For my personal GEB Service Project, I spent last semester working at Miriam’s Kitchen, practically located on the GW Foggy Bottom campus. Miriam’s Kitchen is an organization committed to ending chronic homelessness in Washington, D.C. through providing meals, resources and support to people experiencing homelessness. Every Monday morning, I would work with the art therapy studio. I was initially attracted to this organization, because I wanted to get to know the community I will be apart of for the next four years. Additionally, as I researched Miriam’s Kitchen, I learned that their primary focus to achieving their mission is through a relationship driven focus, a focus very important to me. I wanted to help with the art therapy studio specifically because I have always loved art, and know the healing power of creating and expressing oneself through art, so I thought that I would enjoy this angle of engagement.
Every Monday, I would come in after the breakfast hour had ended and set up the art cart. Guests would then be able to get the supplies they needed to create what ever they desired. My job was just to go around and chat or get supplies from the back room that were running low. I loved this job and was constantly amazed by the conversations I had, the art that was created, and the relationships that were formed.
Daniel was one of the first guests that I got to know. He created costumes and sculptures from items he collected from around D.C. Some mornings, he would walk in wearing an elaborate feathered headdress he constructed out of bird feathers that he had found. Other mornings he would come in with his beard painted red and work on an astronaut suit for his pastor’s kid. He also created signs on cardboards, using his signature chicken, that were direct discourses on social issues. This art was often told in joke form, but approached controversial topics about human value, Donald Trump, and human rights. Daniel told me of times he would get threatened because of his art. I think that Daniel is a genius, innovating with what he has. His voice can be so loudly heard from his engaging art.
Another guest that I got to know was Jeremiah. Jeremiah didn’t talk much but is the best drawer that I have ever witnessed. During the month of November, he set out to draw Benjamin Franklin and the $100 bill with a pencil. Though I did not get to see the final product, I still cannot get over how detailed that drawing was. He poured everything into his works. He once told me that he wanted to apply for art school but was waiting to get an ID. Not having an ID, or being able to afford an ID is often a huge hurdle. Jeremiah needs to be an artist. His work is too good to go unnoticed.
Often sitting with Jeremiah, was a vibrant, southern women who had recently arrived in D.C. Her and Jeremiah formed the most unlikely friendship, but I adored sitting at their table. She would sit, mending her clothes, telling me stories of exploring the art and culture of D.C. and sharing stories of her past, prancing around L.A., creating art with her boyfriend(s). She would also share with me current happenings in D.C. homeless legislation. As winter approached, beds in the shelters around D.C. were running low. A rule was made that if a person who has a bed reserved for them in a certain shelter (they are a registered guest) misses a single night or is late for check-in, their bed is automatically given away and their name goes to the bottom of the waiting list. This became a problem for this particular southern women, because her son in North Carolina was going to pay to have her come spend Christmas with him and his family, but she couldn’t figure out how to go stay with him with out loosing her coveted place in a shelter.
My friend Mo, a big, older man from Morocco would always signal from me across the room, wanting to read to me a line out of his poetry book. He would create these simple but profound four line poems blossoming with wisdom. A constant theme throughout his lines were to remind me that even though people don’t look beautiful or put together, they are still worth listening to and still important. Mo put a pause in my morning, as I listened to him babble through these lessons, where I was able to recenter, be in that moment, and hope that he genuinely felt I was hearing him.
Economics united me with another guest. She had studied economics in college and now worked for the Kennedy Center and venues around D.C. as a greeter and seater. She lead a group of guests that sat in the back and studied poetry. She seemed to know all the events always happening in D.C. and every Monday would give me detailed suggestions for free talks and shows to attend that coming week. One week, as I asked her how her weekend had been, she smiled and told me that she had met L.L. Cool J. She was thrilled. This cracked me up.
These people are not just narratives, but they are my neighbors and now my friends. I run into them occasionally, walking around Foggy Bottom, and am able to greet them by name and have a conversation. Their current situation provides a very unique perspective of life in D.C. and life in America in general. Sometimes this perspective is seen in their art, sometimes it is heard as they tell me their stories, and sometimes it is just understood as they escape through their art in that studio time. Nonetheless, their opinions about politics and the world are important and having heard them now allow me to think a little differently about what I know to be true.
I loved this experience, and genuinely hope to be able to work there again in the future. Additionally, I would love to dive deeper into art therapy. But these mornings were really difficult. It was emotionally hard every Monday morning to leave along side my friends from Miriam’s Kitchen, but as they jumped from coffee shop, to the library, to a public service office, trying to stay warm during the day, I simply bought a hot bagel from Deli and hopped on the Vex. It was embarrassing when I proclaimed that I was excited that snow was staring to fall in D.C. and Mo looked at me like I was crazy, as I began to understand that he would have to sleep in that snow that I was excited to take photos in. I felt silly when guests would ask me what I was studying, and I would relay that I haven’t figured it out yet, realizing I was spending thousands of dollars to “try things”. Those awkward, difficult, and emotional moments, I am grateful for because they keep me accountable for the privilege I am drowning in. And being held accountable with these experiences and through relationships outside one’s normal comfort, helps one figure out how to use their privilege to level the playing field for everyone. That is what I hope to accomplish.