Final Reflections

How have your come to understand transformative learning, imagination, individuation and authenticity and what meaning does that hold for you in your personal and/or professional life?

I think the greatest thing I learned as a practicing artist, is that the arts can be a vehicle for facilitating a reflection on transformative experiences. While I (somewhat) inherently already knew this, it was extremely valuable to dip my toes in new experiences, outside of my comfort zone. 
During our Zoom session presentation(s), I noticed that many of us decided to go down unfamiliar avenues, work with mediums and tools that we have yet to master. Perhaps, this is what mirrors the transformative experience. The unknown, disorienting us, asking us to rise with it and move forward, and make meaning, and make something new. 

This course has introduced me to scholars and literature that will ultimately (and eventually) seep into my dissertation. I had mentioned in the very beginning of the course that my research deals with artist residencies within communities and how, if at all, a reciprocity of transformation occurs between the artist, working in their new, unknown, yet temporary space, and community, receiving and interacting with an artist from another place. What does this exchange mean? What can be learned? This course has pointed me towards a field I didn't know existed. 

It was also extremely eye opening to see different visual arts research methods being practiced within several of the readings and my choice book. Working the Margins of Community-Based Adult Learning: The Power of Arts-Making in Finding Voice and Creating Conditions for Seeing/Listening (International Issues in Adult Education. As a professional, both artist and scholar, I'd like to continue to challenge and ask myself to dive into the unknown and unfamiliar. Albeit, materials or research methods. 


I must admit, I've suffered from 'imposter syndrome' since my arrival to TC in 2015; often feeling like I'm in a world where I don't belong, doubting my own authenticity, intelligence, and agency. The dialogue that took place this semester within this course has given me a bit of room to breathe and trust the process, and try new processes along the way. Each and everyone of you in this course is amazing, unique, and so strong. This is why relationships is such a crucial theme in the transformative process--we get by with a little help from our friends. 

Transformative Learning Final Project

Metaphors allow us to connect the inner and outer, to make the implicit explicit, so that we can better understand, more deeply experience, and more eloquently express who we are and what we do.”(Campbell, 2009 p. 211).

This semester, I began my transformative learning final project hitting the ground running. I chose to focus my practice as a painter and writer in a way that revisits my sense of self and transformation through critical self-reflection and individuation. I started to think about moments of struggle, confusion, stress, and transformation in my life and how I can further dive into the transformative processes, guided by the readings throughout the semester. Ultimately, I sought authenticity within this journey, as Dirkx suggested,I began to “take note of our reaction to particular metaphors, symbols or images- what our attention is drawn to – and our emotional reaction to these images” (Dirkx, 2006 p. 35). 

In “Learning to think like an adult” Mezirow provides us an overview of transformative learning theory as a way of making meaning of our assumptions and experiences “to make them more inclusive, discriminating, open, emotionally capable of change, and reflective so that they may generate beliefs and opinions that will provide more true or justified to guide action”. (p. 76). Mezirow believes critical reflection and constructive discourse are essential to this process. Transformation can be “epochal” as a result of a sudden event or “disorienting dilemma” or “incremental” as a result of a series of events over time. (From Module 1). 

Life consists of many waves, the ebb and flow of circumstance---destiny, crashing onto rocks or rolling it's sea-foam safely to shore. Water began to appear in a variety of ways, in dreams, meditations, and synchronicities. Rather than not reflecting or pushing away daily symbols, I dove into the water as a way of understanding my psyche. This led me to do further research on water, relying on my handy-dandy Book of Symbols: 

We are droplets in the vast liquidity of the sea, and just as the ocean can swallow whole our titanic ships and jumbo jets, so out little vessels of human consciousness are liable to engulfment by the deepest waters of psyche. It's vital energies can loom like mythical sea monsters: sucking us up, spitting us out, dismembering. The churning of its abyss can activate archetypal epicenters of potentially shattering force. (The Book of Symbols, p.36)

Eventually, I arrived at a specific memory. 

I remembered going to the beach as a little girl and making 'tamales' with sand and sticks. I believe this memory revealed itself to me as a way of providing me with a story to re-experience as an artist---I decided to paint about this memory and and reflect on how I felt getting lost within materials, the same way I was lost as a little girl in sand, and seashells, and sticks. I eventually incorporated actual sand and masa (used to make tamales) within the paintings. 

Attempting to incorporate more methods of processing critical self-reflection and individuation in a more concrete way, I began to write. The poem I wrote became a recantation of the memory but dove deeper into my struggle with identity. I always understood the ritual of tamale making to be continued on by the mother's side of the family. Because my mother's cultural background is European––and my father's side Mexican––I never was able to participate in this tradition. 

Masa

Que masa, que mas

jealous of the little chicana girls who make tamales with their abuelitas y tias

hermanas

their christmastime assembly line
their ring of aromas and laughter and song

my doughy fingers and toes grasping at sand on the beach
digging and kneading wet corn flour and stuffing my tamal with seashells and sticks

I do not know where I belong

and the waves, they crash into my little body and drag me beneath the surface of my deepest desires

in darkness,

and in darkness my breath sparkles to sky
and in darkness I am not asked where I am from

and in darkness, my mother and father reach out with wide open arms and


pull me back to shore. 

This process revealed to me that the arts can present multiple ways of unpacking those critical moments that help shape who we are. I think being trained as an artist gave me more confidence to enter these transformative atmospheres and pull from these reflections new ways of being, thinking, and doing. Inspired by this process, I convinced my co-collaborator to team up with me to host a weaving workshop as a closing celebration to our exhibition in Macy Gallery. See description Below: 

Join artists Arredondo and Onyewuchi for a dialogue about identity, process, and artistic exploration. Discussing their journey to Rehearsal Lines for 1000 Suns, the artists will lead a two-part mixed media and basket weaving workshop.

Drawing upon memories, music, and meditations, using a variety of mediums, participants will develop designs onto pliable materials, that will then be used for weaving together traditional Igbo baskets. All materials are provided, but participants are encouraged to bring objects and/or materials they would like to explore.

Processing

Relationship with Reading in Transformative Learning

Hello World, 

Life has been rather interesting lately, a struggle. I think right now I'm experiencing a fork in the road for many paths in my life. The question is what to act on. I've been journaling ALOT during this process: thinking about my past, examining the present, and preparing for the future. A few elements have stood out to me and have also percolated to the surface within A Novel Idea. 

Relationships

I think this is something we have learned from our exploration of the lives of our participants. It is helpful to seek out others for support, but it seems that it most often happens naturally when we let people into our lives. I also don’t think that relationships with others are necessary for transformative learning to occur—it depends on the individual (p.38). 

I am hesitant to say that critical self-reflection can occur without our being aware of it. I think, by definition, critical self-reflection is a cognitive activity (hence the many critiques of Mezirow’s work for being cognitive and rational). Becoming conscious through dreams, meditation, artwork, or physical activity occurs, for sure, but can we call it reflection? I don’t especially like the dualism created between reflection and intuition, and I see both of these processes as existing side by side rather than being either-or concepts. But this doesn’t mean they are synonymous, but rather complementary. I hope I am making sense here! (p.83).

For some reason, I have always thought of transformative learning being an individual journey, which yes, it is, but the relationships you foster with others can help/and/or/hinder this journey. 

When I initially began to reflect back on my life thus far, I always saw transformation coming from negative relationships I observed or experienced.

Growing up, my parents' relationship was quite abusive and traumatic, I ended up perpetuating this toxicity by inadvertently falling into abusive relationships myself. I could never figure out why this happened, because I knew it was not what I had strived for, but perhaps I stayed in these types of relationships for so long, because I was conditioned into thinking it was normal from such an early age.

I also grew up in an extremely low income household, and was motivated by my parents (who both have not graduated high school) to excel academically in order to create more opportunities for myself with a goal of becoming self sustaining. My teachers noticed this drive and encouraged me along the way, giving me the confidence to achieve my goal and attend college, fully funded.  

When I had moved out of state for school, at a small, wealthy liberal arts college, I felt completely isolated and unable to relate to my peers who came from more stable economic backgrounds. By fate, I was placed in a first year writing seminar with a Professor who had also too come from a complicated, and poor environment. During my four years at University, he became my mentor and encouraged me along the way when I experienced self doubt and 'imposter syndrome' at a school where I could not confide in or relate to my peers. 

As I began to cultivate my skills as an artist, and find my own artistic voice as a writer and painter, my work inherently began to reflect deep seeded thoughts and beliefs related to myself and identity.

When I think more about this, I agree that there is this relationship between reflection and intuition. They aren't entirely synonymous. Something that I have kept up with this semester is collaging as a form of meditation. In a way, it feels like reading auras--something a bit hokey, yet something a bit true--I've noticed that when I initially rip and paste images together, I do this from an aesthetic, visual perspective. After the fact, when I actually look at the images, they seem to reveal something more. Perhaps this is line we toe between reflection and intuition. 

On Beauty

On Beauty

I am a fast speaking woman, I am a forked tongue
Woman,
I am a woman with words, a woman of curves
a curse.

I’m a woman that cares too much,
A woman that don’t give a damn, I am
a hell fire woman, I’ll spit in
your face
I’ll lick your wounds, I am
an animal,
I’m a nail biting woman, I am

spell bounding, too.

Look into my eyes and
you’ll see nothing

but Truth,
I am a woman of my word
the words, and the world
Did I mention?

I am a fast speaking woman,

Too quick
and I’m gone
outta here,
I am a woman that leaves
no breadcrumbs.
I am my own legacy, I speak

a history of cavities
I speak

with my swollen tongue,
my bitten lips
I’m thirsty,
and I bring my own water.
I drink,
from a pool of electricity.
Did I mention
I am a fast speaking woman?
I have no reins behind me
cool, like ocean water
and warm like
sand
tossed for 1000 years.
I am a woman of no bones
so you can’t break my back,
but still headstrong, I am
a woman
of

determination, I run circles around my own soul.
I am
the woman that
raised
me
Momma, we are fast speaking women
and you can’t
tell us
what to do.
I am an avalanche
a thin sliver of melting ice

I am the snow that falls at midnight,
the quiet
in the room
the drone, buzzing beneath
your eyelids
scraping away,
scratching to get out.
I am the fast speaking woman
you tried
so damn hard
to hide but you couldn’t
the sunrise woman,
I am the woman of new
beginnings,
the woman of turned pages,
and I’ll burn those pages, too
I am the woman of abandon,
the woman of all
embrace,
I am her

and she is I

Two stones,
at the bottom of the lake,
I am
the lady in the lake,
the woman in the water
you tried
to drown
I’ll haunt you with my siren songs, whisper

sweet nothings
about
God and the Devil raging inside,
I am the blue machinery of night,
the first moon’s harvest,
the last autumn burial,

“A boy from this small town has died,
and tonight the town awaits tomorrow
when they will lay beneath the blade
of the backhoe youth curled like a seed

in jaws of frost.”
I am the woman that greets the boy,
holding him with soft light
he is safe with me.
I am the protector woman, I am
the warrior woman, I’ll fight

till my honorable death
but I don’t die for honor anyway.

I am a woman that dreams
within your dreams
I almost forgot, I am

a fast speaking woman,

but how can you forget
your soul

knowing you can’t

depart it.
I am a memory woman,
I am an educated woman
earning knowledge, like kneading bread

I am a baked woman
I rise
I rise
I rise.
I am a fast speaking woman,
watch my words
slither
in the air
like smoke
I am the storyteller woman
I am oral antiquity, old like tree rings,
skin like wood grain,

I am the wise
Woman,
You need to keep running,
don’t stop digging,
you’ll get there,
the center of the earth isn’t hard to find,
just listen to the sound of it turning.

The Power of....

An exercise in empathy

Hello World, 

This week I've been thinking a lot about the readings and life in general. I think I'm at a crossroads right now? Where do I begin? 


I turned 27 on March 4th. Days leading up to my birthday, my brother-in-law, Derek, passed away from cancer. My oldest sister, who is almost 40, had her world turned upside down. She met Derek when she was 20 years old and essentially devoted much of her life to being happy with him and working odd jobs here and there. When he was diagnosed with cancer 10 years ago, she spent her time and money on making life easier for Derek while neglecting her own health issues. She is left with debt, years of neglected doctors visits, and is fight the pettiest battle with Derek's family on what he's left behind, all while having to move out of the house they shared together--a house that will go to his mother. She recently started a position as a tech. for a dialysis clinic in San Antonio--which is great on her, but she's moving back in with my parents and is hoping to hit a slight restart button on her life. 

This experience, and the unfolding daily drama, has had me thinking about my own values and life goals. As I approach almost six figures in student loan debt, I ask myself, is it worth it? I am the first generation in my family to go to college, and yes, that is a big deal, but if I will remain indebted to a oppressive system for the rest of my life, what value does that hold? 

When I first began my venture at TC in the fall of 2015, bright eyed and bushy tailed--I had aspirations to eventually become a professor. After hard times in New York city, and a lot of harassment and exploitation, I have reconsidered this goal. While I believe in student-centered education, and consider the arts a profound and illuminating process in learning, meaning-making, and transformation--is that enough to keep me going? I do not want to live hand to mouth. 

Recently I came across a part-time position at the Joan Mitchell Foundation as a Residency Programs Assistant. 15 hours a week or so, $20 an hour. It felt like I had a good shot. I was an early applicant. I have awards, job experience, honors, qualifications, but I didn't even get an interview. I even reached out to the director to follow up and was disappointed to hear that the search for the position was rather far along. 

I've been feeling so lost, alone, inferior, and hopeless here. Seeing my entire family struggle so severely for so many years has been painful and I do not want to perpetuate the pain the permeates my family. 

As part of my position here as studio Fellow at TC, I TA classes and host open studio hours where I can assist and guide students through their artistic endeavors. Friday, was a long day, no one showed up until the end--so I decided to paint for a while, feeling uninspired as I pushed paint around. I decided to try and attempt to paint figuratively for the first time in many years. Students often ask how to paint clouds, so I gave it a shot. It was difficult, but I pulled through after an hour and was proud of myself. 

Last semester for a class I had the opportunity to interview the director of MFA programs at City College of New York. One advice that he gave and mentioned that it was important for instructors to complete every assignment they give out. If you can't do it yourself, what is the point in assigning it? This personal exercise ended the week on a lighter note, I suppose. 

But still. 

I have to submit a draft of my dissertation proposal by Wednesday. And I just don't know what to do anymore. You can be extremely passionate about something, but if it does not support your independence what do you do?