Artes Jovenes de NHCC

My Voces Experience by Julian Chavez

By Julian Chavez/VOCES

Being in Voces has been the biggest, best experience I’ve had.
I’ve never done anything like what I’ve done here, I came into voces shyer than shy but Carlos and everyone in Voces taught me not to be and not to care what others think if it’s bad or good because there are no bad pieces only finished and unfinished.

I’ve met a lot of interesting people and got to know a lot of them.

I made lots of new friends that are friends for who I am. They’ve taught me a lot, like there are lots of ways to write poetry, that it doesn’t necessarily have to rhyme things like that, that to just to write what’s on my mind.

Going back to me being shy, I didn’t even want to get up and read in front of anyone. I shook when I went up and read it was trembling. Now I feel I’ve broken that shell and I’ve kicked that shy bull to the side and now I just got to work on my performance.

For me Voces changed the way I am inside that there are ways to express myself other than going out and doing bad and blaming them on my problems.

I plan on coming back next year. It’s a great program I wished there could be a class that’s all year like school. Voces for me has been a real privilege and I’m honored for coming.

Voces -- Day 20: Voces Final Showcase

Though we'll have much better quality video at some point (and a full DVD thanks to N4th Art Center AmeriCorps volunteer Laureen Ricks), here's some video of Friday night's final Voces Showcase at the Bank of America Theater.

Mercedes Romero -- "The Culture of Cheerleading"


Letisha Howard -- "Ticking Time Bombs"


Kiyomi Wilks -- "Plastic"


Sirena Rayes -- "I Was Always Better At Saying Goodnight"


Miguel "Mickey" Figueroa -- "Tomas"

Screen printing blog by Elena Ortiz

By Elena Ortiz/VOCES
(Photos to the right are of students designs for future screen printing projects)

Ahh!! It’s the second to last day of Voces and this is barely my first blog entry!!

Pardon me if I do it wrong, and it’s terribly boring!!

So Monday, June 22 three men from the Trillion Art Space came in to present to us the exciting art of screen printing! Personally, I had never heard of screen printing in general so the presentation was a new and interesting thing to me!  

The first step of screen printing is burning a picture on to a silk screen. (The process of that is terribly confusing, so I’m going to move on!)

The next thing to do is “squidgy” ink on to the screen that overlays your intended piece of material. You want to make sure that the screen holes are completely laced with ink so that the entire picture comes out on the final product.

However be careful, you don’t want to run the ink over the screen too much, or the picture will come out blurry. (I don’t know how this happens, but it’s true. My Octo-corn was ruined because I made this simple mistake. Sad…)

 Once your screen is completely laced, slowly lift off the screen and detach it from the shirt. TA-DAA!!! You have your newly, decked out, blingin’, screen printed shirt!! I was lucky enough to be able to have "My Little Pony" printed on the back of the shirt I was wearing that day! So thanks to the guys who came, we all really enjoyed their presentation!!

   

Voces -- Day 19: Formatting Friday's Showcase

Here's a set of videos chronicling the process Voces students and mentor Mikaela Renz-Wittmore used to come up with the order of poets at Friday night's final Voces Showcase in the NHCC's Bank of America Theater.

Voces -- Day 19: Critique groups

Thursday afternoon, June 26 Voces students went through their final critiques with guest instructors Esmé Vaandrager and Jasmine Cuffee as well mentors Joseph Andres Romero, Carlos Contreras, Mikaela Renz-Wittmore and Kenn Rodriguez.

Below are videos of students critique sessions with Kenn.

Voces: Day 18 -- Showcase tryouts: Ali Nelson

Below is the more video from Wednesday afternoon's tryouts -- this one with Ali Nelson, performing her poem "The Worst Kind of Person," along with text of the poem and a self-critique by Ali.

The Worst Kind of Person
By Ali Nelson

Our coverage, had a high premium
and wouldn’t kick in for a year.
Since you didn’t buy your part of the insurance,
I’m making sure you won’t get medical coverage.
I bet I made a nice salad of questionable material
for the cardiologist.
That’s what you get for
cheating in our battles.
They were toxic,
like the snakes curled in your hair.
Its once sweet aroma made me want
to snuggle into your darkness.
Now, the stench makes my stomach spastic
as it mingles with an alcoholic’s odor.

Your face looks old now,
a car crash I’ve seen and memorized.
I can’t look past how the broken glass
clings to your skin
and finds a home in your eyes.
I can’t even find comfort
in your stubble skin
that jabs my fingertips like straw.
I’d much rather kiss a scarecrow.

You’ve flung yourself back into
old bad habits.
The persistent marks on your liver
tell a better story than any song
you could write.
At least in a song,
you can fabricate over the mind grinding
shreds your fingers throw out.
Maybe you should have taken your hands
off your big boy toys
and written the next verse
of our mismatched harmony.

You are the worst kind of person.
I am the most recent fallen angel
to stumble into a game of
chutes and ladders,
and you best believe I will hold on for dear life.
For the first time,
I will let you slide down the chute
without taking a second glance.
Your screams remind me
of your senseless questions.

Why am I staring at my feet?
Because I’m more fascinated by my
chipped toe nail polish and callused
ankle bones than your
salt stained optics
that tell more truths than you
ever did.

You are the worst kind of person!

You paved the path for me to be this way.
Your footsteps were there before mine.
Running off with our umbilical cord
lifeline, testing its strength.
You believed it wouldn’t brake.
It did,
yet I’m not the one crying out
for attention and banging on closed doors.

Our ship has sailed and sank.
God, I would hate to be stuck on the Titanic
with you.
I would probably push you over long before
we hit that damn iceberg.

It’s funny how you say you have the maturity
of a 21 year old,
when you articulated your
I love yous like a 5th grader
who failed English.
You aren’t even smart enough
to realize you only want me
like a Nymphomaniac needs... well, you know.
Thank you, for leaving all your “creativity” with me.
She can buy my sloppy seconds
half off at Wal-mart.
That’s quality right there.

Did I mention
you are the worst kind of person?
Well, I’m not much better.

Self-critique by Ali
    With our final performance around the corner, our Voces class assembled in the Wells Fargo to audition for who would get to perform a second piece. There are just simply too many of us to perform two pieces each.  I rehearsed most of the morning to engrain the somewhat fresh poem in my brain.  I originally didn’t get a spot to do a second poem, but a lovely fellow poet, Chloe, gave her spot to me.

    It’s funny how many times I practiced the finished poem, and yet I still said a couple of lines I had taken out a few days before.  I am very proud of how the performance went on stage.  I did mess up more than a few times, but with my heavily sarcastic poem, I got some laughs.  (A special thanks to Tescia and Nathan who helped me).  It was my first time “auditioning” and performing my poem the way I did.  My movements could have been better, but the fact that I even did some of them is a BIG change for me.  I did have to take my poem up with me and I referred to it a few times.  The adrenaline of the whole performance was very intense.  It was amazing, and I can’t wait to do it again… all thanks to the Voces program.

Voces: Day 18 -- Showcase tryouts: Mo Cash

Below is the more video from Wednesday afternoon's tryouts -- this one with Mo Cash, performing her poem "Little Miss Sunshine," along with text of the poem and a self-critique by Mo.

"Little Miss Sunshine"

By Mo Cash

Little miss sunshine is
a naturally occurring phenomenon,
a supernova spun from optimism.
What happened to her?
She’s been processed like Chicken McNuggets
and stamped with sockets.
Long wires twist around her
connecting light bulbs to her body
so that they may drink her electricity.
Like a calf drinks its mothers milk.

Sweet buttery light
makes her smile and lick her lips.
“I have an extra outlet if anyone needs it,” she proudly declares,
always happy to help a fellow illumination.
Light bulbs flock from miles around
and feast on her voltage.
Giant cords slowly slither towards her.
She is proud to supply a city.

As time goes on,
she is consumed.
The nuclear fusion in her belly
begins to slow,
and her smile fades
into a vacant gaze towards a random spot in space.
“I must not fail, I must help my friends,” she murmurs.

Still, machines gather around her
to absorb little miss sunshine’s warm radiation.
She grows dimmer and dimmer
like a glow stick twelve hours after cracking.
She is cracking.

Two light bulbs collapse on the floor
and roll around as sparks dance about their broken shards.
She can’t provide enough.
Sadness churns in her belly
like water so cold it boils.
As the light bulbs die on the ground,
her withered and tired body can do little to reflect
the violent sensation of icicles forming in her stomach.

She manages to whisper,
“I’m sorry I couldn’t fulfill you.”
These are her last words
before her consciousness fades away
and her luminescence is forever snuffed out.
That’s what happened to little miss sunshine.

Self-critique by Mo

I really don’t think my performance of “Little Miss Sunshine” is up to par. I feel like if I work on it a lot maybe I could get better at it, but I honestly am having a really hard time getting into this piece. It’s a lot easier for me to get into my other poem because it is a very emotional piece for me, but this one just feels bland when I perform it. If I were to continue working on the performance of this piece I’d probably find places to vary my tone more and get really intense so that the poem has some texture.

Voces: Day 18 -- Showcase tryouts: Sylvia Holland

Below is the more video from Wednesday afternoon's tryouts -- this one with Sylvia Holland, performing her poem "The Dreamer," along with text of the poem and a self-critique by Sylvia.

"The Dreamer"
By Sylvia Holland

She speaks in a dialect only recognized by birds
that catch her attention.
She cruises up wild blue yonder.
Straight ahead
her eyes pause on illusions.
Her world is reflected in blue ink,
and she signs off again,
immerses herself in her painted voice.
On scriptures, scrolls, sheets that somersault down her earlobes
as brain matter
Drip, drip,
here I am.
She’s a dreamer.
Her eyes are closed
and her mind open.
Her eyes are open and her mind is closer to the idea.
Her religion is non-mask-wearing-nature loving – she doesn’t know –
she just wants to love life religion,
soon to be invented.
Her torn sneakers are her moccasins.
She dances the shuffle-jump-twirl step.
Her battle cry sounds a little like a slam poem.
And Communion was her first kiss.
First confession held the words “I love you”
whispered so softly that the deer didn’t run away.
Her fingerprints leave impressions on every star,
and her smile impresses the moon.
She’s five foot five and a half,
but her mind can shape shift and grab the unreachable.
Her blue eyes
like best to soar in their color
and capture the clouds.
With inked prints she colors them gray,
and droplet bits of her imprint
cascade on to every surface imaginable.
She is a little scattered,
but she knows where every bit of herself tends to meander.
We play hide and seek.
She dissembles into atmospheric hypnotisms,
but I still seem to find her lips
in the bottom of a fountain
like a lucky penny.
My feet tread on top of the highest clock,
tapping the vibration of the gears.
Her ears are in some far off field making music out of silence.
Bits of my hair trace the ripples in puddles
and outline the curves of waves.
Her hands are stuck to tree branches,
camouflaged into leaves.
They clap, shake, and wave hello just as the wind blows.
We always find ourselves bumping into each other
Though rooted to the ground by that one source
We’re a little scattered.

Sylvia's self-critique
     I was tittering back and forth between two of my poems, and the night before our audition I finally decided on one- “The Dreamer.”
     I was forced to memorize that night and with my scattered mind (hence the meaning of my poem) it’s really difficult for me to memorize something in that short of time. Although I did the best I could at the time. I read it over and over again, and by the time I was in the shower in the morning I was able to get the beginning and the end, the middle was still a little tipsy. By the time I was on the stage I had it almost down. There were only four lines thrown about the poem that threw me off.
    If I had it down and completely memorized like I do today I would have been able to focus a little more on the performance. There are some spots where I could work on my voice and get louder and a little rougher I already have the soft voice down. There is also so much movement I could do, because of all the imagery embedded in the poem. If my mind wasn’t constipated with memorization I could have done these things. And if my brain wasn’t so scattered then I would have been able to have it memorized in time, but then that would mean my poem wouldn’t be talking about me. Altogether there is a reason for everything. On a side note, I just have to remember to not rock and to plant my feet. Next time i perform this piece I’ll have it down.

Voces -- Day 18: Showcase tryouts: Sam Sainz, "Prayer"

With Friday's showcase performance in the NHCC's Bank of America Theater looming, Voces students were asked by facilitators Carlos Contreras and Mikaela Wittmore-Renz to prepare a second performance piece and "audtition" on Wednesday afternoon, June 24.

The auditions would determine which Voces students would be able to perform a second poem on Friday night -- a move made necessary by the increased number of Voces students this year (27) and the desire to keep Friday's showcase a reasonable length.

Below is the first video of Sam Sainz, performing her poem "Prayer," along with text of the poem and a self-critique by Sam.



"Prayer"
By Sam Sainz

I don’t know what prayer does, or if it even works,
but sometimes it does make me feel better,

some people pray for peace,
forgiveness or strength.
Prayer is one thing where it doesn’t matter your religion, color, or gender

What do I pray for?
Words mostly.
Words for poetry to make this world a better place,
or just a little happier.

Sometimes when I pray
I don’t know who I’m praying to.
God is always changing
Some days she eats posole, and tacos,
or sings opera.
Other days she is waltzing through the desert sands.

But she is steady in her promises.
I’m always answered.

No is an answer too.

My god doesn’t need statues or ceremonies to know we believe.

I don’t force others to believe.
what I do.

I’m not going to accept everything I’m told in church

Why are there no books in the bible written by women?

Why can’t I say Christmas break in school?

Why do parents tell their children that they’re going to hell,
For liking the same sex?

Why am I a murderer if I have an abortion?

I’m going to fill in my bruises with colors that aren’t black and blue
The love of people, kindness, and unique thought.

I’m not going to waste
my time here.

Sam's self-critique
I think my performance could improve a lot by (Friday). 
I need to get off page, so that means memorize, memorize, memorize.
I need to be more direct and with a purpose with my movements.
Other than that I must slow down, and remember to breath, also be more confident in my writing.

Voces -- Day 18: Rehearsal with Beva Sanchez

On Wednesday monring, June 24, the students of Voces had their final session with Beva Sanchez -- a rehearsal and critique session in the Wells Fargo Auditorium.

Below is video of the rehearsals and a critique of Voces student Kiyomi Wilks.