me. My background in art is in painting, and it is as a painter that I began my investigation into Orientalism. My study led me to a much deeper understanding of the painting space so beautifully addressed by Orientalist painters in thrall to Arab décor. For its terrific prominence in these paintings, this décor made me keenly aware of the importance of interior space in Arab/Islamic culture. And finally of course, I became aware of the patterns of cultural domination and predatory sexual fantasy encoded in Orientalist painting.

Orientalism provide a kind of foil for my own work, which sets out to invoke, interrogate, and complicate the Orientalist tradition. In so doing, I hope to make possible, within the projected space of Orientalist painting, a new space, an openness to a new kind of understanding.
Harem #4b
Q: How did – and how does – in your opinion, Orientalism affect Western perception of Islam and the Arab Culture?
A: Interestingly, it is not only the West that has been prevented from seeing Arab culture accurately. How people in the Arab world see themselves has also been affected by the distorting lens of Orientalism. There’s some evidence that the Orientalist perspective has had an impact on the actual lives of men and women, and especially that the rules for Arab women became much stricter as a result of Western influence. When the West portrays Eastern women as sexual victims and Eastern men as depraved, the effect is to emasculate Eastern men, and to challenge the traditional values of honor and family. So Arab men feel the need to t be even more protective of Arab women, preventing them from becoming targets of fantasy by veiling them. The veil protects them from the gaze of Orientalism. While we’ll probably never know whether the return to the veil and the rules that accompany it is a response to Western influence or merely coincidental, it’s hard to believe there’s no relationship.

But by invoking the Orientalist tradition in a way that makes the viewer aware of its inherent assumptions, I hope not to provoke some kind of “blame game” but rather to liberate viewers – Arab and Western alike – from the grip of these assumptions. Furthermore, I am not a sociologist, I am an artist, working from a particular vantage point, and as such hope to give full expression to a uniqueness that I hope will resonate with the uniqueness of each viewer.

Clio Talks Back: Finding Fran

Once upon a time (in the 1950s) there were two friends in Los Angeles, California, named Lois and Fran. Both super-achievers, they were inseparable in high school, but once graduated, they attended different universities (both in California), and eventually lost touch with one another. Lois discovered feminism and became a pioneer in the new field of women’s history. She is now a history professor at the University of Southern California.

The artistic and intense Fran took a more spiritual route. With her first husband, Hans, she ultimately sought refuge in a commune called Lama in the Sangre de Cristo mountains of New Mexico. Seeking spiritual peace, she left her husband, and built a new union with the founder of the Lama community (Stephen, later Nuridin). Ultimately she converted to Islam, took the name Noura, embracing a new life as a Muslim woman, wife, and mother. Fran covered herself and embarked on an adventurous but simpler lifestyle, living (after New Mexico) in Chamonix, then Mecca, and ultimately settling in Alexandria, Egypt.

How could these two young women have followed such different paths. This was the question that led Lois to decide to find Fran (Noura), and, ultimately, to write a book about their converging - and diverging - lives and ideas about religion and life. Lois’s book, Finding Fran: History and Memory in the Lives of Two Women, appeared in 1999.

In later life Lois had located Fran. The two met several times, in New Mexico and again in Egypt. Fran explained to Lois that her mother had conditioned her for domesticity, but she discovered that she needed to live her own life, to make her own choices – to escape that overpowering, albeit benevolent maternal presence. “I lived my mother’s life until I was thirty; then I wanted to live my own life,” she explained (p. 95).

Noura’s quest was fundamentally spiritual, a search for “inner freedom,” for what Lois termed “liberation thorugh surrender.” She quotes Noura as saying: “What may appear from outside Islam as a set of strictures, even a trap, a series of limitations, appears from inside to be an infinite expanding geometry, a crystalline structure of great beauty which not only insures safety and orders chaos, but allows the soul freedom to soar” (p. 193).

Noura learned to chant “La illaha illa Llah” (There is no God but God), which, in her words, “is the basis of Islam”. . . “You must acknowledge this and say, I surrender. That is what separates a Muslim from a non-Muslim, because Islam means surrender” (p. 197) She converted to Islam in 1975 in Jerusalem, the city in which the three great world - Judalism, Christianity, and Islam - converge. She was deeply moved by the traditional culture of the Muslim Palestinians, among whom she lived. And she embraced the Sufi approach to Islam.

Living in Makkah (Mecca) in Saudi Arabia for several years in the late 1970s, Noura was similarly impressed with the community of women, who came from all over the world on the ritual pilgrimage. She and her now-husband decided to establish an Islamic study center in New Mexico. This initiative never developed in the manner they had hoped. Settling in Alexandria, Egypt, where Sufism was more accepted than in Saudi Arabia, Noura and her family at last ceased their journeys.

Noura (Fran) and Lois held long conversations during their meetings in the 1990s. They debated and disagreed about women’s (and men’s) covering themselves completely, as a means of de-emphasizing sexuality. But they found common ground when evaluating the scope of women’s liberty in a society based on strict sexual segregation and parallel spheres. For example, in Islamic societies, married women could own property and establish businesses, a privilege for which wives in Western societies long campaigned before achieving it. Both Noura and Lois agreed on “equal education for women, equal access to the professions, and equal pay for equal work” (p. 213).

Noura pointed out to Lois that under Islam, “married women have the right to their own income; they can start a business with it; they can put it into the bank or buy jewelry with it; they can do anything they want with it. Women are guaranteed the right to inherit under Qur’anic law, and if the portion decreed for sons is larger than that for daughters, it’s because sons are required to care for the unmarried women of their families, and daughters aren’t required to support themselves. Under Islam, married women keep their maiden names; children alone take fathers’ names” (p. 214).

Women under Islam enjoy great authority, Noura asserted. “The power of the ‘mother’ dominates the home. Muslim children are taught to honor their mother first of all. Muslims will give their paychecks to their parents and forego marriage in order to support them; they will do anything for their mothers. When you marry, you serve your mother-in-law; as you age and your children grow up and marry, you are the one who is served. Even urban professional women regard their famiies as the center of their lives. They live with husbands or families; single men and women living alone are considered anomalous, even dangerous” (p. 214). Noura’s observations on the power of mothers are especially poignant, coming from a woman who sought to escape the powerful influence of her own mother.

As the conversations of Noura and Lois continued, they discussed many more aspects of Islam and the differences between Western cultures and Muslim cultures. “By Qur’anic prescription,” Noura pointed out, women and men are equal before Allah; no mythology exists about Eve bringing evil into the world. In contrast to Christian dogma, sexual pleasure is considered integral to marriage. In Arabic the word Allah has neither a masculine nor a feminine connotation” (p. 214).

Clio invites you to read Finding Fran. The parallel yet dissimilar lives of Lois and Fran, and their evaluations are relevant today for understanding the commonalities – and differences – of great religious traditions, and how these can inform ways of living and individual spiritual journeys.

Source: Lois W. Banner, Finding Fran: History and Memory in the Lives of Two Women (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999). All quotations from the hardcover edition. A paperback edition and Kindle edition are available through Amazon books.

Haleh Anvari: Beyond the Cliche

Image from Chador-nama

The black chador has irrevocably become what Iranian photographer and writer, Haleh Anvari describes as Iran's visual shorthand, its unregistered trademark. Haleh's quest to deconstruct and liberate the chador from reductionist stereotype occurred as a byproduct of her relationship with the foreign press reporting in Iran and that of the chador itself. Her determination to re-present the chador has resulted in the photographic projects, Chador-nama, Chador-dadar, and Peace Chador, and the performance-work, Power of Cliche.

Having studied politics and philosophy at university in UK, Haleh returned to Iran and worked as a local translator/producer for foreign journalists covering Iran. “I was a product of two cultures and it subsequently gave me license to see both sides of the coin, so to speak,” she remarks. One thing that she consistently observed while working with foreign press was that the black chador had become synonymous with Iran; regardless of the issue being reported on hand, it was the sole image being transmitted of Iran. "I was unhappy that they would see my country exclusively through that lens and I was always trying to make them see Iran differently," she says. 

"After six years of working as a 'sidekick', I started writing for myself but the Iranian authorities were not happy and subsequently, banned and threatened me," she reminsces. "I got stuck in the house with lot of bitter and depressive thoughts...and it was around that time that I received a digital camera as a birthday present."

A definitive encounter with the chador also deeply impacted her. "I was driving down a street when I saw a woman in a chador rush to me, there was so much swagger in her walk - and it made me angry! It made me think at that point how the Iranian system had somehow made me feel separate from them the way I was dressed," she says. Coming from a chadori family, Anvari mentions that as a child, she perceived it an aspirational garment, describing it as "cuddly and a safe harbor." So where did the alienation and disconnection to the chador spring up from? "Wearing the chador was no more about a personal choice of modesty; it had become a political statement instead," she says.
Image from Chador-nama
Image from Chador-dadar
Her engagement with the chador then occurred on a more emotional level, including and highlighting all that had been omitted from the chador's current avatar: color, light and movement in Chador-nama, significantly situating the chadors in the Iranian country-side. The chador then saw itself on a global journey in Chador-dadar. “If the chador had become an Irani icon, I thought of taking it to other global icons and photographing it in their midst,” she says; the project became a live installation and her journey took her to Jaipur and Agra in India, Istanbul, and Dubai [Dubai's landmark Burj al Khalifa in the background above]. “I learnt so much about the environment that I was photographing in," she mentions, elaborating that while onlookers engaged with the chador at Amber fort, Jaipur, for instance, she had had to model the chador herself in Turkey, where the chosen model declined to do due to her secular beliefs.

Mobilizing for Maternal Health: Delivering on a Global Promise to Moms Everywhere

"It's a good thing you're not having this baby in North Dakota!" my silver-tongued obstetrician declared jauntily.  "This baby" turned out to be a tiny spark of a girl, born 11 weeks early and weighing 1 1/2 pounds, considerably less than she should have in the 29th week of pregnancy.  "My little chickie," the neonatal intensive care nurse, who held my daughter long before I did, would croon. When Jan began work as a NICU nurse decades earlier, there were no needles or tubes small enough to fit the little birds who'd fallen so soon from the nest. I had landed in a lucky spot on the space-time continuum: in 2002, I lived a few miles from a Connecticut teaching hospital with a high-level, high-volume NICU. Apparently, in other parts of the 21st century United States, hospitals still did not always
With my daughter in the NICU 
have the appropriate equipment or the experienced staff to give pregnancies and babies like mine the best chances of a "positive outcome."

"It's a good thing we didn't have either of our babies in Guatemala!" I mused to my husband.  There was no hint of jauntiness to his reply, as he knew that I almost certainly would not have made it out of my first pregnancy alive. A little over a year prior to the premature emergency delivery of my son, we had lived in the central highlands of Guatemala. I was doing anthropological fieldwork on community health promoter training in rural Maya communities. I was particularly interested in women's involvement in health activism, including the work of traditional Maya midwives and healers.

Maya midwives inspired me with their deep cultural knowledge of pregnancy and birthing, their nurturing relationships with women and families, and their tireless work under extremely difficult circumstances. They also shared stories of fear, mostly of ethnic discrimination, violence, and poverty but sometimes of the challenges of helping mothers and infants through the risky endeavor of reproduction. I think of their warm, wise faces and know that I would have been one of their professional nightmares. Honestly, my high-risk obstetrics specialists probably felt the same way.
Maya midwife

In both of my pregnancies, I developed one of the most common and least understood of pregnancy complications known as pre-eclampsia. In addition to posing serious risks to the mother's health, pre-eclampsia can cause growth restriction and other problems in the developing infant, including the need for a premature delivery. Difficult to detect, it can develop -- often quite rapidly -- into the seizures and coma of eclampsia, one of the leading causes of maternal death. According to the Preeclampsia Foundation, the condition causes an estimated 13% of maternal deaths and up to 20% of preterm births worldwide. It remains one of the reasons why every year nearly 300,000 women across the globe die and many more are disabled from pregnancy and birth-related causes.

That statistic is an improvement. The United Nations focused global attention on maternal death in 2000 when it established the 5th Millennium Development Goal (MDG 5), calling on nations to reduce the maternal mortality ratio by three quarters between 1990 and 2015. Increased global activism and investments have contributed to a 47% decline in maternal deaths in this period, but progress has been slow and inequities persist. The vast majority of maternal deaths, which are largely preventable, occur in developing regions as a result of unequal access to healthcare and other resources.   
http://www.un.org/millenniumgoals/maternal.shtml

At the end of this month in which we honor mothers, Women Deliver, a global advocacy group dedicating to improving the health of women and girls, will convene its third international conference. Thousands of representatives from government, NGOs, healthcare, academia, community groups, and other spheres will gather in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia to brainstorm about how to continue to mobilize the international community to improve maternal health and the overall well-being of girls and women. As Women Deliver's President Jill Sheffield stated in a recent Huffington Post blog with Jennifer James that is part of the Global Mom Relay, "We have the solutions....We just need to scale them."

Musicians, writers, filmmakers, and other artists have joined this global movement to improve maternal health. For example, filmmaker Lisa Russell and singer Maya Azucena developed an innovative platform uniting artists and activists in their work to achieve MDG 5. Their interactive website, MDGFive.com, includes content by singers, poets, photographers and artists that can be remixed to create videos that raise awareness about maternal health and women's rights. As Russell and Azucena state, "we believe in the power of imagery, sound and the spoken word to inspire cultural exchange, unite international communities, and to promote social progress worldwide."

Like the dedicated Maya midwives and health promoters I came to know, these creative artists and activists inspire me to join in their efforts to understand, prevent, and solve maternal health challenges.  The pain within my own journey of pregnancy and birthing has no doubt lefts its scars, but by virtue of my privileged location within our global geography, history, and economy I was gifted with a tremendously positive outcome for my own life and that of my children. While I sometimes may forget amidst the busyness of raising my now 10-year-old daughter and 16-year-old son, my own aging face in the mirror and their vibrant, growing faces are my call to action: to increase the opportunities for health for all mothers, infants, fathers, and families, no matter whether they live in the inner cities of Connecticut or the highlands of Guatemala, in rural North Dakota or rural Nigeria, or in any other spot on our remarkable globe.

To learn more about the signs and consequences of pre-eclampsia, see the Preeclampsia Foundation.

The Women Deliver website has further information about the 2013 conference and other projects such as Catapult, a crowdfunding platform for advancing gender equality.

Information and resources related to MDG 5 are available at: United Nations Millennium Development Goal 5 and MDGFive.com 

From Art to Archaeology

Funerary statuettes from the tomb of Nykauinpu from Giza (ca. 2477 B.C.). Oriental Institute Museum.

Learning is lifelong, and the learning of archaeology for me as a person who comes from the arts is a monumental step not only in my career, but also the way I connect with my own cultural roots and greater human history. The past six months since I began my new role at the Oriental Institute at the University of Chicago as a museum educator has been an astonishing journey in exploring the ancient world and human’s unending creativity throughout history.

In recalling my first encounter of archaeology, it happened during my family trip to Xi’An in my high school years. I remember the visit to the Terra-Cotta Warrior Burial, a massive tomb with more than 8,000 life-size clay figures of armies and chariots that the first emperor of Chines built so lavishly for protection in his afterlife. It was a mind-blowing experience. There I learned that a discovery of fragments of a clay figure was made by a group of peasants in the 1970s as they were digging a well which led to one of the greatest archaeological discoveries of modern world history. The Museum of the Terracotta Army, a four-acre underground pit, has been opened around the discovery site since 1979 to the public.

The magnitude of the collection of the 2,000 year-ago artifacts in this Burial still stun me today even so many years after the trip. Each one was crafted with distinguished stylistic postural expression and unique features on its armors. Archaeology and the history unearthed through the artifacts open up a door for us to learn about the stories and myths of ancient life.

I have come to a place where I circled back to archaeology after a voyage in teaching. Six months into my new role at the Oriental Institute, I have the privilege to get much closer to the study of the ancient world. The Oriental Institute is an interdisciplinary research center and the museum exists to promote understanding of the development and functioning of the ancient civilizations of the Near East by conducting archaeological excavations, systematic stewardship of museum collections of artifacts, philological studies, historical research, and the development of dictionaries of ancient languages in the Near East.

Tracing the origins of objects excavated, discovering stories about life in the past, and making connections between then and now in the field of archaeology as well as having the opportunity of being in a place like the Oriental Institute grants me a completely new lens of looking at and deciphering ancient cultures. I have come to see the profound relationships between the artifacts and their contexts in forming our knowledge about the past are interwoven – across times, people, things they make, and the environments in which they live.