7/1/23
Today was the second day of the ICNA Relief summer program, and although I was happy that some of the girls were starting to warm up to me and speak a little more, they were for the most part, still very shy. I’ve taught art classes at a lot of different places and each place has its own challenge: at Bethany House, there’s a language barrier. At senior living homes, the seniors have a very hard time with fine motor skills. I thought that the classes at ICNA would be the easiest—after all, it’s just girls a few years younger than me who’ve grown up in the US. How hard could it be?
Very hard, is the answer to that question, as I was coming to find out. Today, I was determined to get some conversation going and learn a little more about these girls. I asked them what their favorite books are, what TV shows they like, etc. All the questions yielded a bit of talking from them, but conversation died down fast. However, when I finally asked if any of them have painted before, and if so, what they like to paint, two girls sitting at the front turned to me with bright eyes. “I always paint whenever I find supplies!” one of them exclaimed. The other chimed in, “I love painting pretty landscapes! Like the one we’re doing now!” Their excitement was contagious, and soon the other girls were also telling me what they like to paint.
It’s a success! I thought to myself.
7/8/23
Today was another class at ICNA Relief. I prepared a sunset beach scene at the request of one of the girls two weeks back. When I came in with the example painting hidden in my bag, she immediately jumped up from her seat.
“What are we painting today?” I remember her eagerly asking.
I took the painting out and showed it to her. Upon seeing it, she shot me a bright smile.
“That’s what I asked for last time!”
I nodded as she turned back to the other girls, pointing excitedly at the painting and proudly proclaiming that she was the one who wanted to paint this.
It made me really glad that even such a small thing like granting a request for what painting I’d show the class how to do could make the girls so happy. When the class ended, I made sure to get everyone’s requests for next week’s class.
6/24/23
Today was the first class of my summer program at ICNA Relief, a center which helps refugees. I wanted to hold a fun art class weekly for refugee children who mostly lived in areas with poor school districts that often didn’t have enough funding for a strong arts program. I hoped that by holding this program, I’d be able to give them more regular access to art, and thus its amazing uses as an outlet for expression and a source of relaxation. When I met all the girls, they were painfully quiet. I asked everyone to go around and say their names, but most barely spoke above a whisper. As I started the art class, I made sure to say multiple times that the girls should interject with questions or call me over if they need help. Finally, about halfway through the class, a young girl slowly raised her hand, yet her palm still hovered around head level. I noticed it and walked over to her.
“What do you need help with?” I asked. When I turned my head to look at her painting, she was nearly finished and it looked great, especially since this was her first time working with acrylics.
She threw her hands down in frustration. “Mine doesn’t look like yours. I don’t like it.”
I nodded. “I think it looks even better, because it’s full of your own unique touches.” I pointed to the little birds she had added in the sky. “These are so adorable, and they really add something special to your painting. Don’t discredit your work.”
She took a long look at her painting. “I like birds,” she said. “Can we do a sunset beach at some point? I always see birds on the beach.”
5/21/23
Today, I came back to Bethany House after almost three months of not going. We haven’t had such a long gap in between classes since I started them there last July. Finals and AP testing had somehow taken over my life, but I finally found a morning free of commitments, so we set up an art class at the house. Upon arriving at there, I was greeted by ***, a refugee from Honduras who has been at every single art class since the very first one. I stepped through the door, and she hugged me tightly. She doesn’t know much English, but she told me, “I missed you,” with the biggest smile on her face. When I made my way to the kitchen area, I saw it was filled with paintings the ladies had done in my absence. Last time we came, I left them with extra supplies, anticipating a longer break in between classes. I was so happy to see the amazing works they had made while I was gone—the subjects of the paintings ranged from beaches to funky shapes to even depictions of people. As the ladies filed into the room one by one, ready for the art project, their eyes landed on the flower field scene that I prepared for the class. ***** rushed over to me, excitedly pointing between the flower field painting and the flower pots sitting in the window, which the ladies bought and cared for themselves. I smiled to myself—I had really missed coming here.
2/19/23
Today, it snowed more than it has ever since January ended. Despite the snowstorm, my mom and I still made the hour and a half long drive to Bethany House to teach art classes. My mom had initially been hesitant about going because of the weather, but I begged and complained until she finally agreed to take me. I planned the perfect painting for today, too: a snowscape with some evergreen trees. When I arrived at the house, I made my way to the kitchen, where many of the women were wearing hats and gloves. I asked the volunteer who works there why, since the heating was on in the house. She told me that they just really loved wintertime and snow in general, since they never got to experience it back in their home countries. In a way, I think I understand: the snow is a representation of their new life here, both the good and the bad. As I was teaching the class, one of the women exclaimed “Cabin! Snow cabin!” and the others chimed in as well, requesting, “Stars! Snowman!” When ****** shouted “snowman,” everyone started singing “Frosty the Snowman” in loud voices. As I slowly walked the entire class through painting a snowman, they sang the whole time.
1/16/23
After class at Bethany House today, *** stopped me as I was about to leave. She tapped my shoulder and I turned around, waiting for what she was going to say. She pulled out her phone, and while looking at it, started telling me in choppy english, “Painting is… relaxing. I like beaches and the ocean especially because it looks like,” she paused to point to Venezuela on the map that was hanging on the wall. “Home,” she finished. I caught a fleeting glimpse of her phone and saw that she was reading from a script she wrote beforehand. She’s a newer refugee and still learning English, so I figured she must have prepared what she was going to say to me beforehand so she could fully express her thoughts. I was beyond touched that she felt this way about my painting classes, which aren’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but seem to be appreciated by the women at Bethany House so greatly. Hearing that painting scenes like that of the ocean or the beach are more enjoyable for the women because they remind them of home also made me really happy—this was proof that art has the power to heal and be a safe space for those who create it.
1/22/23
Last time, the ladies at Bethany House requested to paint a fish tank. It was a bit harder than the projects I’d been teaching them previously, but I thought it would be a fun challenge. At the house, the ladies work together to care for a large fish tank that sits in the kitchen, so I based the painting project off of that fish tank. I asked them who their favorite fish were, so we could paint those fish, but they all assured me that they loved all the fish equally and couldn’t choose. One of the ladies, ********, told me about a time she found a starfish in the ocean back in her homeland, and I showed her how to paint one into her fish tank scene. She loved it so much that she painted three more starfish afterwards. By guiding the women through painting things that remind them of their homelands, the paintings become a way for them to remember and commemorate their homes that they miss and also a source of comfort in this new place that’s unfamiliar to them.