women

If You Could Be Your Own Superhero, What or Who Would You Be?

/ Marlo / Leave a comment

Let’s catch up on my life, it was like all of a minute that I was on the journey to get certified, to teach art in public high school, here in CT. I busted my ass to finish 18 credits and pass the Art Praxis Test. Two of the classes that I completed don’t count towards certification, this was a real zinger. There was a misunderstanding and I have to take two more classes. We won’t express how angry I was! Fast forward to the present moment where teaching fell to the back burner because I have decided to open an Art Studio with two women. Put the brakes on, wait what!!?? Yes, I am part of a new business opening in Bristol. I am thrilled. http:/www.creativejamartco.com

Because of our new biz, we were vending this past Sunday, at a public place. We advertised our presence publicly. Because of social media and all that….this happened….

A woman and her family show up at our table and she asks for me, by my name. It takes me all of a second to know who is standing before me. I will call her H in respect of her privacy. She pulls out a polaroid from 1997. At first I am speechless and honestly, a few days later, as I write this, I still don’t have the right words to describe what happened. I cried, this I can say with no shame. We embraced and we both had a good cry. Honestly, how does one respond in this moment, with open arms and acceptance of what is.

H on the left, me on the right, in the Polaroid. I always took Polaroids of my students. I took her on a trip to NYC.

I was pursuing a teaching certification because I want to give back to my community. I want to give back the way I was given to by my 7th/8th grade art teacher. I mention him often, Mr. Johnson. He has the best spot in my heart. Our art club, at my middle school, was a safe place for me. I could just be, and be me.

Me and my Girl!

H showing up, seeking me out, to tell me that I was there for her, that I “saw” her and that I made a difference in her life, is no small task. It has been about 25 years since we last saw each other. She has a story, we all do. But hers, well, I crossed her path at a place called “Gray Lodge Shelter for Women, a residential treatment program for young women ages 12 – 18 located in Hartford, CT. The Shelter for Women was founded in 1889, and for over a century it has provided shelter and support services for young women in need.” This was my first real teaching experience and I loved that it was at a place for girls in need. That sounds silly to say now, but my 27 year old self thought I could learn how to teach art there and be useful. I was in grad school at Hartford Art School and my thesis work was centered in trauma. My work tested the hot spots of trauma, how it manifests in adult life.

Gray Lodge is now used by The Village of Families and Children in Hartford.

With bravado, I walked in the doorway of Gray Lodge to teach some very difficult but lovable kids, who were acting out their traumas. I, too, was a full on trauma kid – but my needs were being addressed. Thanks to my mom for seeing that both my brother and I needed help, so she found us a counselor. I was about 9 years old. I continued seeing this specific counselor until she passed away. I was in my mid 30’s. Me and the girls at Gray Lodge had a lot more in common than I realized.

H’s photo’s from our fashion show. I am in the bottom, left photo. H is in the top photo. She kept a photo album.
Group shot of all the girls wearing their Power Suits!

I had a grand idea and we spent months attempting to make this idea come to be. We made our own super hero outfits, outfits with POWER. My intention was a grand finale, a fashion show. I challenged the girls to make an outfit that would give them all the power in the world to do and to be the person who they wanted to be. Little did I know, or comprehend, that each girl would go through an incredible emotional feat while working on their Power Suit. Some only got as far as the drawing, some spent days in the biggest anxiety filled emotions, refusing to work on or finish their Power Suit. Some, absolutely, decided to NOT finish it. Others refused to walk out on stage, and others cried because no one came to see them and yes, there were girls who did have family/people come and that was too difficult, they too, refused to walk out on stage also. The amount of emotional rollercoaster strength that came from that experience has guided me over the years.

Making Art isn’t always about the piece, the product, or the thing. It is about the journey, the joys and pains, the walk abouts, the indecision, and the finally the decision to just stop.

I never went into teaching to “make a difference” I went into it to teach art and by doing so, by opening the door to the unlimited possibilities of what art can be and what that means, I made a difference anyway.

As for H, I stayed in touch with her for about a year after I left Gray Lodge. She is now a counselor here in CT, and this is truly remarkable. She has her own Power Suit now, one that fits her really well.

I have been given permission to use these photos and talk a bit about H. – Thank you.

Nothing Like Dancing in the Mountains

/ Marlo / Leave a comment

One would think that going dancing should be easy. After my twenties it became harder and harder and complicated. There weren’t Ubers and I didn’t live in the city. That night in 2002 that I danced on a tiny little dance floor, muy pegado con la gente, squished in tight with the folks, in the mountains, dancing merengue and bachata, I was in love with dancing all over again.

I was a club girl, totally. The night club, the Mission in Hartford was a favorite. One of my best friends also danced there too. We probably brushed arms, legs, boobs and butts, we didn’t know each other then, but we reminisce about that time. We were both in love with the music, the people and of course the dancing. I didn’t grow up dancing merengue or bachata or salsa. I grew up with disco and r&b in the background. I won’t get into my musical tastes.

Trying to recreate that feeling of dancing in the mountains of Dominican in Connecticut, well it just didn’t work. I think there are several missing parts, family, open air and just being able to walk across the street to the Colmado, where the dance floor exists is HUGE. During Luis’ first years in Connecticut we tried to find a place to dance and yeah, no success. Let me tell you why… Entrance fee, nope. High priced drinks, nope. Competition dancers (at least in the Latino dancing world), such a turn off for Luis, nope. If we drank, we had to drive home so one of us needed to be careful, nope. People don’t want to dance til 12 midnight, nope. Not the right music, nope. Switching partners, I guess that is an island thing, nope. And on and on!

Sometimes when we come here to DR we don’t get to dance because someone passed away and therefore there is no music, nor dancing. It is the way here and I don’t question it. It is just sad for us as it is our only little coveted time to dance how we like to.

Last night, here in the mountains, I danced, we danced and it was great. And today I am sore! That is funny, as I am working hard on strengthening my bones. I want to dance more but I just haven’t done it. Zumba is not my thing lol. Either way no judgment here, but my source of inspiration showed up last night in great form! Here she is!

Duvina, as she is called, raised her family and has grandchildren who live close by but she mostly lives alone. She has a hike to get to her house but she walks everywhere. She always leaves her little sandals at the door when entering someone’s home. She is then barefoot and is maybe 85. No one really knows, nor does she.

Always a mixed crowd- all ages.
Luis dancing with his mom. She loves this!

Berimon, in the red shirt, is a cousin. They both are dancing hard and mostly that is how people dance minus the hard grinding at the end of the video lol. That is the youth, occasionally you will see older folks grinding.

There is a band that plays everything. They were great at keeping the crowd going. They held a competition, best dancer wins 100.00 dollars, not pesos! And Duvina becomes one of the contestants, wow. My hero, everyone’s hero. The contest is something new around here. The guy who hired the band asked them to do it. As it is holiday time many folks who live in USA are here to be with family. Some folks who work all year, hard as hell doing the hard ass jobs that most Americans won’t do, save their money to come back to DR and enjoy it, be generous with it. In some cases it isn’t as sweet as I make it out to be. But in this case, this guy is always generous with the community. He raised the award to 300.00 and basically gave each couple dancing 100.00. I won’t get into how little people make here. As I said, generous.

Duvina and cousin Marino doing their thing!

As Christmas Eve is upon us I wish everyone health, safety, family in good health and some form of happiness even if it is just a good time dancing in your kitchen.

Always Learning Something

/ Marlo / 2 Comments

What is the big deal? The big deal is that I have completed 6 classes towards my teacher certification. Both boys are in public school now and yes, I even started a teaching job three weeks ago. I have one more class and the Praxis test and then I will be finished. This past week I finished my final exams for my art classes at Tunxis Community College here in CT. Little did I know that when I signed up for these classes I would find the thing that makes me sing, the artistic impulse that has been tucked away for a very long time. I know I am a good student and I was in “student” mode. On our first day we had to write a note to our selves and the professor gave them back to us this week before our critiques. I had forgotten about the note. Reading my note addressed to myself, I was filled with awe. I wished myself “Lucky” success as if that “y” was an astrick of glitter or sparkle or fairy dust that would grant my wishes. I suppose it was a spelling error, no matter, to my surprise I did a what I set out to do!

While I was home schooling our kids, raising our kids all my creative energy went into that. I am a very good multitasker but my creative flow concerning my art, well it was not flowing.

While attending classes, of course I saw myself as a student. Not sure why I feel the need to compartmentalize but being artist and being student where not mutual, not one in the same. I went into my art classes as a student not as an artist. However, my artist self appeared and is here to stay.

Part of this certification process allowed me to take classes in my area of interest. Art classes – YEAH! I wanted in person, not on line, something practical like Electronic Drawing and Painting and something new to me, Illustration. The way I felt about my decision was my willingness to be super open and ready for a challenge, learn something new, just jump in. A prerequisite for these classes was drawing 2. In my undergraduate experience I had taken 6 drawing classes, I think that qualified me. But I had to have a discussion with the enrollment person to verify this… slightly annoying to me. I bring this up to say that after I started to produce work for my assignments and I shared with my peers, friends, family they also forgot that I DO have this experience or ability. Maybe I forgot too.

My life is busier than it has ever been and I somehow found the time to focus, be in art flow, leave my work area…aka dining room table and leave it a mess, spend 5 minutes working, go do life and then come back. I was switching hats, artist, mom, student, wife, friend and back again. I MISSED this so much. The assignments from both classes were every bit of a lot and a little of all of what I needed. My professor, Jackie Decker, was amazing, joyful and was the perfect cure to my missing artist.

I know time and perspective have a lot to do with perception but my youthful art making days were filled with dark, intense, questioning, and provocative artwork all of which I loved. I was even a snob about pretty things, I was anti sweet and beautiful things. We joked about it, I still have a prickly edge going on today but nothing like the past. I didn’t mean to and as you can see below, that edge is still there. But is different now.

Wasteland Warrior
Emperor Tamarin as Samurai
Aloe Vera-fruit, flower, veggie portrait

I bring all this up to say that not only did I tap into my flow and get into my creative groove but I also found a way into making art that is sweet, and yes, beautiful. I have experienced so much trauma in my life, I deserve to be able to make art that is free of that. In our first critique in the illustration class, I was expecting what I was familiar with- harsh, critical and even brutal. Please do not get me wrong. I thrived on that, like give it to me because I want my work to be the best. However, that is not how this professor works. She moved and spoke from a place of joy and sweetness and she uplifted her students, and more importantly -ME.

All excuses aside I showed up to my final for electronic drawing and painting with what I consider unfinished work. I have an idea that has been in my heart for a few years now and I have not been able to translate it to paper. I decided to attempt the ideas for my final. It took me a while to “just do it”. With starting a new job and the kids’ baseball and life there really wasn’t much time to “finish it”. And without getting caught up in all the art speak, my unfinished pieces were in fact perfectly finished. After hearing the responses from my classmates and my professor I was filled with such emotion I wanted to cry. Not unusual for me but it is a truth. Pure joy – wow.

The details of my ideas are not a surprise to my family and friends. I have been wanting to write and illustrate a children’s book but I was not happy with my ideas. They were not illustrating a feeling that I wanted to portray. However, I never imagined that by the end of my semester class I would be closer to my goal … and well, I am! I have set my summer plans in motion. 20-30 illustrations ? Agent finding me a publisher? Publisher saying yes?

Rio Bakes Cakes. I am a boy and I bake cakes. I made these images in Procreate.

My boys inspire me in so many ways. The baking experience brought joy to our whole family. We learned to love deserts and we even became aficionados, aka desert snobs. This story is about that joy of learning, living, loving and just being. I thank my boys everyday for what they have taught me. Through my art classes this semester I was able to find my way. I am forever grateful. A book is in the works.

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.

Losing My Religion

/ Marlo / 4 Comments

First I will preface this by saying I was baptized but it ends there, my faith is not based in an institution or tradition.

“R.E.M. ‘s hit song came out in 1991. “Losing my religion” is actually an old southern expression for being at the end of one’s rope, and the moment when politeness gives way to anger. But if you were missing that key detail, you’d think that lead singer Stipe’s vague imagery was clearly a comment on the Judeo-Christian tradition.” If I wanted to project…. the words to this song make it easy, and my brother and his life, and my life. Watch the video, listen to the words of the song and have a good cry. That is what happened to me this morning, I turned on the radio in the car and this song was on, I lost it. The coincidences of life are stunning. The video is linked below.

https://youtu.be/xwtdhWltSIg

Earlier this week trying to be present with my brother, I asked him if he wanted to listen to some music and he says sure and lists these groups, The B’52’s, R.E.M. and Jane’s Addiction. We, together loved these groups and their songs. I haven’t heard R.E.M. in years, until this morning. I play Dance this Mess Around from B’52’s, he actually bobbed his head for a few and we don’t even get to finish the song as his needs, the reason of why he is in the hospital, take over. I am in Florida and my brother is in ICU and has been since last Friday. Yesterday, unexpectedly as these things are never expected, the doctor tells me to my face, there is nothing else, medically, they can do for Joe. He is dying- my words. I won’t list all of what is wrong but all of it is because of alcoholism, which has caused liver failure. The sweetness is all I can see in my brother’s face and eyes even though he is in the most terrible of physical condition.

So how does one process being told “this is it”? I am numb. He knows, that yes, it is true, this is his last life. Time to go home Mr. Kitty with multiple nine lives. Your last life has been lived. My heart is broken. Joe signed his DNR papers today and he began the process of Hospice. As I write this he is being moved to “in hospital” Hospice care. Our mother also signed the papers. Do you hear me…his mother, our mother signed Hospice papers for her son.

My husband, Luis, my boys, my cousin’s boys and of course my brother in the back being goofy. Adoni’s face is for the fact that his face was literally in my husband’s armpit. 2019.

I stayed at my cousin’s last night, my mother needed some privacy. Our conversation went like this. We talk about many things, mostly our boys and how we are raising them. All our boys are in the picture above. We talk about my brother becoming the poster boy for alcoholism. I cry. We talk about the fact …this hurts too- she and my best friend both lost their brothers when we were young. My childhood best friend’s brother died in 1991, same year the R.E.M. song came out. My cousin died when we were senior’s in higschool, 1987. Why they each died is tragic and I can write about later. RIP, cousin Alan and family friend, Jared. We talk about the finality of her brother’s death and my friend’s brother’s death. It isn’t new information about how difficult these years have been for me concerning my brother. Their brothers are dead and mine is alive and stuck in addiction. It has been hard raising a family without my brother, without their uncle, without his brother in law, only for Joe to be present for little fleeting moments and always under the influence of alcohol. I didn’t loose my brother physically but I lost him emotionally to alcoholism years ago.

My brother and Adoni in Dominican Republic. My brother is a kid at heart. 2009

The nurse in the ICU today wanted to give me a hug so I let her (um Covid-19) and I sobbed. We talked about generational alcoholism. She stressed and emphasized self care and showing my children, my boys, what self care is. Which brings me back to my conversation with my cousin last night. Our boys are 12 and 14, they are coming of age. They need to know better what self-care is and how to do it correctly. Learn to recognize when there is something wrong and deal with it as negative self soothing is not the answer. I want my boys to know it is ok to be vulnerable in manhood.

The R.E.M. video shows the lead singer as vulnerable, in fact all the men and boys in the video are vulnerable. This week we have seen my brother’s vulnerability, us 3 women he cares for the most, his girlfriend, me and his mother. Allowing us to see him in the condition that he is in, seeing his acceptance of his fate, he said to me, “I did this to myself”, and him signing the Hospice papers has to be the bravest and most painful task he has ever had to do in his life.

Maybe 1989. Joe with our maternal grandmother, Rena. He loved her dearly. I shot this photograph at the beginning of my photographic education/career.

Traveling in My Mind

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Oddly enough quarantine allowed me to discover that I need some time off. I gave myself freedom to create a space to travel in, and be creative and be in the “zone”.

One of the pieces I worked on inspired by the class in the link below.

A month ago Adoni and I started an art class called Spread Your Artistic Wings through Intuitive Art with Maria Fondler-Grossbaum. I had purchased this class in the fall of 2019. I did it in an effort to “create” during my time in Dominican Republic… before Rio and Baseball in DR took over. And of course it didn’t happen, I couldn’t make the time and when I did try I didn’t have internet to actually watch the tutorials. So many excuses per my usual life. Or I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. We live a very busy life, a full life.

Checking out my materials, Dominican Republic, January, 2020.

https://abyssimo.teachable.com/p/spread-your-artistic-wings-through-intuitive-art

In my current mindset all I want to do is travel inward not outward. For the first time in years I just want to be in that creative zone and create. While Adoni and I worked that second day we created for hours. He emerged from the “zone” because his tummy was calling for food. When he looked at the time he was surprised. We had been traveling inward for 3 hours. Since, I have secretly cried multiple times as I miss THIS. In one of Maria’s classes she makes a joke about being philosophical talking about traveling inward. Granted this video was made long before Covid-19, long before quarantine. In it she challenges everyone to travel inward and even suggests that we don’t need to pay for travel to far away places to feel freedom and relaxation. That if we allow ourselves to open our minds and draw freely without judgment we can travel very far.

One of the pieces I worked on inspired by the class in the link above.

And I did, I went to the “zone”. Truthfully I am not sure I will be coming back to the life I was living anytime soon. So please excuse me if I don’t want to meet up, join the gathering or fly some where because I am already there in my mind, in my creative place.

One of Adoni’s pieces inspired by the class in the link above.

And Poof… It Is Over

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It is not a magic thing, but it all happened so fast it felt like magic. Will there be a grand ending? We know the answer will not have any magic. I am writing this post to officially say goodbye to the people we didn’t have a real chance to say goodbye to. We just up and left- like radical. Although most of the boys will never even see the post I am writing it anyway for closure.

We left the Dominican 6 days ago and I feel like I have a hole inside. Rio maybe feels something but he is so 14, in his mind, he is elsewhere. Me, I am stuck with all these faces and relationships that we were building with coaches, trainers, trainees, baseball loving youth, apartment mates, new friends and some family who live in the city of Santo Domingo.

Rio catching.

In the photo above, Ramon Delgado, the trainer and Pedro his assistant along with the boys watch Rio. So about 25 days with these guys, one can’t deny a relationship forming. We intended to be in DR for 3 months or more.

Genaro, an American Dominican kid training like Rio and Rio.

Remember when I had said Rio hadn’t even seen the ocean. That weekend with Genaro he had gone to a dance party for kids, then next day they went to a private club by the ocean. So yes he did in fact see the ocean before we left.

Rio as catcher and Pedro giving advice.

Our roommates, Katy and her helper Altagracia, helped us figure out the city. Katy helped me learn how to be on my toes and be safe. Our cousin Mariel helped us too. I was looking forward to being able to say that I lived in the city, and we survived! It has been many years since I had a roommate and certainly a new experience for Rio.

Alta and Katy.

And with this I say goodbye, con Dios. I really hope that we will see everyone again. The latest I have read about COVID-19 is that we will be looking at months-many months before we even see something called normal again. There is no magic in that.

Rio arriving at practice with a kid who shows up every morning just to hang out and get things for people if needed. Sweet kid.

Who goes to the salon once a week? Dominicans do.

/ Marlo / 2 Comments

Today is international women’s day and although this post has been in the works for a while now I thought it appropriate to publish it today.

When I first experienced this idea of the “salon” in DR, I honestly didn’t understand why. Why would I go through so much trouble to straighten my hair when in no short time it would be back wild and frizzy. That was my understanding of the salon-putting rolos-curlers in the hair- an addiction to have straight hair. Well I am partially wrong. I missed the part called family and women doing things together. Let’s think about the salon as a woman’s world and woman’s work and most importantly companionship.

My grandmother Rena and her sisters.

My grandmother and her sisters set their hair with curlers, slept with those damn things, and this happened regularly. I thought of it as quaint, something from the past, but I missed the point. What an ass I am/was. In my defense, my mother never did her own hair in curlers and certainly never taught me to do mine. I was also a teenager in the 80’s when everyone who had straight hair got a perm to make big hair. My perspective has been about the art of it- the finish, not necessarily the process – and companionships. My grandmother, the one not looking in the picture, had 5 sisters and they had a beautiful bond and one that lasted. Maybe I am romanticizing it by saying that they confirmed those bonds over and over by doing each other’s hair. My great aunt Freda is still alive! She will be 94 this year, beautiful soul, she is the one pictured far right.

1987 high school yearbook

Here in DR, it seems to be a right of passage of women to learn how to put hair en rolos, one female member of the family passes it onto the next. I totally understand there is the immense history of hair straightening here and Dominicans are the best at it. The roots aren’t necessarily from a good place, and I really can’t bring up rollos with out mentioning the roots. See the link below, a trusted friend Ruth, shared this link with me.

Natural Hair Is Still Under Attack in the Dominican Republic

My salon experiences over the last couple of months here in DR. They were Joyful and full of family and companionship even if I didn’t understand every word.

At this moment I would prefer to think of the salon as self care and comfort. So I will announce that I have had an awakening about self care and salons since the summer of 2019 when my cousin did my hair for the first time. Thank you Andrea. It has only taken me 18 years to figure it out, or my entire adult life?! I say 18 years because I have been traveling to DR since 2002. As my friends know, I am not a regular attendee of salons, nor do I do my nails at salons. How regular of me, or boring or conservative with my money, call it what you want but it hasn’t been my thing.

Me volunteering in the Bodyshop at Wasteland 2019, California.

I am an artist and I think it is time that I allow myself to enjoy self care experiences versus thinking about the art of it all. I worked at Miss Porter’s School, an all girls boarding school. I was the photography teacher there for 14 years, I loved my job. It is interesting to know that the other part of my job was heading the costume, hair and make up crew. I was in the position of doer, not receiver- 14 years!!! Don’t get me wrong, I always saw what I was doing as art, start to finish and I was proud of my work. So to bring this post full circle, I have always been in the position of companionship but not always receiving the care or allowing myself to take it in fully. And for some reason, this year, family is what brought it up for me in a way I hadn’t noticed before.