Category: art

art, religion, travel, yoga

Step 178: Greek Expectations

Christa Avampato

“The proper response to a great work of art is to enter into it as though there were nothing else in the world.” ~ Huston Smith, religious scholar, on the occasion of his 90th birthday

I’m leaving for the airport in a few hours to head to Santorini, Greece for a yoga retreat with Shiva Rea. Because I’ve never been on a yoga retreat, I’m a little nervous about what I may find. Is it really a personal journey or is it a collective group journey? Is it both, and if so, where is the line? Is my purpose to connect with others or to tap into my own sense of well-being?

In preparation for my trip to Greece, I stopped into the Rubin Museum of Himalayan Art yesterday. They have a set of exhibits now that reflect many of yoga’s historical and spiritual teachings that I studied while in my training program. There were Kali and Durga and Shiva. There were the familiar and powerful lotus and warrior asanas. The sculptures that truly captured my attention depicted Vasudhara, the Buddhist goddess of abundance.

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” said a voice behind me.

George, a museum guide, appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He must have noticed how taken I was with the Vasudhara statue. With his kind eyes and seemingly unlimited knowledge of Hinduism and Buddhism, George walked me through the exhibit on the 3rd floor, giving me historical context, explaining the casting process of the sculptures, and describing the meaning of the intricate details of each piece. He closed out impromptu tour by explaining that Heaven and Hell are not considered destinations to Hindus and Buddhists; they are within. They are a daily choice.

I thought about that idea as I walked through the other floors of the exhibit. A question came to me as I looked at some of the other installations. I went back down to the 3rd floor to ask George about it. He was gone. Nowhere to be found (and the Rubin Museum is a very small museum with nowhere to hide.) It’s possible he went on break or maybe his shift was over.

For a second, I thought maybe he had been placed there just for me. He showed up just when I needed him, even though I didn’t know that I needed him, and he enriched my experience. Our encounter showed me that it’s possible to be on your own road and still connect to others in a meaningful way. Maybe the two are not separate at all. Just show up with everything we’ve got, as if there is nothing else in front of us except this next step, and see what we find. A little real-time foreshadowing for what’s to come in Greece? I hope so!

I’ll be off the grid while I’m away. I’ll be writing every day in my notebook and sharing those experiences when I return on July 5th. Να είναι καλά!

Africa, art, film

Step 131: Meet Kate Ofwono, Documentary Film Maker from Uganda

Christa Avampato

My friend, Amy, has been staying with me for the week. She is an exceptionally talented production stage manager (currently on the Phantom of the Opera tour) and a trained trauma counselor. Amy and I worked together many years ago as young theater managers and we’ve stayed close pals ever since. She has an incredible heart and has spent much of her free time abroad doing international volunteer projects. Last year she spent 6 months at the UNHCR in Geneva working on refugee issues.

In graduate school, Amy met Paulette Moore, a documentary filmmaker. Paulette’s blog, Story Doula, chronicles her film work and one aspect of her work involves making films about social justice and peace building. Paulette was able to find a way to premiere the work of Kate Ofwono, a 22-year old filmmaker from Uganda who currently resides in the Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya, in Geneva in March. Kate filmed her daily life with the help of FilmAid International’s participatory video program.

Kate’s film is exquisite. She is so honest, strong, and articulate. Her courage inspired me. Watch her film clips here.

art, creativity, yoga

Step 101: The People’s Republic of Vinyasa

Christa Avampato

When I signed up for my yoga teacher training at Sonic, one of the requirements they told us about was a trance dance. I had no idea what this was. Johanna, one of my teachers, told us “you will love it.” I wasn’t sure about it – the description reminded me of a rave minus any of the substances normally associated with that kind of party. But hey, this training is all about getting out of our comfort zone and being open to new experiences so I decided to go along quietly.

Today I had the extreme pleasure of getting to practice and trance dance with Shiva Rea, the guru whom many of my teachers have practiced with for many years. Everyone within the sound of her voice feels her glow. Her only instruction for the trance dance was to “let it all go.” There’s no right way or wrong way to dance – we just had to let the music move through us spontaneously. No plans, no regrets, no patterns. “All our lives we struggle and struggle and struggle, when all we really need to do is let go,” Shiva said. And let go we did. All of us.

Being in the presence of over 100 people moving to their own rhythm, I got swept away in their current. In the process of being swept away, I was able to release and just be, in a way that I never have before. There we all were, twisting, turning, chanting, breathing. All on our own and all together, all at once. It felt like for a moment we weren’t on the lower east side of Manhattan. We had entered another realm where the energy we created could actually be held in the palms of our hands. That energy was a living, breathing entity that belonged to all of us. We were individuals, and yet we were all clearly citizens of the People’s Republic of Vinyasa. Born and raised.

art, theatre

Step 75: Laughing into the Future

Christa Avampato

“I frequently laugh while contemplating my future.” ~ A Little Night Music

My friend, Rob, took me to see A Little Night Music to get my birthday kicked off in style. We couldn’t pass up the chance to see Angela Lansbury, who is stunning in the role. Rob knows the show well, but I’d never seen it before even though I know a good deal of the music. Send in the Clowns, one of the most prominent musical numbers, is among my favorites.

One of the things I loved most about the show was its poignant one-liners, sentiments that pop off the stage without being too sappy or preachy. Like the one quoted above, they are simple expressions of the human condition. My sister, Weez, will tell you that I am laughing all the time, even in my sleep. My niece, Lorelei, laughs in her sleep, too. We think our future, heck our past and present too, is funny.

I go about making my plans, and then wake up every morning wondering what happened. How did I get HERE? I’m equally amazed by the challenges I’ve been dealt, and the many good fortunes, too. I work hard, though I never really planned much of this life o’ mine. And ever year when my birthday comes around, I’m surprised at where I’ve landed because I never saw any of it coming my way. There’s no need to push, pull, tug, or hurry along life – it really happens on its own.

So on the eve of my 34th birthday, I’m smiling, laughing even, because I just don’t know where my future is headed and for the first time in my life I feel okay about it. It’s okay to be empty. It’s okay to have someone ask me, “so what’s next” and to hear myself respond, “I don’t know.”

My friend, Trevin, called me today to wish me a happy birthday in advance. I actually got a little choked up while listening to his voice mail. “You’re do amazing things with your life just by being you, Christa,” he said. That made me laugh out loud, too. In a way he was telling me to just relax, enjoy my life, and sure, laugh into the future. After all, what’s the alternative?

art, creative process, creativity, love

Step 41: Charting Eternal Mysteries

Christa Avampato

A few days ago I was shut inside my cozy apartment, working away, blocking out the cold. After an afternoon of intense work, I took a break and made some tea. Tazo Cucumber White Tea – a new flavor for me. I turned the box in my fingers and on the back found the steps to brewing a perfect cup of tea:

Step 1: Bring some fresh filtered water to a boil.

Step 2: For hot tea, place one Tazo filterbag in your cup, mug, or gourd.

Step 3: Pour 8 fl oz of water over the filterbag.

Step 4: Steep for 3 minutes while contemplating your favorite eternal mysteries.

I smiled when I read step 4 and started to walk away from the cup of steeping tea, back to my computer. And then I stopped, mid-step. “I have 3 minutes,” I thought. “What are my favorite eternal mysteries?” I jotted these down:

Why does love take it’s time to find some of us?

Why does the world work in mysterious ways?

Why does beauty take so many forms, and how come beauty is not always readily apparent to the eye?

How do we heal? And when and why?

Why are we able to forget that which hurts us while finding it nearly impossible to forget that which brings us joy?

And then I started imagining pieces of art like those of Brian Andreas: powerful, magical statements accompanied by an illustration that brings those statements to life. I’m not sure if there are any answers to eternal mysteries, but I am glad I took the 3 minutes to think about them, to jot them down. I don’t know if there are any answers to questions like these, but I do think they might make some beautiful art. I do think that they keep us reaching, and in the end, that’s what matters most.

The image above is not my own. I can be found here.

art, career, dreams, writing, yoga

My Year of Hopefulness – The Center

Christa Avampato

“The artists’ role is to do what’s honest for them. So if you’re in New York and everyone is looking at the floor, you can look up. It’s not your role to follow the others. It’s your role to go to your center and then reflect that, not just to be a mirror to what’s happening.” ~ James Hubbell

Here is a tricky balance to keep: how can we be mindful of what’s happening around us and also learn to follow our own hearts? It’s easy to get swept up in the moment, in the emotions and circumstances of others. In its best form, we know this as empathy. In its worst form, we know this as distraction. How can we see the whole picture, and also our own role in it? How can we see both the forest and the trees? The role of the artist, in any medium, demands this balance, and that balance is our Center.

Our Center is an elusive thing. We clearly know when we have moved away from our Center: it’s apparent in our lack of energy, enthusiasm, and joy. Finding and holding the Center, particularly in our daily adventures in chaos, is a tough thing because it sometimes requires that we disappoint others to be true to ourselves. It requires that we believe in ourselves and in our own abilities more than we believe in anything else. It asks us to take our future into our own hands.

There are three ways to know if we’ve found our Center:
1.) It makes time pass by so quickly and effortlessly that we barely notice how long we’ve been there.

2.) The activities we perform at our Center give us energy and we never grow tired of them.

3.) Our Center is the summation of the very best gifts we have to offer to the world.

For me, my Center is found in writing and yoga. I’ve been writing daily for three and a half years, and intermittently as far back into my childhood as I can remember. I’ve had a steady yoga practice for 10 years. Time has flown! These activities give me boundless energy and let me show my most joyful face to the world.

And so, I am taking James Hubbell’s: in 2010, I will go to my Center and reflect what is there. By the time 2010 is singing its swan song, I’ll find a way to make writing and yoga the Center of my life. I’ll find a way to earn my living through them. The ‘fierce urgency of now’ is calling me far too clearly to spend my life any other way.

art, books, inspiration, New York City, theatre, travel

My Year of Hopefulness – Chasing Down Inspiration

Christa Avampato

“You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.” ~ Jack London, author

Before 2009, I used to think of inspiration a something that just hits us. I kept a folder of inspirational pictures, stories, quotes, and clippings that I trolled through when I needed some uplifting thoughts and none seemed to find me. I believed in writer’s block and the mystical muse of creativity who decided if, when, and how to show up in our lives. No more. After a year of actively seeking out hope and writing about it every day, I believe in the Jack London method, my inspiration-chasing club always at the ready.

In New York City, we’re lucky that chasing down inspiration means just putting on a pair of shoes and walking outside our doors. Inspiration is everywhere. We have a host of amazing museums that I visit frequently (thanks to my employer’s fantastic perk that gets us into almost every museum in New York for free!) Central Park and Riverside Park are two blocks away from my apartment. Broadway, off-Broadway, and off-off Broadway are burgeoning with some of the most inventive work to come along in decades. Bookstores are on nearly every corner, and there is no shortage of fascinating lectures, readings, and continuing ed classes in every subject, at every level. And if all else fails, just take a walk around the block, any block. You’re sure to find some characters.

In other cities, some much smaller than New York, inspiration abound as well. In Orlando, Florida, I found the largest collection of Tiffany glass in the world. In Charlottesville, Virginia, I had some of the best meals of my life. In my own hometown of Highland, New York, the view from the Catskill Mountains still takes my breathe away. In Providence, Rhode Island, I saw one of the finest productions of Moon for the Misbegotten that I’ve ever seen.

Inspiration is everywhere – all we need to do is get out into the world and look. We can travel thousands of miles from home, or we can hang around in our own backyard. What matters is the pursuit: do we want to be inspired and are we willing to “sift the sands of the desert to see what we can find,” as Clarissa Pinkola Estes says so eloquently in Women Who Run with the Wolves? If the answer is yes, then there are adventures upon adventures just waiting for us to hope on board. And if you can get your hands on a big club, that may help, too.
The image above is not my own. It can be found here.
art, story, writing

My Year of Hopefulness – Writing Ourselves Free

Christa Avampato

“Words do not label things already there. Words are like the knife of a carver: They free the idea, the thing, from the general formlessness of the outside. As a man speaks, not only is his language in a state of birth, but also the very thing about which he is talking.” ~ Inuit Wisdom

Today I finished up the book The Soul of Money by Lynne Twist, and the Inuit quote above kicks off one of the last chapters. So many of her ideas about money helped me to reconsider the role of money in my life, both when I was very young and had no money and now when I have a well paying job. Her words helped me to see money as just another form of energy which we can utilize to shape the world around us. In her words I was able to make peace with finance, a difficult thing to do in our consumer-driven, debt-ridden culture.

Words are powerful tools not just for communicating ideas, but also to form them. So often I come to a blank screen on my computer, unsure of what I’ll write or where my writing will lead. Over time, I’ve learned to trust the process of writing the way that a carver trusts his knife. In my imagination there is always a story waiting to be told, similar to the figure that is within a slate of marble. The skill of the writer or artist releases the form.

I’m now weeks away from meeting my goal of writing about hope every day for a year. I started this journey as someone who felt let down by the world, someone who was worried about her future. Now that I have spent nearly 365 days actively seeking out what’s hopeful in our society, I am emerging from my quest with a confident, revitalized soul. I wrote myself free form the burden of worry.

So often we think a lack of commitments frees us. We give up relationships, jobs, materials goods, and tasks in pursuit of greater flexibility and freedom. And sometimes that works. Though before I give up anything or anyone, I remind myself of Willa Cather’s quote in O Pioneers! – “Freedom so often means that one isn’t needed anywhere.” I want my freedom to mean that I choose to do everything in my life, not that I am forced to do something which I don’t want to do. My writing frees me because it lets me express what I’m feeling, and gives me the opportunity to connect with others. I’ve found that my connections to others frees my own heart rather than binding it up.

I found my writing voice not by closing down and shutting off, but by opening up to the experiences of the world and making the commitment to come here to this blog every day and share those experiences. I became a better writer by committing to the craft. I think life is shockingly similar to writing in this way – we live it better by practicing, by stepping out and stepping up, by committing our heart to others and to the world around us. And as we do this, I hope we’ll all take some time and write it all down. Having the courage to tell others our own stories ironically frees them to do the same.

The photo above is not my own. It can be found here.

art, career, choices, education, literature, time, writing

My Year of Hopefulness – Your One Wild and Precious Life

Christa Avampato

Long a mainstay of college admissions processes and orientations, I recently heard about the poem The Summer Day by Mary Oliver. (I’ve pasted it at the bottom of this post.) My sister, Weez, tells me that it is my great hope in life to be employed as a professional student. She’s right.


I am a sucker for places that make us dream big, that push us beyond our limits, that stretch our imaginations and minds in ways that we never thought possible. I am a forever student, very much at home in the classroom wherever that classroom happens to be, whether I am up front teaching or happily seated in the front row soaking up all that glorious information like a sponge. So of course the big questions are my very favorites, and Mary Oliver hits on what may be my favorite question yet: “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Isn’t that gorgeous? Makes me want to print it out 1,000 times and plaster it all over my neighborhood.

This week I have had new options unfolding for me every day. Just when I think I am set upon a course of action, some other wonderful possibility falls into my path to consider. I think I’m being tested (which is fine by me since students love tests.) I think I’m being shown a way to focus on exactly what field in life gets me most excited, education, and then also being offered a myriad of distractions that are testing my passion for it. Mary Oliver’s question is like a beacon in the haze. What if we looked at every option that’s thrown our way, what if we considered every road before us with this lens. What if we made choices by asking “is this what you want to do with your one wild and precious life (knowing that our lives are so short)?”

The very thought of this takes my breathe away. Our lives are so short. We have such little time here, making every day a wild and precious thing. So here is my answer to Mary Oliver, no matter how many days I have left:

To write courageously and passionately so that it stirs the hearts and imaginations of others
To give children every where the chances that I had to improve my own lot in life through education, dedication, and very hard work
To lift others up as I rise
To generate more kindness, compassion, and generosity in the world
To take these two wild and precious hands and build things that have value and meaning, for me and for many others
To travel far and wide, to experience other cultures, to see new scenery, to meet as many citizens of the world as possible
And, yes, every day I want to be both a teacher and a student

The Summer Day
by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

The image above is not my own. It can be found here.
art, books, children, creativity

My Year of Hopefulness – Everyone Can Draw

Christa Avampato

“If you think you can’t draw, too bad. Do it anyway.” ~ Tim Brown, CEO of IDEO, in his book Change by Design

I’ve been lamenting for some time that I can’t draw. I’m a much better writer than visual artist, and this is exacerbated because I am an auditory learner, not a visual learner. Thank that’s weird? You’re right – auditory learners make up only 20% of the population. Add it up and it’s easy to understand why I don’t have any natural ability to draw, nor have I ever really had a desire to learn.
And then I read Tim Brown’s excellent book, Change by Design, that explains his philosophy on design-thinking and the future of the field. He talks about mind maps, schematics that illustrate ideas though visual depictions rather than through written briefs or powerpoint presentations. This is a kind of drawing I can get into. Think of them as multi-dimensional tree diagrams blending pictures and words to illustrate ideas. Rather than just working left to right and using the basic construct of option A or B to progress from problem to solution, a mind map starts with a question that takes the form of “How might we ( fill in the blank)?” for a specific population. For my program with Citizen Schools, I will be asking the kids I work with to solve this dilemma with a mind map “How might we build a public school curriculum for the graders to encourage creativity and entrepreneurship?”
As so often happens, as I was reading Tim’s book, I saw an interview with another Tim whom I greatly admire, Tim Burton. He was discussing his views on drawing and creativity and echoed Tim Brown’s sentiment. “Every child believes he or she can draw. Too many adults have found their creativity beaten out of them.” And this brings me back to my long-held belief that I have only just begun to fully articulate: it is much easier (and effective) to help children maintain their creativity through to adulthood than it is to repair the confidence of adults who believe they have no creativity at all.
The truth is that I’ve lost confidence in my ability to draw, believing that my creativity is relegated to writing and developing products and not at all to drawing. The Tims helped me realize that I am selling myself short. Somewhere inside me is a visual artist of some sort yearning for a paint brush (or crayon or chalk or colored pencil) and a canvas (or piece of paper or blank wall or empty piece of sidewalk).
So here I go with another resolution to live a more authentic life: even if it’s not good, I’m going to draw a little bit every week with the help of my mind maps. I’ll let you know, or better yet I’ll show you, how it goes by publishing the pieces to this blog. Stay tuned as I re-teach myself to draw.
The image above is not my own; I’m just starting to draw so my pictures aren’t this good – yet. It is the image created by Tim Brown for the table of content of his book Change by Design. It can be found here.