A Personal Note: Forms of freedom

I just sold 90% of what I own less than 14 days ago.
I had no idea how much shit I've collected over the years. Anyone can say that, I suppose. But I mean it. Let's go back.

I have drawn, sketched and painted since before I knew myself. My earliest recollection of my acknowledgment of any artistic ability was in foster care.
I was about 7 or 8. My memories include being moved and inspired to draw a glass of water in a window sill, the hunt for blank paper which I found and liberated from the back of an encyclopaedia, and a pencil with accessible lead. All of the old school No.2 pencils in the house seemed have broken lead and of course, there was no sharpener anywhere to be found. I would pick the wood away from the tip in tiny pieces where the lead had previously been until it was exposed a millimeter or two. I would proceed to the front porch to 'sharpen' the pencil using the edge of the step to smooth and expose more of the lead until I could get enough to draw.
Mission accomplished. Almost.
The eraser on these much coveted found objects would: (a) have the eraser bitten off (b) have been used until it was below the metal or had been pulled out completely and would only be discovered once I tried to erase something and had holes torn in the paper. That sucked. OR (c) have been so old or misused to the point it was greasy and/or hard - which left unsightly streaks that looked like skid marks on my budding masterpiece.
After all of this work, which in my mind back then could be equated to the labour of a grand harvest at the end of a long growing season. The pay off was worth it.
I could sit with the rewards of my hunt and finally draw a picture. Self sufficiency is a type of freedom.

I'm confident, as a child, I drew many pictures which I would show to the nearest adult, secretly dying for their approval and shock reactions of pride and wonder. They would tilt their heads, with plastic smiles and offer half-sincere, half-patronizing compliments on my abilities as an artist. Not this time, this one, this portrait, on this day would make ME proud. I could feel it.
I wouldn't care what anyone thought. Not this time. This was the first time I attempted to draw something from life.
As I started drawing, I recall my hands moving with a confidence and knowledge that was beyond me. I seemed to know what to do without ACTUALLY knowing what I was doing. There were challenges that I came across that I had trouble executing, like how to represent light and shadow. How to represent foreground, middle-ground and background. How to create shade and the effect of fading light?
The answers came in the form of a man called, Dad. I believe he came for his routine visit while I was working on this piece. I remember being frustrated with my inability to recreate on paper what I saw in the window. One of a half dozen positive memories I have of my father, he took me onto his lap and showed me what began the development of an addiction, my talent, my best friend intangible, what I call 'my first love', creating art. Dad showed me how to shade, how to fade, how draw different forms of edges, how to render light, how to be efficient with my movements and effort (shading with my fingers and how to erase). Talent recognized, skills developing, knowledge acquired.
This was and is, a form of freedom.

Armed with my new knowledge, I finished this piece. And in my 8 year old mind - it was an exact, photographic rendering sketched by my very own hand. I sat a patiently represented light and shadow of sunlight through water. I mindfully captured every detail of the droplets and how they glowed from behind, inside and throughout. To me this was beautiful and drawing it was the only way I could keep it.
I carefully saved this picture to show my Dad when he came to the home for another one of his visits and I also wanted to send it framed to my mom. It was suggested that I hold on to it until my next visit with her. I don't remember how long it was before my social worker took me up to Bedford Hills for our visit - but I do remember looking at that picture everyday.

I remember going through all of the check points, getting searched and scanned by the guards. Some would compliment my masterpiece. I'd politely smile, feeling this time their words didn't matter. I wasn't there for their feedback.
I walked up the hill and sat waiting in the waiting room with so much anticipation I could barely stand it.

When Mom came out, we did our normal exchange of hugs, kisses and greetings and before asses could hit seats, I shoved my perfectly sketched glass of water into her hands. My mother sat and stared so a few moments. I couldn't breathe. I wanted her to say something, anything. She finally let out a sigh and showed it to my social worker. If there was ever a genuine reaction witnessed through the eyes of a child, it was this one. My mother was so amazed and seemed to be shocked silent.
Then words left her lips that played through my life at different points over and over again and brought a new clarity every time I thought about it. My mother told me that this work was beyond good, it was absolutely wonderful and it shows that I have inherited my fathers talent. At this moment, two truths were revealed to me.
#1) Talent was a new word to my 8 year old consciousness. The fact anyone had anything to say to me that was remotely positive had my complete attention and sometimes, even affection. #2) Which had the most impact - was that I have something from one of my parents. I was connected to someone. Words cannot express how hearing those words and that realization made me feel. I can only speculate and regurgitate all of the psycho-babble I've heard over the years about the 'why' it still gives me a wave of chills and emotion to this day. But whatever, it moved me.
Knowing this somehow, gave me a type of freedom.

My relationship with my visual art has been like a long-term relationship. A love that I can't deny even when out-of-sight. When we get back together, it's almost like we never parted - but better. Then life gets in the way and we lose touch again. I think learning to take breaks and discover and develop other interests was paramount to my development. This was a type of freedom.

I grew up (sort of). I began a career. As an ever-curious, highly ambitious person I worked hard and earned an income which matched my efforts. This was a major feat and far cry to the lifestyle I had as a child considering growing up in foster care and such. I could now afford what I wanted and needed. I bought ridiculous art supplies and indulged in my love of stationary to a near obscene degree. I've always very practical but also believe money was means. This was a type of freedom.

I followed through with exploring what could be done with my visual art on a deeper level. I did the art shows and galleries in the US and Canada. Enjoyed some media attention in Toronto and Seattle. Participated in charity events and even had my work printed on calendars and greeting cards. Two of my best memories associated with this period of my life was: (1) having someone run by my booth at an art fair in Toronto and pass a number of prints laid out on my table. He stopped short of passing me and doubled back to take a closer look at some of my work. He asked if this work was by an artist, who's name he struggled to remember for a few and then recalled. "Is this by 'Sunshine'?", he said still looking down, sifting through prints. "I've seen her work before but never met her, she's one of my favourite artists." I was shocked silent (trust me, that's rare) and before I could say thank you or introduce myself, he said, "I've gotta go - I've got this food for someone over there and she's going to kill me." And he disappeared. I was numb. (2) Was in Seattle. I had art work hanging in a sassy, hip, expensive clothing boutique on First Avenue. I became friends with one of the people who ran the shop. She called me at my corporate gig one day to tell me that a woman was standing in front of her who came into the shop to browse. This woman looked up and saw my work on the wall and exclaimed, "Oh my god, is this artist from Toronto?!! I was at one of her shows! I LOVE her work!" Awesome. I dabbled in photography a bit and bought more stuff to support that habit. I even traveled a fair amount and acquired even more stuff in addition to knowledge.
This whole experience was a type of freedom from the corporate life I was living at the time. Wanting to do something that offers someone something that is of value to them, something small but would make them smile or feel good. Creating art freed me from my usual head space, sharing art made me feel positively connected to others. This was a type of freedom in a society where so much is private, guarded and 'safe'.

Before moving to Seattle, but after 4 or so years of selling cars in Thornhill, Ontario - I discovered a need for a change, growth into a new area. I recognized my on-again off-again pattern with my art. I wanted to seek out new creative avenues, a different form of expression. Enter culinary arts. I saw value in learning to do more that boil, bake and fry foods. If I could go to a restaurant and be wowed to the tune of $28 a plate, I too can learn to do the same. I found part-time classes in Toronto and the rest is history. A new passion discovered, a new addiction ignited. Learning techniques and ways to be efficient, natural treatments and preparation methods of food that could effect texture, flavour and appearance all completely absorbed me. Preparing food with creativity, mindfulness and love spoke to me on so many levels. I could prepare something that people will put into their mouths and make them happy and healthy. How freaking awesome is THAT?!! I was still in the IT industry as either as a Project Manager and my income allowed me to indulge completely in acquiring all practical tools and devices a cook would love. More and more stuff accumulates. The ability to cook well, while being mindful of the many resources and options available to me is a form of freedom. Freedom from dependency on others to feed me and freedom from dull, boring food.

So, fast forward to Chicago. I met someone in Seattle. We got married. He followed me to Toronto. I followed him to back to his home here in Chicago. After nearly 5 years of a trying marriage, filled with opportunities of introspection, growth, and self-discovery. I walked away from the marriage. Sometimes the most clarity comes from the most painful or extreme experiences. Having my skull fractured in two places at the hands of my husband brought that clarity to me. Leaving a negative situation because you love yourself enough to preserve your life is a form of freedom.

Since leaving him, it would be an act of minimalism to refer to my life as a struggle. I know I've come along way since October 2008. But I could not have foreseen the strength and fearlessness I have found since then. A large part of that is the healing that came from furthering my education. Thank you to the Chicago Botanic Garden for the Windy City Harvest program, where I earned an in-depth education in Sustainable Urban Agriculture and Horticulture. I believe this saved my life when I felt I hit rock bottom. Education is a form of freedom.

The final project for this program asked students to detail from beginning to end a way to utilize this knowledge to benefit their community. Some students focused locally, others had plans of relocation to other cities or states and incorporated that into their projects. My mid-term project detailed how to help Garfield Park and solutions for food deserts in the West side of Chicago. Since I consider the earth and its inhabitants my community - I focused on developing the idea of the Global Community Knowledge Project. In short, as a member of WWOOF and HelpX, I would provide farm labour in exchange for accommodation and food. During my stay at each site, I would research and record details related to local and traditional sustainable agriculture techniques. The locations of my selected sites would be places where there is still indigenous culture and traditions are present and employed. While here, I would collect data on fertilization, IPM (Integrated Pest Management), irrigation, post-harvest handling and storage/preservation techniques. I would record information related to foods I discover along the way and recipes. Basically, the study of food from the farm to the fork in cultures around the world. Some information would be shared publicly via blogs, workshops and classes.
The collection of records from my trip would be published via book and possibly a documentary. After the increasing and steady decline of the economy and the effects that it has had on my business - I decided to go ahead and make this project a reality without grants and follow through with self-funded and with the support of friends. Why wait? Following through with a dream, without fear, hesitation or doubt is a form of freedom.

I leave April 27, 2010. I head back home for a few days then I'm off to start my research adventure. I've got a one-way ticket booked and my trip begins in Barbados.
This is why I've sold nearly everything I own. Liberating ones self of material possessions is a form of freedom.

Writing honestly, communicating openly, even when it's hard to do is another form of freedom.

For more information about the Global Community Knowledge Project, if you wish to track me through my blog or wish to show support to help me get around from place to place via donation, visit: http://globalcommunityknowledgeproject.blogspot.com/ -OR- www.DreadlockNomad.INFO.

Thanks for reading.
:s: