Who Is My Neighbor, Project Intro

More a transfer of ideas from my sketchbook and less an essay, this entry outlines the bones of my current project Who Is My Neighbor. As the project unfolds, I'll use Daybook entries to gather and share language for the feelings, experiences, and thoughts that emerge as I organize and put flesh on these bones.For the defense of my thesis exhibition, Stories I’m Telling Myself, I named what I found myself holding as I emerged from the muddy baptism that is grad school. The list included: joy in making and process, devotion to Story, and robust conceptual thinking.A final slide reads:

Interaction with others is crucial to making my most exciting art. Collaboration and teamwork are vital. I’m an introvert who needs and values a community, people who walk with me, work with me, and hold space for me as my artistic voice evolves.”

The muddy baptism list and my love of collaboration animate the project, Who Is My Neighbor (WIMN).

Project Origin

Who is my neighbor? While I’m familiar with the literary origins of this question—biblical story, Good Samaritan—the focus for this project is much more pedestrian. Literally.You see, I walk. A lot. Three to five miles almost every day. This September, an extreme bout of sciatica and several aftershocks transformed my quick, long strides into short, halting steps. Some days I could barely walk at all. When I could manage more than a turn around our garden, I ventured slowly up one side of the block and down the other.Good folk came out of their houses to hale me and ask, Are you alright? What happened? Sciatica, I replied. Oh—came the reply said with compassion and understanding. I thought it was a stroke—said another, clearly relieved that it was not.The curiosity and kindness washed over me. I’d been seen and my plight noted. Catching glimpses of my neighbors in this light, I became more curious about them. We've lived here for 12 years and for the last three I've been happily consumed by grad school. Degree done and Covid reshaping reality, the time felt ripe; I'm at home more now, my neighbors are home more too. Where could curiosity and kindness take us?Upon graduation I was asked, What’s next? More stories, of course. But instead of the stories I’m telling myself, I’m interested in the stories others have to tell. The others I want to listen to are my neighbors, the people at home on my street.

Sixteen Houses

Once upon a time, the inhabitants of the sixteen houses on this street could come and go from either end of the block. The north/north-east end of Miguel Street opens onto a main road. The neat sidewalks that parallel the street curve and meet at the south/south-west end. The concrete funnel used to feed directly onto the playfield that belongs to Washington elementary school.A protective fence and chained gate now bar access to this once preferred path toward learning for the children on this street. Current scholars must walk the long way around instead of taking the shortcut used by the children who lived here when the neighborhood was built in the 1950’s. Today, ivy twines through the fence. The curving sidewalk buckles over a storm drain and tree roots in front of the locked gate.A sense of calm pervades our short block. Before Covid, our quiet street was perfect for games of touch football and H-O-R-S-E beneath a movable basketball hoop. In the time-of-Covid, we still wave to one another as we wheel trash cans to the curb, or pull out of driveways.

A Modest Rebellion

In October, I made a rough map of the street on the first page of a new notebook (sketchbook above, map below). I completed my sketch with house numbers and the names of the occupants I could recall on that day. Nine of the sixteen houses had names beside them, but when I cross-referenced the names with Ken, I realized I had one or two wrong!On the left: First map sketch of my street. On the right: Vector of houses with lot lines by Laurel Enix.One name I got right was Susan's. Our paths have crossed occasionally when she's walking her dogs. Susan had come out to ask about my odd walking as I navigated the block with Ken one morning. The next day, someone I hardly knew at all, Julio's wife, Erika (I learned both of their names later), came out and called to me, Are you alright? Curiosity. Kindness.In the current climate of division and heightened other-izing, I entertained thoughts of a modest rebellion.

• No sales pitch, no witnessing, no political promotion. Simply this: Reach out to my neighbors to know them better. In the most basic sense, seek to answer the question Who is my neighbor?

Is This Art?

You may wonder, Is this art? Yes, indeed, it is. Up until now, making tangible forms that take up space has been my jam. It still is. But the project WIMN calls my name. It feels natural and very accessible. I wake up excited to go to work.The project falls squarely into the realm of art known as social practice. Social practice is a new thing for me as an artist, but it is a time-honored art form I studied in grad school. Here's a quick definition:According to the Tate Gallery, "Socially engaged practice, also referred to as social practice or socially engaged art, can include any art form which involves people and communities in debate, collaboration or social interaction."

• People. Check! Community. Check! Collaboration and Social Interaction. Check! and double check!

How to begin?

As simply as possible. Go for walks. If a neighbor is in their yard as I pass, or out walking too, I say Hello. If they stop to chat, I stop and listen. If the conversation allows, I share the project. I see how it is received. If we haven't already, we exchange phone numbers. Later, I text or call later to arrange an interview date. That's it.What do I say to my neighbors about the project? That's part of my next Daybook entry. Stories from interviews also coming soon.Thank you for being part of my online neighborhood.