How do we become what we become

There are so many levels in everything. Layers peeling off of layers. A coming together at times, at others, a dismantling.
This class, Songs and Places, attempts to arrive at the birth place of culture and custom. As humans, we have roamed around the world trying to make connections. Forming tribes, forming dogmas, forming stories around the stars, around the moon, around this existence that we live.
Life. Life. What is it? How can we contain it? Does it exist in a melody, perhaps in the complexities of a hot bowl of Borscht on a cold winter day in Russia. Everyday we experience. We hear things, we see people, we pay the bus driver, we say bless you when someone sneezes. Just now, lying in my bed, I hear the sirens of North Oakland, I hear the birds chirping in the conifer tree outside my window, I hear the slight jingle jangle of the wind chimes by the lemon tree. All of these things meld into our consciousness and to what we form and shape as our everyday culture. This class, more than anything, taught me to slow down and observe and listen. To pay attention to the small details. To form connections and to constantly seek connections.

As far as Russian-ness goes, what caught my eye was the fabrics. The folkloric tapestries. The bright and contrasting patterns of flowers and paisley, what a beautiful sight. Head scarves, blues, reds, yellows, symmetric designs. I saw Russia in these colors, which is funny, because before, Russia brought images of snow and winter to my mind. Therefore, for one of my pieces, I decided to incorporate a display of different patterned fabrics. I added flowers, a little plant of chives, and a beautiful cream colored bowl, making the most beautiful table setting. I served Borscht, which added even more color with its rich red coloring from the beets. Adding the soup was an important element for me. I have this belief that you can tell a lot about a culture from the taste of their broths. Japanese have their udon, Mexicans have their caldos, Vietnamese have their Pho. And broth, broth holds the flavor and the comfort of tradition and culture. When I am sick, I will go to a little Mexican restaurant and order a Chicken soup, or Caldo de Pollo. It has a pretty specific taste, and always hits that spot, right between my belly and chest. Warms it up, flushes my cheeks. This presentation was my interpretation of the Russian soul. After all, red is the color of passion, and the Russian songs and readings emoted such passion. The red beet soup, in small cream colored bowl, that to me is the Russian soul.

For my final presentation, for the end of the semester exhibit, I decided to incorporate a display of many scarves. Some were green, others orange with flowers. I included a painting of a woman with long flowing hair as the centerpiece. On either side, I brought framed pictures of my mother and my father. Both pictures are small and black and white. My mother's and my father's face look very serious in these small photos. I think it is due to the fact that many poor people in Mexico hardly had their picture taken at this time and perhaps did not know the proper way of posing for the camera. But these two pictures mean so much to me. They are my two halves, they are where I come from. I am their lineage. And that is what I have been thinking about all semester. How do we become what we are. We are the mixture of two people. We are the mixture of two worlds. We are the mixture of complicated histories, of war, of love, of diaspora,  of mixing. We are what we eat, what we see, what we listen to, what the birds chirp outside my window. The more I learn, the more I see there are no origins, there is nothing completely authentic. Only snapshots, small fragments of culture, of life, represented through song, through food, through art, through all of these amazing medias that humans create in order to express the questions within. The passion within. Passion the color of beet soup.