photography

I See You, Lessons in Listening

/ Marlo / Leave a comment

I feel sage yet I have only lived half my life, but I have lived…a lot. To be honest, I never thought I would make it to 35. That was my cut off age when I was a teen and here I am now, 53. My life as a child was intense and overwhelming. My mother brought my brother and me to see a counselor, maybe I was 10 years old. Thank you Mom. Although there were a few years of not seeing someone, I have essentially seen a counselor my whole life.

My brother Joe and me, at my grandmother’s house. I am around 10 years old.

How does one get to be called an old soul. My friend declared herself an old soul. People declared my younger son an old soul. I always felt like an old soul. Why?

Does carrying the burden of trauma make one an old soul, especially trauma in childhood? I don’t really have an answer but that might be the answer for me. I know there are spiritual thoughts about souls moving from one to another through birth and death and there are references to receiving an old soul.

This week has brought many emotions. I am in the lush mountains of Dominican Republic and this place can do that to me. My senses are awakened, my sage, my old soul is sensitive. The mountains, fresh air, the food, music and DR culture, yeah I am awake and I am listening. I am here at an incredible financial cost to our family, the guys will be joining me next week. Traveling during holiday time to DR is basically financially insane. However, this year is important as I have mentioned before, it is the 20th anniversary of my first trip here, incredible. Second, my son Rio is a junior in high school and after this year I can’t say when he will be here again. I want us here as a family one last time before a new chapter begins. There is no doubt Adoni will be back whenever possible, he loves the mountains.

As I am making my rounds visiting family here, with people who have cared for me since I crossed the threshold of their doorstep, before Luis and I even considered marriage, I am struck by the absolute love and loss that has passed since my last visit 2019/20. I want to add this community is small, I am walking here and there, or a short motorcycle ride to see people. Upon seeing me, she, a cousin of Luis, begins sobbing. I am surprised at first but then I am not. We both have shared many tears in the past about this or that, important words shared between two women who have lived life. So I sit and listen as she shares the loss of her father, the loss of herself over and over to her children, to her larger family and now to her mother as she is in the last leg of her life and bedridden. And somehow even through my broken Spanish from my very first trips we always seem understand each other. And I listen.

That same night during the middle of the night I received a message from a young person in their early 20’s. I guess I can call this person a former student even if that time was short. I always reached out when I could. That person felt they could share with me their fears and their current health situation. The information shared with me left me speechless and brought me to tears. I read their message and then said I would listen.

That same morning the overwhelmingly public showing of love and sadness over the of loss of a delightful, dancing and humble person, tWitch, who touched so many people via several sources including The Ellen Show and Tik Tok. Because of the manner in which he died by suicide, so many people are devastated and are also saying out loud “I am here to listen”.

But are we listening, are we? Coincidentally another friend, also former student, just wrote in social media today and said “I asked you to be here and check in and you all said you would but you didn’t.”

Thank you for saying it out loud.

Teaching has given me many students to listen to. Somehow the darkroom….always the darkroom …allowed students to say what needed to be said in their manner… the cave. Recently, a former student offered to write a recommendation for my application for teaching positions. She had no idea that writing the recommendation became a reflection on her life over the last 21 years. I could see it, hear it, feel it in her words, my heart was so full. She said “it was great to reflect on all that I gifted to her” and part of that gift was listening. And now she “listens too” in her profession as a social worker.

I have started so many blogs and have not finished them during this last year. I am just signing off on this one and not lingering over whether it sounds right, etc. Please, open your hearts and see the signs and listen. I will continue to do what I can, and you should too, my old soul is demanding it of you.

General Crisis. https://www.crisistextline.org/

Support to the LGBTQ young adult community. https://www.thetrevorproject.org/

Depression and Suicide. https://988lifeline.org/

Eating Disorder Hotline. https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/

Sexual Assault Hotline. https://www.rainn.org/

Dating Abuse and Domestic Violence. https://www.loveisrespect.org/

Mental Illness Hotline. https://www.nami.org/help

Veterans Crisis Line. https://www.mentalhealth.va.govsuicide_prevention/

20 Years Ago

/ Marlo / Leave a comment

This month marks the 20th anniversary of my first trip to the Dominican Republic. I would like to reflect on this in my blog so my boys will know the details. My life changed forever in a few short weeks.

A view from Los Marranitos looking down into valley near my husband’s town. 2015

In March of 2002, I innocently took a trip to the Dominican Republic. It was a big deal. I say innocently because I somehow arrived at my destination by sheer will power and good intentioned people or pure luck. I experienced the most profound emotional connection to the earth and a group of people that would eventually become my family. I literally became grounded.

My desire to go to DR came about because of Julia Alvarez, a Dominican writer. She spoke at Miss Porter’s School where I was a teacher at the time. She spoke about a coffee farm in the mountains and the little El Centro she and her husband created. My eyes teared while she spoke, ok yeah, I cried several times during her conversation. Ms Alvarez has a way with words, after all she is an award winning writer. She moved me deeply and the DR called to me. A few years later I wrote to Ms. Alvarez and asked her if I could stay at her little community center, El Centro and she said yes. I had initially set out to investigate this place because I was planning for a future trip to bring a group of Porter’s girls to make art. It took me years but I did finally bring a group of Porter’s girls to the mountains of DR.

Kids who worked with their families at La Finca Alta Gracia. Julia Alvarez created El Centro to help bring in more educational opportunities for the children of the families working on the coffee farm. 2002

During spring break of my school year I flew to DR. I had invited my cousin to go with me. She and I are the same age and have similar interests. I had never really been anywhere outside of the country on this kind of journey. Our first stop was Sosua, a beach town that has the most precious inlet with shade from mangrove trees. I am not going to lie we had a great time. We met a couple of Dominican and Haitian guys who were in party mode. At the time the dollar was worth 54 pesos, it has gone up and down and 20 years later is still the same 54 pesos- not shocking. We stayed in the beach town for a couple of days and then headed to the mountains to Los Marranitos where El Centro at La Finca Alta Gracia was located. My cousin’s trip would be shorter than mine and soon I would be by myself at El Centro. She only had a week off from work. I didn’t desire to be by myself it just worked out like that.

In reality because of that time by myself, I experienced an intense self awakening. It sounds hippy but it is the truth. Although I didn’t know it at the time but in the months afterward the flood of emotions clued me into the fact that I was changing.

The view on the way up from Jarabacoa to area Los Marranitos. 2015

How can I describe what I experienced? At the time it was hard for me to verbalize it. I can now. It was the smell of pine wood walls, the dry air, the very cold nights, the hot- noon time sun, the breeze, the smoke from food being cooked over an open wood flame, the woman singing Bachata in a tone that I would understand as time went on, my serious lack of understanding the Spanish language, late night walks in total darkness- there was no electricity- at all, drinking very cold Presidente- a beer, dancing the most passionate Merengue, smelling night time blooming flowers(myth?), working with clay-earth straight from the ground, meeting the most generous people, forming friendships with children of which I had been known to do- but this trait travelled with me….How can I be that magical person that children want to follow, here, there and everywhere? Developing such a deep sense of belonging that I would return again in June and then November. I felt a connection to my Puerto Rican roots. Things I understood by food made by my Nana and stories told by her translated to there. Yes, I know I am talking about two different islands and cultures but the similarities were/are undeniable.

Image from my contact sheet. El Centro is in the middle of this photo, Los Marranitos, Dominican Republic. 2002

I fell in love with a people, a culture and a land- 100%. And when asked about my trip I had no words to express or describe it. I cried, like literally for two months straight, a pure fountain of agua.

As a young person I always wanted to be a world traveler and I did so through National Geographic, through art, books and movies. I was 32 when I travelled to DR. I was well travelled within the USA but not outside of it. There are several names to call what I was feeling but no need to name anything. I chose to print my photographs, and return as soon as possible.

Pre Google maps and cell phones and translators I had made my arrangements with a young woman via email. She was a volunteer from Julia’s school where Julia taught in Vermont. I got the directions from her, printed it and brought it with me. Simple, right? No not simple at all, but so much fun. Because we didn’t know better, we took a taxi from the beach town to the mountain town of Jarabacoa. Who does that? I will try to not make fun of myself but the fact that we arrived safely is remarkable. Then from Jarabacoa we got on the back of a truck, una guagua, looking like hikers with our huge back packs, yeah we hiked. But it seemed silly to be in hiking gear when we were surrounded by people living- not hiking- in their daily lives.

Images from my contact sheets, La Finca Alta Gracia, Los Marranitos, Dominican Republic, 2002.

After reaching another stop, which was the correct stop, however we didn’t know it, we got on the back of mopeds and travelled another 20 minutes further north near Manaboa. The reality is that there were multiple places called Alta Gracia. Eventually we made it back to Los Marranitos. I now know this place like the back of my hand, so it seems odd to recall those first days with such confusion. We had finally arrived to El Centro and the reality was that this place was super isolated, even more isolated than the little surrounding communities. If you didn’t have a dirt bike or motorcycle it took 20 minutes to walk to El Centro. I was in pretty good shape at the time but it was a serious hike in and down and hike up and out. It was a coffee farm in the mountains.

Image from my contact sheet, La Finca Alta Gracia, Los Marranitos, Dominican Republic. 2002

This day of travel from the ocean side into the mountainside was unforgettable. Traveling in ways I have never experienced before leading us to experience the most grand vista with breath taking views. And it was the first day of the rest of my life.

A few things have happened since that first trip.

One of my favorite pictures of my family, Río, Angelo and Adoni, Los Dajaos, Dominican Republic. 2014
  • I married a Dominican man, Luis Manuel, muy sincero, cariñoso y hermoso también
  • We have two children together, born 2006 and 2007
  • We both learned a new language and became bilingual
  • An airport was built in Santiago making travel easier for us
  • The Porter’s community, we lived on campus, accepted Luis and because of this he grew
  • We built a functioning bathroom at his parents house-no more outhouse, we also bought property and built houses in the DR
  • I shared my photographs taken in DR in multiple places like Woodstock Center for Photography and Lightwork and others
  • Luis, opened a successful Painting business in 2006, he came here like many immigrants con nada
  • Cell phones arrived and eventually cell towers and because of this the mountain communities are changed forever
  • With my help Porter’s invited the Spanish ceramist Angels Tello Pardo, whose little school in the mountains of DR helped women make a living making Taino Pottery, to the school to share her passion and craft with the students
  • We had children who have grown up in the mountains of DR, they are bicultural and bilingual
  • My husband became a citizen of USA
  • Because of his Visa status he was able to bring family members to the USA
  • I finally brought Porter’s students on the most amazing trip to the mountains
  • Electricity was installed on the roads by the government
  • The road to Los Dajaos, my husband’s town was paved
  • I have seen the babies I photographed in those first years have their own babies
  • I have also witnessed death- regular and devastating , sickness and disease like HIV
  • I have the most beautiful photographic images etched into my memory unlike no other experience
  • We have worked so hard to make sure our children know what it means to be from the mountains of DR

I have so many photographs but they existed secondary to my feelings. I spent years going to sleep every night, breathing deeply and thinking about and visualizing the mountains. I did this with a smile on my face, it was my meditation. Earlier I had said I became grounded. After a year of multiple trips to the DR, for the first time in my life I felt like “Everything is going to be all right”.

Me and Luis Manuel in Los Dajaos, Dominican Repunlic. 2002

Knowing the Value of Something…

/ Marlo / 1 Comment

December 31 is my brother’s birthday, and in honor of him I decided to write. Back in February, I started the process to become certified to teach in the state of CT. Although I have taught in private schools and college, I still have quite a bit of work that is expected of me, 18 credits, a US History course and passing the Praxis test. My first class was in June and I took three this fall. Be grateful that you didn’t have to experience my whiny self, figuring out the details of how to become certified. Let me tell you, I whined a lot, even cried.

What I want to talk about is the transcripts. I had to purchase and send my transcripts to the state and to every college that I planned to take a class at. I had a paper copy of my graduate school transcript sent to my house. When I opened it, I gloated, felt proud of myself and gave my own self a pat on the back. I graduated with a 3.82 GPA. However, I did not have a transcript from my undergraduate school sent to my house. I am not sure of my reasoning but it will become clear, and maybe, in the end, it really doesn’t matter. When I opened the email to see my transcript, my jaw dropped. Um yeah, I am not even sure where to start.

I created a story about myself. This story I thought was a truth, until this past summer, when I realized it is not. It is easy to forget things that are hard. I am not sure how many of you know how difficult my undergraduate experience was, especially in the beginning.

The story that I remembered about myself is that I only failed a couple of classes and got a couple of D’s at UCONN. But the truth is I got like ten or more D’s AND failed classes in my five years at UCONN. After seeing my transcript, this past Spring, I was left kind of speechless. If I could paint my cheeks red I would. I was so embarrassed and I had to share this information, again! My grades were terrible!

I would like to back track a bit. Because in reality why am I embarrassed? A lot happened but my worth is more than a grade. As I was looking for a photograph to share in this post I found this from my brother. It appeared like a kiss from above.

Considering that I wanted to honor my brother today, he in turn is honoring me and asking me to honor myself. I love you Joe.

In my freshman year, I failed two classes and got at least one D. I can come up with so many reasons as to why, but is it worth writing it down? I wasn’t prepared, I didn’t care, I partied too hard, I was working multiple jobs and on and on. I was the only Latina in my dorm. It was the first year they stopped allowing kegs in the dorms and I lived in an area that was called the Jungle at UCONN. That name speaks for itself.

My required classes were a series of unfortunate events. My Astronomy professor liked to stand with his foot on the chair in his cheesy track suit, basically putting his crotch in my face, eventually I moved to the back of the huge lecture hall. I barely passed the class. My History professor gave me a D- minus on my first paper of the class. I wrote about the men, in All Quiet on the Western Front, as creating a force together. He wrote on my paper, “This is not Star Wars” and didn’t offer to help me correct my paper. My Philosophy teacher refused to work with me, he told me that some people just don’t get that part of his class and pushed me out the door. My drawing teacher made fun, commented and pushed and poked at me. He was relentless, eventually I stopped going. To be fair, I had a handful of amazing art professors that helped make me the person I am today. The only thing I truly remember for any of the required classes was an anthology of British writers from the 19th Century for an English class.

It only took me five years, but I did graduate. A lot worked against me but I was bigger than all of it. I started my sophomore year of college with my mouth wired shut. I was in a terrible car accident that I caused, in which I survived with only a broken jaw and thankfully no one else was hurt. Although, there was much pain for me and my mom and my family, something huge happened because of that accident. I squeaked out of the claws of alcoholism and never looked back. My jaw reminds me every day of that accident.

I was 18, just a baby. It took me a couple of years to be accepted into the art school at UCONN. Eventually, I found my way and graduated with a Bachelor’s in Fine Arts with a focus in photography. I finished my education with a Master’s in Fine Arts also with a focus in photography at University of Hartford, Hartford Art School.

I have created this blog for my kids. I want them to know that some things in life don’t come easy. Sometimes they are so hard we forget the hard part for a reason. A grade or GPA does not define a person, or me or my worth.

With my grandmother Rena, and my mother, Pam, who looks like a baby herself here in this picture, at my high school graduation. The photograph itself is a bit mistreated, I did not alter it. There is no picture of my graduation from UCONN.

A Little Miracle.

/ Marlo / 2 Comments

In December of 2002 I found myself in the emergency room as I thought I had malaria. Malaria? Yes Malaria. According to the CDC travel center, I had to take malaria prevention medication during my trip to the mountians of Dominican Republic in the spring of 2002. After meeting peace corp folks while I was there, I decided to ditch the medication at their recommendation. And I didn’t take anymore upon my subsequent trips in June nor November or ever again. I was 32 at the time. After doctor visits and bloodwork, the source of my feverish night sweats and malaise was clear. I was in menopause. And to add to the gut punch, my ovaries were measured, they were tiny the size that belonged to a woman of 45 years of age. Imagine my confusion. I was also told I would never have children. If you know me, I wasn’t going to let anyone tell me what I could and couldn’t do. Never mind the fact that I never wanted to have children, or get married for that matter. For the record, I want to share this as I have never written it down. This is my story.

Me and Luis, summer, 2003. Los Dajaos, Dominican Republic. *before filters.

In the summer of 2002 I met Luis, my husband. In October of 2003 he flew to JFK, NY from Dominican Republic and we began our life together. There are many beautiful details about how our life started but this story is not about that. I did not travel to DR with the intention of falling in love, yet I did and here we are.

I know my story about infertility is not unique. I also can’t say that anything of what happened is scientifically perfect or willed out of desire or mere luck. My heart goes out to all the women whose story is different, I see you. It became abundantly clear that I am my mother’s daughter. She too had early onset of menopause in her 30’s. I never thought it would happen to me too, she didn’t either. There was no one guiding us to say “hey maybe you want to think about this”. Although, I probably would not have listened if someone had.

Even if I had wanted to do the in vitro thing I couldn’t because there weren’t any eggs to use, so I was told. At the time I was into yoga and meditation and my teacher suggested acupuncture. I scoffed at such a thought, I am a wimp around needles. However, love changed my tune. I was married and we wanted children, I wanted children. A long time friend’s sister is an acupuncturist in West Hartford, CT. Soon after my first appointments with her I was addicted to the feelings of energy and calm that became my body. Number one, I was stressed, number two, my menastral cycle was short and number three, my blood was thin. My stress was internal and deep.

I made changes, I began a heavy root, dark greens and stewed meat diet to strengthen my blood. I had been a vegetarian for about 10 years. I will not get into those details nor belittle my life in my 20’s. If I wanted to give my body a chance to produce a baby I had to change. I drank medicinal teas, received acupuncture twice a week and worked on being less stressed. And of course in order to have a baby there is sex. I took my temperature daily, took notes and timed sex to help make a baby, fertilize an egg that was said to not be there. In 2005 I miscarried.

There are very few photographs of me pregnant or things that people do to remember or record a pregnancy, just my words. I am not superstitious but clearly I acted in superstitious ways. And the reality is when I look back on the situation my artistic self, my photographic self wanted nothing to do with the moment. I compartmentalized things, for my safety.

I remember a thoughtful conversation with my head of school, she was genuinely concerned for me and my health and of course for women. She was the head of the beloved all girls boarding school, Miss Porter’s School, her name, Burch Ford. I admired her and her dedication to girls and the school even when I disagreed with her and some of her actions. She truly wanted to know if stress was the root of my situation. She wanted a definitive answer. I didn’t have one to give her. But in 2021, I think we all know that stress is a factor for many ills, and my family has sure had is share of generational trauma, deep rooted stress.

The day that the doctor called me to tell me there was nothing else they/we could do, I had intended on calling them to share that I was pregnant again. Two years in the making, that little heart beating on the monitor was a sight to see. My pregnancy was amazing, I walked on clouds. Mostly, it was regular and uneventful. What helped it stay that way was the doula that we hired to help me. A favorite student of mine recalled that I was a total bitch during my pregnancy, that is not how I remember it.

At the time my mother was in Florida and my mother in law, in Dominican Republic. I wanted to be sure that I had someone in my corner. Luis’ English was ok and all of this baby stuff was so new. There were no close friends who were having babies. The doula was my life line, she helped me not be afraid of a wonderful and natural moment. The day that Rio was born we had dropped my mom off at the airport early in the morning, she missed his birth. She had been visiting for my baby shower.

That evening my water broke during dinner while we were in the dinning room at Porter’s, my job. It was a surprise to say the least. The moments leading up to this birth were unforgettable. My midwife said to hang tight and she would see me in the morning, ha! Back at our house, Luis was nervous and I was rooting in my bed trying to get comfortable. He offered to make me tea and proceeded to boil water in the serving tea pot not the boiling tea pot. It was at that point I decided we needed the doula. Luis was a nervous wreck. She arrived around 10:30pm. Rolling and rooting in my bed, I didn’t really have signs or contractions to say the baby was coming anytime soon, also no pain. But some time after 11pm I announced the need to go to the bathroom. That moment, me sitting on the toilet, I screamed… “the baby is coming!!”.

Rio, 4 months old. Sea Horse Ranch, Cabarete, Dominican Republic, 2006. Photographer, Solangel Patino.

The miracle of Rio is that he arrived, I became pregnant against stupid odds. He also came into the world with lighting speed. I couldn’t make it to the birthing center to give birth naturally with the doula and midwife. We rushed to the emergency room at UConn, a 5 minute ride, speeding of course. It was below freezing temperatures and I needed all windows down, I was panting like a dog. The doula pleaded that I don’t push. She was afraid, as she shared with me later, that I would have the baby in the car. It was too cold that night. I was wheeled into emergency and told again “do not push”. The doula was miraculously at my side, poor Luis was parking the car and when the doctor arrived they were ready for me to push. A few pushes later baby Rio arrived. Luis missed his birth while parking the car.

A birth happened and it was incredibly uneventful and yet beautiful. My doula asked the emergency doctors for me to birth in the way I wanted, naturally. As time was of the essence, there was no time to be hooked up, or medicated or anything for that matter. All I could do was deliver my baby, our baby, naturally and in minutes. His name is Rio Jose, named with an earth name and named after the Joe’s in both of our families. Rio arrived that night of January 15th at 11:58pm to be exact, he came two weeks early. As UConn is a teaching hospital, our birth story of speed became the whispered story, many came in to see me and Rio.

Adoni, 5 months old. Farmington, CT on the grounds of Miss Porter’s School, 2008. Photographer, Solangel Patino.

Was there emotional turmoil at this time in my life, sure. But I choose to remember the beauty, trust me this is not easy to write about. We were deeply in love, acupuncture kept me calm and focused, and our doula gave me freedom to know that I could birth naturally. Our second baby came 22 months later. This time we were prepared. When my water broke we drove immediately to the birthing center. This birth lasted 3 hours. My water broke at 6:30pm and Adoni Cedar was born on that night of November 2nd at 9:30pm. So call it what you will, a miracle or two, faith, acupuncture, eating meat, or LOVE.