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history

Should Memory Hinder Progress?

By | The Good Plan | One Comment

This past week, a friend sent me an email titled ‘Very Worrisome.’ In the body of the email, she referenced an article from The Baltimore Sun on Vacants to Value and the demolition of rowhomes in certain parts of the city. A historic preservationist living in New Orleans, she was distraught that the unique architecture of our city was being eradicated in the name of revitalization.

I responded to the email, validating her concern, though I suggested that perhaps these houses were beyond repair. Not just in their structural integrity, but in their institutional memory. I love that term – institutional memory – where we assign a value to a place based on our own experiences; what we’ve read, what we’ve heard. But it can be a hindrance to acceptance of change.

When applied to these houses, or these shells of houses, I told my friend that perhaps the institutional memory was justification enough in the razing of this housing stock. “…The city has been tearing down houses like crazy in these areas,” I wrote, “ as we’ve found the oral history is more prevalent in keeping people away. It very much is a blank slate approach — clear the structure, clear the history. In truth, these places are so unbelievably scary and infrastructurally un-sound that I can’t imagine anyone investing in rehabbing them as-is, or moving into these neighborhoods. Its one thing for historic structures that are old and beautiful and on a well traveled path, but V2V is tearing down scary, scary places that do nothing but represent our city’s decline and deterioration.”

I cited my work with Ayers Saint Gross on what we informally call ‘the Last Mile,’ defined as the segment of the Amtrak corridor as you travel into Penn Station from the east. Looking south from the train, the homes are blown out, vacant, dilapidated, and unwelcoming. I hypothesized that maybe it really isn’t all that bad to start anew if the memory of a place is so tainted. While this friend argued that vacant lots turned gardens and parks don’t garner the same weight as a revitalized home, I argued that perhaps the places need a new story to tell, and certainly plowing down these homes wasn’t ridding the city of its historic housing stock. As many of us know, Baltimore has many, many more rowhomes to choose from. Yes, this was selective destruction, but it wasn’t architectural eradication.

And yet our relationships to place are complex, and demolishing or transforming a space doesn’t mean we erase its memory. As a planner, I feel that history can either encourage or hinder the ease with which a place is redeveloped: a beautiful old mansion would be easier to redevelop than a home where someone was murdered. This argument came full circle last week when the Apex Theater was auctioned. As the last remaining adult theater in Baltimore, this structure has one hell of an institutional memory. Whatever this theater becomes, how long will it take for people to stop referring to it as “the old Apex Theater?” How long will it take me to stop referring to the Under Armour campus as “Tide Point”? And while many may roll their eyes and say, ‘let it go,’ is it really such a bad thing to remain connected with a place through what once was?

IMAGE CREDIT. Wikimedia Commons.

Quilts to Remember

By | Art & Social Change, Crafting Change | No Comments

If you haven’t been to AVAM (the American Visionary Art Museum, for the uninitiated) lately, you should go — because where else can you see an entire exhibit of work by artists with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder? But seriously, in addition to the OCD exhibit there’s a great display of embroidered fabric collages by Esther Krinitz, a Polish holocaust survivor. The collages tell the story of her childhood interrupted by the Nazi occupation, how her village and her family were rounded up and taken away to their death by Nazi soldiers, and how she and her sister miraculously escaped by posing as Polish Catholics.

Krinitz started making the collages in her fifties as a way to pass her stories along to her family. She ended up making 36 fabric art pieces telling the story of her childhood, her escape from the Nazi occupation and her eventual migration to the United States. The collages show images of her idyllic village in rural Poland and the traditions of her community, like making matzoh together before Passover.

matzoh21

Image by Esther Krinitz, courtesy of Art and Remembrance.

The pieces are remarkable for the story they tell and for their incredible beauty and detail. Although she never studied art, Krinitz was trained as a dressmaker and her skills clearly show in the intricate embroidery. They are embellished with incredible detail, from the tiny leaves on each tree to the braids in the little girls’ hair. She took the skills she had and turned them into these beautiful pieces of art that tell a tragic and powerful story.

Krinitz’ daughters founded a nonprofit, Art and Remembrance, which “seeks to change people’s hearts and minds by illuminating the experience of war, oppression, and injustice through the power and passion of personal narrative in art.” The organization exhibits Krinitz’ pieces and helps others make fabric art about their own experiences.

Another artist who uses fabric to tell stories is Faith Ringgold. Ringgold started her career as a painter but is now known for her story quilts, which combine quilted fabric, painting and text, often illustrating themes of African-American history, racial and gender inequality. For example, her first story quilt, “Who’s Afraid of Aunt Jemima?” took on stereotypes of black women, reimagining Aunt Jemima as a feminist hero.

Ringgold’s quilts draw upon the African-American quilting tradition and her own family’s connections to sewing. Her mother was a seamstress and fashion designer, and her great-great-grandmother had learned to sew quilts as a slave.  As a traditionally female activity, quilting is also an apt medium for Ringgold’s feminist messages.

The AIDS Memorial quilt is a community art project that uses the quilting medium for activism. Started in the late 80’s when there was still a lot of stigma around AIDS, a group of activists in San Francisco made the first quilt to memorialize friends and lovers and bring awareness of the devastating effect of the disease. The AIDS quilt now has more than 48,000 squares and has been displayed in thousands of cities worldwide.

aids quilt close up

Image via AIDS Services of Austin

There are even more examples, from craftivists in the UK quilting against hunger to Latina women in California making quilts about their experiences as immigrants.While most of these pieces are more art than craft, they use a craft medium that has been used for centuries to make both functional and decorative objects. Quilting is a longtime tradition, which has served as a way to socialize (i.e. quilting bees), pass on memories to family, even send clandestine messages (i.e. on the underground railroad, although the historical accuracy of that claim is debated). These contemporary quilts use a centuries-old craft to tell stories,  remind us of injustices past and present and celebrate lives. 

IMAGE CREDIT. By Esther Krinitz, courtesy of Art and Remembrance