In my latest mixed media piece, I delve into the realm of digital art to convey the sensations of uneasiness and anxiety. Utilizing a variety of photo editing techniques, including textures and gradients, I create a visual representation of fragmented connections and internal turmoil that follows when navigating unexpected Through the manipulation of textures and gradients, I evoke a sense of disquiet and instability, reflecting the inner turmoil experienced during moments of anxiety.
Content statement: This article contains themes of death
Volunteering at Salvation Army this week has been significantly easier than last time. There’s less frustration, and hostility from the customers. I’m able to pick up their orders much easier and work much faster. However, There was, and still is a significant communication barrier with people consistently getting frustrated or trying to take advantage of my lack of understanding. Last week, I was trying my best to understand the layout of the new kitchen, and the workflow observing hundreds of people per hour. I’m now feeling more confident in leading the team, even and helping guide them, but it is not without a heavy heart.
Another person in the community passed away a few day’s previous, Claudia. This is about a week after Lazlow. And such a short time frame, it led people at Salvation Army to theorize why, as there is with any death in the community. They are left to grieve for her, but also their own situation. It’s times of loss, where it leads people become grateful for what they have. But when you’re in a significantly vulnerable population with no housing, no food security and no shelter, it can seem impossible. And lead many to wonder ‘am I next?’. I can’t imagine carrying that amount of weight to consistently. I am already struggling with accommodation for this project and support, but know that there is a security blanket If need be.
In Salvation Army specifically, there is a lot of immigrants that come through. One of the workers, being his first time here, explained that he spoke with the guy said was his last day. He mentioned having no support, no job, etc. I could see the weight on the volunteer shoulders as he was explaining this to me. He asked me or even just was saying in general I don’t know how to help him and I said that sometimes it is just communicating and listening as I’m sharing something with you. I may not seem like much but it’s something all we can do and it is sometimes more than a lot of other people do . The people in the shift have never done this before, just being done by the stories they were hearing.Seeing how much it affected them after just a few hours, I started to see how it affects me doing this almost every day. It can be exhausting, draining working in these environments , let alone living in them. , I can’t even imagine how exhausting it is carrying this lack of stability around constantly, or having having that pit in your stomach when people leave, wondering if they will show up next time.
Because of the last couple days, I am feeling burned. Helping out at NOIZ for over nine hours, getting back at midnight, and then showing up at 8:30 AM To salvation. With the significant communication, barrier, and lack of willingness to share, maybe because I’m outside and also female, it also leads to less opportunities to hear from them.
Content statement: This article contains themes of death
I want to help serve, I want to chat, but it seems extremely difficult to communicate. Even so it feels today should not be the day. I feel intrusive, almost as if should not be there. Today is a celebration of Laslo, a long-standing member, and a cherishished voice in the homeless community.
I am now sitting where they make funeral preparations for Laszlo. To see the care, and the attention to detail, there is not a dry in the house. The pain in their eyes is prominent, the strength of their community, the love for the people that go there. I can understand a bit, but there is such a disconnect. I want to understand the intricacies. There is laughter and moments of reminiscing, breaking up the tension, but as a silence heads, the weight is immense. It is moments like this in my project. That will be the hardest, because I as an outsider language, and in general reach a barrier that I don’t know if I can get past. I am trying, but it is like a transcript. I don’t have the technology to read, the ink battle. I just go here a place of understanding, but in these older spaces, and long-term care, it seems I would have an issue they don’t speak English, really, only Dutch, I can use Google Translate and we can converse that way, but even then, there will be things that will be lost.
when you were not an native speaker, I can understand how different it can be to immigrate and be a part of the culture. Especially when you cannot communicate, nor understand. You just sit there, waiting for it to click, find some remnants in a language, that you know but it never does.
