English

Porous: “having small holes that allow air or liquid to pass through; easy to pass or get through” (Merriam-Webster). Being porous is being open, understanding that we are not just one, standalone, unchanging, impenetrable being. It is understanding that nothing in our world ever is. However, the other aspect of being porous is that to be ‘easy to pass or get through’, it needs to be separate, distinct, and individual. It must, in some way, be nonporous. Can gas be porous? How does gas be considered porous if it is entirely penetrable, and in no way can it be nonporous? In order to be porous, one needs to be an individual entity. With porosity always comes distinction and self-identification. It is in some ways a given in our lives, but it can also be a choice – to see, experience, and interact with the world from different perspectives and vantage points of life. It helps determine who we are as people, and how we function as a society. I feel I have come to my own definition of the word, and my own understanding of the relevance of porosity in our lives to finding our homes and ourselves.

When I first entered this class weeks ago, I wrote an essay defining “home” as “self,” not a structure or a contained space, not family or friends. Home, within my own spirit. In some ways, this demonstrates just how porous a mindset I live with—pushing against the confinement of stability and instead reaching for fluidity. Yet in retrospect, I have come to realize just how bounded my view of “self” in fact was. In separating “self” from place and community, I failed to recognize that these crucial aspects of my life, in fact, create self.

“The material that passes through a body also transforms that body,” so described of the trans-corporeal self (Alaimo 3). Self is, in essence, the reflection of past experiences, relationships, and places. Self might not be inherent or fixed, but instead porous and dynamic. Occasionally my dad notices similar characteristics that delineate parallels between all of my aunts and I, hidden genetic connections dotting our identities of self. At least part of my self may stem from birth, but much of it grows throughout life.

                          Sometimes, when I think about all the people I know and consider friends and all the groups and activities with which I am involved, the places I have lived and the “homes” I have made, I realize I do not have anything I could definitively call my community. Community connotes a number of things-similarity, cohesion, belonging-and while I can easily identify the commonalities between myself and the others with whom I interact, I cannot help but be aware of the differences that exist and suggest difference. Here at Bryn Mawr, for example, I could consider myself a part of many communities: I live in Rockefeller Dorm, I run track and cross country, I am a sophomore student, I am part of this eco-literacy 360. The problem I encounter when I contemplate this, though, is the differences that not only persist between myself and the other individuals in the above communities, but also the fact that difference, separation, and exclusion, arguably the exact opposites of community, delineate and divide these groups to lend them existence in the first place. Scholars and the philosophically inclined have debated and continue to debate what makes an ideal community, but I feel that, before one can describe the ideal community, or community at all, they must first address the differences and divisions that separate one community from the other and how the inclusiveness of community exists alongside isolation and exclusion.

He noticed somehow that the sky was a lovely shade of blue and that one cloud had the shape of a sailing ship. The tips of the trees held pale, young buds and the leaves were a rich deep green. Outside the window, there was so much to see, and hear, and touch -- walks to take, hills to climb, caterpillars to watch as they strolled through the garden. There were voices to hear and conversations to listen to in wonder, the special smell of each day...His thoughts darted eagerly about as everything looked new -- and worth trying. (Juster 255-256)

The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster is a classic piece of children’s literature, published in 1961. A timeless and revered tale, it is not only enjoyable and educational, it also advocates the importance of appreciating and being aware of the world - the environment - around you. For this reason, and because of its educational nature and narrative, it is a fantastic environmental education tool for young people. Gauged at around a 5th-6th grade reading level (by Scholastic, etc) and recommended for ages 8-12, this chapter book is full of challenging words and word play that must elude most children who read it (many of the expressions went right over my head when I read it in 4th or 5th grade), making it equally enjoyable for adults.

I have to admit it, I was seriously dragging my feet on Friday. There were TOO MANY OBSTACLES. I knew that the universe was telling us to GIVE UP. By 10 am, I was certainly ready to--and I kept telling Ava and David, for the next two hours, that they were trying too hard to make something happen...

and then I was so glad that they did! (I'm also glad, aphorisnt, that you did NOT swerve--who knows what might have happened then....?!?)

I was so surprised and delighted by the Shonibare exhibit, when we finally arrived @ the Barnes Foundation: I was grabbed first by the whimsy, by the color, and also as immediately by the complex representation of colonializing educational practices. Like others, I was particularly struck by history of the Dutch wax textiles, so I did a little more reading on The Curious History of "Tribal" Prints: How the Dutch peddle Indonesian-inspired designs to West Africa. What strikes me most in this account is how "ecological" it is--that is, how demonstrative that "everything is connected," not just biologically, but culturally and commercially (really? I think there's an Econ project lurking close to the surface here: see the web site for VLISCO,  which offers free delivery to Africa....).

A few lines from the Slate article, which highlight these interconnections:

Shonibare's Magic Ladders exhibit at the Barnes Foundation was incredible, interesting, and thought provoking. I was particularly struck by the way books from Albert Barnes' own collection were incorporated in the exhibit--especially how they were used as rungs on the ladder. I was thinking about colonialism and education, and how perhaps the books on the ladder represented the fact that it takes a certain kind (Western/colonial style) of education and specific books for someone to be deemed educated & enlighened. It was also interesting how the books were also on the desks where headless mannequins were sitting. What does this say about the adults who receive the Westernized/colonial education? 

My favorite part of the Shonibare exibit was the piece Scramble for Africa, the one with the big wooden table with men seated all around it. I felt so strongly the emotions felt by all the headless men in the room, the desparation of delegates from different European countries (and America). I could almost empathize with their feelings of need for control of the colonies of Africa. I was reminded of how I felt as a child, dividing up toys between me and my friend, and so strongly wanting my fair share, wanting justice. Except of course that in this situation, justice is impossible, and this debate which feels so real to those men, and to viewers of the piece, fails to make real the millions of people it concerns. So many lives swung in the balance of this argument, and yet those men in power felt none of them, only their own needs. It would be easy to call them greedy, to call all powerful white men greedy, and perhaps many are. But Shonibare's piece gave an interesting perspective, one that in my anger over privilege and oppression it is easy for me to overlook. This doesn't mean that these men (and the countries/societies they represent) can be forgiven for claiming control of lands and people that they had absolutely no right to, but it is helpful for me in thinking about motivations behind oppression.

Although I didn't get the opportunity of going to the Barnes Foundation to experience Shonibare's exibit, watching just the video made me really interested in his work. His collections aren't just about self expressions, they're about melting both, having the priviledges of a white man as well as having the freedom of and right to critique them. As the video played, and I explored a few more images of his work and the more I saw the more I built on the idea of building on our connections. Shonibare, himself identifies as both European and African and freely uses both identities to create what his mind unravels. Like him, I believe that I shouldn't have to choose one identity to identify who I am. I am Mexican- American, which means I am not only moving forward and adapting to the "american life" but keeping the threads that keep me tied to my physical attributes. I can be a part of this modern society and enjoy it but at the same time I can have the freedom of enjoying not having my phone and listening to Have you ever seen the rain by Creedence Clearwater Revival on blast as I lay away in the backcountry. I can be both and enjoy both quite equally, I shouldn't have to feel forced to choose which defines me more. 

Shonibare's work is all about being among the abyss and not feeling stressed or chained to a perspective you must believe and stick to forever. It's about fighting among all the disadvantages and yet managing to stick your head above the current and enjoying the sun's rays as they glisten on your face. 

Shamial

2/15/14