The Little Nonprofit That Could

Thirteen years ago I asked myself why nobody was already doing what I was thinking of doing – starting a nonprofit organization to help restore the arts to public schools in my community while bypassing the bureaucracy of the Los Angeles Unified School District.  
 

Was I naïve?  Had others tried and failed? Or did nobody really care?

Unaware and oblivious to all that would ultimately lie ahead of me, and what would be demanded of me to create, nurture and protect a new nonprofit, I set about learning all I could about how to file the necessary paperwork with state and federal governments, how to form a corporation, a board of directors, write bylaws, and how to fundraise.  Since my husband had a really good job at the time, we could afford for me to donate all of my time for several years, not only as the primary administrator and director, but as creative director and art teacher too.  I wrote the curriculum and taught all of the classes pro bono until “the little nonprofit that could” made it to the top of the mountain.  Arts in Education Aid Council (AEAC) was my third child.  I loved and cared for it (and worried about it in the middle of the night) as if it were one of the family.  The secret of my success in getting myself and my little nonprofit to the top of that mountain was that I never looked up.  I just kept doing what was put in front of me, taking it one step at a time, never worrying about when I might get to the top of the mountain or what would be there once I got there.

Once I got to the summit, I could see all around me.  AEAC had gone from being a “stage 1 organization” (run out of the founder’s home) to a “stage 2 organization”, autonomous from me (the founder), with a paid staff, separate office, lots of volunteers, and many different community partners.  We had found a place for ourselves within the arts education community of Los Angeles.  The organization continued to grow.  More and more schools and kids were being served.   We sponsored more events.  Our annual family arts festival grew so much every year that it got too big.  We were getting sizeable donations from the most notable foundations in Los Angeles.  We had made it to the mountaintop.

Then the recession hit.  

I, and AEAC, got knocked off of the mountain top.  It would have been much harder to take if I didn’t see every other small to mid sized nonprofit leader I knew tumbling down the mountain alongside me.  The foundations that had been so generous before had suddenly stopped giving.  Instead of giving less so that the nonprofits could make it through the recession, most of them gave nothing at all.  Individuals and companies could no longer afford to give anything to charity.  Many of them had suffered so much from the recession that they worried about their own survival.

Many nonprofits went out of business or merged with other nonprofits, just to stay in business.  With more and more people in need of food and shelter, arts nonprofits saw even less in the way of charitable giving because basic human needs needed to be taken care of first.  Limited charitable dollars went towards organizations that helped feed, clothe, and shelter people.  But they too were struggling because there were more and more people in need.  

The responsibility of keeping things together, both at AEAC and at home, took a toll on me physically.  I had never known such stress before.  My husband was self employed, and he was going through the same thing with his business.  He continued to work, but people couldn’t afford to pay him.  We went through all of our savings and retirement just to pay the bills.  We were lucky we didn’t lose our house.

In fear for my health, I decided to practice what I preach and I got busy making my own art.  Painting relaxes me and stops me from getting too stressed out.  Cartooning forces me to see the lighter side of life.  Listening to my favorite music while I paint or draw puts me in a good mood.  I walk out of my studio much more serene and balanced.  I’m easier to live with when I’m being creative.  

A lot has happened since I fell off the mountain top.  I spent the last year in treatment for breast cancer.  I continued to paint, draw, and listen to music while I underwent various therapies.  Making art not only helped my physical recovery by keeping me relaxed, but it made a huge difference in my mental and spiritual attitude.  When you’re fighting for your life, a positive attitude matters a lot.

I’ve stopped tumbling down the mountain.  I’m strong enough to stand.  After all that I have been through, I’m not afraid to look back.  I so appreciate all that went into getting to the top.  It’s a pretty amazing story.

And although I and The Little Nonprofit That Could are battered and bruised, we’re re-grouping and back on the trail again, living proof that the arts literally save lives.

Joan of Art

Organized religion is not for me.  It’s not the God thing, it’s the people thing.  It seems to me that human beings have just made a mess out of religion.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against people who go to church, temple, etc.  I’m actually very interested in religions, large and small, and have been studying them for over thirty years.  It’s just that I, like a lot of other anti-Status Quo, free spirited people I know, am not much of a joiner, and could never choose one religion over another in order to fence myself in spiritually.  One over the other?  I don’t get that.    My spirituality has evolved and changed as I have evolved and changed.  It’s personal and simple.  My philosophy?  Leave the world better than you find it.  That’s my religion and that’s what I teach my kids.

What has guided me all of my life, in the absence of organized religion, is what I call my inner Joan of Art voice, the “still, small voice” within that always knows what to do.  I have listened, and relied upon, this voice all of my life.  As a small child, I trusted that voice when I couldn’t trust the adults in my life.  I escaped into my own world and expressed myself freely with my art. When I was being creative, I was safe and in control.   Music, art, humor, and my curiosity of anything outside of the norm are what sustained me through my teen years.  As a young adult, I took a leap of faith and jumped out into the great, wide open, and found my way with the same music, art, humor, appreciation for anything outside of the mainstream, and the written word.  I had started writing.

Then I became a mom. I love my kids!  I love all kids.  Kids are all artists – naturally inquisitive, uninhibited, trusting, and one with the moment. They make me laugh.  When I started teaching art to young children, laughter took on a whole new dimension as I got to be a big goof with them.  From that, art and teaching led me into my activism, a natural continuum and expansion of my creativity, and a challenge to my rebellious nature.  

My Joan of Art voice has guided me through every stage, impasse, and crisis throughout my life.

When I got cancer, I was scared to death.  I felt so lost.  For the first time in my life, I couldn’t hear my Joan of Art voice.  “Even if I survive the cancer, I am as good as dead without Joan of Art,” I would say to myself.  I didn’t know what to do.

Then I decided that if I could not hear Joan of Art, I could at least remember Joan of Art.  So I went through the motions, and started writing, drawing, and painting, whether I felt inspired or not.  In time, I laughed. That laughter reconnected me to that voice and I found myself again.  Once I had myself back, I knew I was going to be OK, no matter what the outcome.  The only way I could find myself, after losing myself, was by making art.

Listening to music, painting, drawing, laughing, reading great literature and writing are what has kept me going and helped me make sense of this whole crazy cancer ordeal.  By staying creative, I keep connected to God, The Source, The Divine, a Higher Power, or whatever you want to call it.  Making and appreciating art is my daily practice.  That’s how I stay regular…..by being creative every day.  A dose of art is like getting a spiritual chiropractic adjustment.  Creativity is what straightens me out and puts me back on track.  

Artists, even though most people don’t stop to think about it, are who make the daily grind for the masses more bearable, interesting, or meaningful.  Whenever people stop to appreciate music, art, humor, or literature, they are getting a spiritual chiropractic adjustment, whether they are conscious of it or not.  

Joan of Art has spoken.  And she did not leave the building!  Phew!

The Best Candy Playlist

I've been receiving chemotherapy for Stage 3 Breast Cancer for seven weeks now and I'm happy to report that my body is responding to the treatment really, really well. It's rough, though, and I'd say that I've been pretty useless for half of those seven weeks, because the side effects of chemo are pretty debilitating. There is nothing I can do but ride it out.

What has helped me endure all of this is MUSIC! I have loved music all of my life, and have made it a priority that kids in our schools continue to participate in our orchestra and band programs, produced through the Children's Music Workshop, in spite of the recession, because frankly, music saves lives.

What has kept me going for the past few years, as I try and keep my and my nonprofit's heads above water, are those precious kids whose lives have literally been turned around by being able to play in the school band or orchestra. Some of the kids who have benefited come from homes where they have witnessed unspeakable acts of violence and cruelty. I think of these kids whenever the Status Quo has suggested that my, and many other small arts education nonprofits, are well meaning, but that our efforts are small in comparison to theirs. Whenever I have been insulted like this, I think of our kids. Knowing that a few kids' lives have been changed for the better is good enough for me. I don't need, or want, the Status Quo's approval.

After all it's boasting and bullying, the Status Quo has announced that it will cut 100% of its elementary arts programming, which it has been bragging about for the past ten years!!! I'm not at all surprised by this news, but I am disgusted. The kids and the arts lose again, yet the Status Quo lives on.

I can't get too worked up about this, because I need to focus on staying positive for myself so I can keep up the good fight to beat breast cancer. The stress of trying to stay afloat during the recession, and keeping the Status Quo as far away from me and my nonprofit as possible, has taken its toll.

But the music plays on! Arts in Education Aid Council has managed to keep our band and orchestra program going in two schools in the Valley, and I'm very proud of that (all I had to do was find the money to pay for it, the Children's Music Workshop, under the direction of Larry Newman, does all the work). We have received grants from the ASCAP Foundation and the Colburn Foundation for this program and are waiting to hear about another music grant in a month or so. That makes me really happy.

What else makes me really happy is my own, personal sound track that I created, just to help me get through this tough time in my life. I call this playlist, "Best Candy", inspired by my nine year old daughter's desire to change "breast cancer" to "best candy" because breast cancer sounds so creepy and scary (she is the writer in the family!) On my Best Candy playlist is every song that I love so much that it makes me want to stop whatever I am doing, turn it up, and dance. I listen to this playlist every time I get chemo and while I take my daily two mile walks. What happens to me while I listen to my favorite music, is so good, so permeating, so strong, and so joyful, that I know I am being healed in that very moment. I have always felt this way about music, and now I am living proof (pun intended) that music heals. I know it, all musicians and music lovers know it, music educators know it, and music students know it. It's too bad the Status Quo doesn't know it.

Rocking My Own Life Boat

I’m a boat rocker. I’ve been rocking all sorts of boats over the past 48 years. Some needed it and some probably didn’t, but I rocked them anyway.

These days I’ve been rocking my own life boat. I’ve been pretty quiet about the imploding public school system, the threats to arts ed programs, and the emergency status so many nonprofits have found themselves in, having to say “No” to the record numbers of people who have turned to them for help during this recession, because they no longer have the ability or resources to help. Through no fault of their own, many have had to shut their doors, leaving more and more people out in the cold.

I’ve been quiet because I’m heart broken and exhausted. I feel betrayed by those in control who are responsible for this whole mess, and I’m angry because they don’t seem to care. I’m frustrated with the masses who seem so numb and indifferent to their plight. In order to make sense of the whole American tragedy, I have turned to my own art to get me through it. That’s what I’ve always done when life has punched me in the face. My painting is my therapy. It relaxes me and makes me happy– letting me forget the never ending BS that plagues my city and our nation. And with my writing and cartooning, I can say things that aren’t really appropriate for me to say in my role as PTA President or nonprofit leader. If I can make myself laugh out loud with a new “ART” cartoon, I rock my own boat, and that’s good enough for me these days. I’m still doing my activism, but from the comforts of my own creation.

Sometimes though, like today, after doing a couple of cartoons on LAUSD laying valuable music teachers off (facing the very real possibility that the music departments in these schools could close) I feel sick……..really sick. This is very personal to me. I am an artist. I am a mother. I’ve dedicated the past eleven years to restoring the arts to schools in my community. I was one of those kids whose life was literally saved by art and music in school. This is too close for comfort for me. I can not believe this is happening. I feel so powerless. It’s so wrong.

So I draw some cartoons to expose the hypocrisy of the LAUSD, but I don’t laugh out loud. I cry. I want to take a shower because the whole thing is so icky. And I wonder, “How much more are people going to take? When are they going to rise up and say they’re not going to take it any more?”

I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle, trying to pass on the gift of creativity, individuality and freedom of expression to kids, because so few seem to care. They’re numb and preoccupied. Why?

The more I think about it, the more I believe that the failing education system in America is by design and that scares me. I’ve taken solace in the fact that I have gone above and beyond what is expected of an ordinary citizen to try and make a difference in the lives of thousands of kids in my community, and I’ve made sure that my own kids are OK. But what about their future? What kind of world will they be moving out in to?

I jumped ship at the end of the last school year. I found a life boat for my daughter and I, and we got the hell out of the way. She is safe in a magnet school for a couple of years. And me? I have survivor’s guilt, watching the sinking LAUSD ship behind me, and the people left on deck who never jumped. I can’t help them. It’s too late.

While I work through this crisis in my own, creative, constructive way, I hope that the masses will rise up and take on the Status Quo. Grassroots activism is the only answer. We need to take a few lessons out of the French Revolution Playbook and quit settling for day old cake!

Turn To Your Art

When I was pregnant, I gave up my daily practice of formal meditation because I had morning sickness so bad and for so long, that I could barely make it off of the couch to use the bathroom, let alone sit before my altar. My husband reassured me that my spirituality would adapt and evolve along with me as I grew into my new role as a mother, and he suggested I try giving up my fantasy of flying off on the wings of a Goddess for a more Zen-like form of spirituality, finding moments of connection “on the fly” from then on. He was right. I haven’t managed to make it back to the meditation altar. My meditation at this point in my life is getting up at 5 a.m. to watch the news and drink two cups of coffee before everybody else wakes up and grabs on to me before I can.

My relationship to my art (which is also part of my spiritual practice, as it is with most artists), has had to adapt to my changing identity, too. I may not always paint, draw, or write on a daily basis, but I do create lots and lots of things (all the time), some of them obvious and tangible, some not. All mothers and teachers do this.

As a child, my art saved me. I escaped the pain and uncertainty of my home life by recreating my own happy world, one that I could escape to, to avoid the real life I had been born in to. When I drew, painted, crafted, or wrote, I was the master of my own universe, and I was in control. I credit my talent and the ways that I expressed myself for getting me through my very difficult childhood. I came out of it with only a few scars, not nearly as many, I believe, as I would have, had it not been for my art and a safe place to go. Creating a safe and healthy place to express one’s self is another important reason why I advocate for the arts in schools, but I don’t talk too much about that publicly because it isn’t appropriate. The adults in charge are preoccupied with money, time, and their own careers. To talk about a child’s soul is pointless because the Status Quo knows nothing about such things, for it has no soul. Even though I don’t talk about children’s souls when I argue for the arts publicly, they are in my heart and mind. Protecting them is what gives me the will to keep up the good fight, even now, in the face of soullessness in Los Angeles. I rely on my creativity to lead effectively, and I rely on my creativity to keep me happy and sane while leading, raising my kids, and trying to survive in L.A.

I have always made money on the side by doing all sorts of freelance work. When I was younger, I was a sign painter, illustrator, a draftsperson, a cartoonist, calligrapher, and painter. When desk top publishing came along, I created a small, monthly magazine which helped me develop new skills; publishing, marketing and selling advertising. At the age of 25, during a deep, meditative moment, I realized that it was time for me to leave my home in Colorado, to see if I could make it as an artist in Los Angeles. I knew that if I didn’t go then, I might never go, for the timing was right - I was young, single, and fearless. I packed my clothes, dog, and art supplies and headed off to California. I had about $400 in my pocket, and no job, but I didn’t care. I was determined to give it my best shot. If I failed, I could always go back to Colorado, satisfied in the knowing that I had tried, when some exceptionally talented, funny and smart people in my family never did. Close members in my family were just as talented as I was, but they withered up and collapsed in on themselves, which scared me to death. I didn’t want to end up like any of them.

Soon after I got to L.A., I got a job as marketing manager for Denecke, Inc. Mike Denecke, owner, had invented the TS-1 Time Code Slate (the electronic clapper board that is regularly used and shown in videos, commercials, etc.), amongst other post production products used in film, video and recording studios. I created a comic strip called, “Father Time” (a caricature of Mike and an entourage of behind-the-scene characters who don’t get enough credit for being part of the team that produces successful shows and helps make stars). The strip was used to market Denecke products. Mike had a huge impact on me. He was raised by professional, classical musicians (his mother was a flautist in a symphony in Minnesota, and his father, the conductor). He would speak highly of his parents, especially his mom, who encouraged him as a child to go for his dreams, and reminded him that everybody is born with a gift, he just needed to find out what that was. He did. He became a classically trained guitarist (having studied with Andres Segovia), a sound engineer and an inventor. Mike believed in me and encouraged my talent. As an artist himself, he knew how important it was to give me, and his other employees, space. He trusted us. He was a great “boss”. I strive to show the same sort of confidence and appreciation for the talented people I have chosen to hire over the years. I worked for Mike for seven years, developing a line of comic books, calendars, ads, t-shirts, mugs, etc. I only left so I could care for my newborn son. A few years later, Mike died of a heart attack. I like to think I’m having one of those Zen-like, “fly by” moments whenever “Dancing in the Moonlight” by King Harvest comes on the radio. Mike recorded that song in a hotel room in Paris in the early seventies. I get to say “Hi Mike!” whenever I hear that song.

As I look back at my creative career over the past 30 years, I see that the most prolific times in my life have always been when I was the most stressed, or was at some sort of impasse. Becoming a mother was a life changing experience for me, as it is for all women, and I was fearful that I would abandon my own dreams and goals for a life lived in service to others. I chose to be a wife and mother, and I wanted to stay home with my son, but I didn’t want to lose myself in that. So I threw myself into my cartooning. Painting would have to wait because having toxic, messy, permanent paints around with a baby in the house was not something I wanted to deal with. So I chose to put all of my energy into my cartooning because it was clean, easy, and I could be interrupted, a lot. Anyone who has stayed home with babies and toddlers knows what that means. You can’t complete a thought, let alone finish an involved creative project. While my baby slept, I cranked out a couple of new strips and went about the business of self syndication. I created a line of greeting cards and calendars. I was determined to keep my own art alive, and thus keep my own self alive, in my new role as wife and mother. As my son grew, I became more and more interested in teaching art to young children, so I started doing that. I really, really loved it, because I love preschool aged children. They’re a kick and I get to be a big goof when I’m with them. At the same time, my father in law had come to live with us because his health was failing. The added stress of caring for an aging, depressed family member put a lot of extra pressure on me. To get through it, and to mitigate the guilt I suffered due to the resentment I had towards an innocent loved one who needed my help, I turned to my art. I had the old shed in our backyard converted into a studio for myself and proceeded to throw myself into painting landscapes of the San Fernando Valley. By this time, my son didn’t need my constant supervision, which meant I could break out those messy, toxic paints. My studio, and my art, gave me a place of my own. I painted over 40 canvases. It made me feel better. I also opened my studio up to teach more art classes. Teaching art turned into full blown activism after my son entered public school at the age of five. I was outraged by the lack of arts education in schools, so I channeled all of my creative energies into starting and running a nonprofit organization that gets the arts back into schools. Another crisis! I took it on, head on, and have managed to lead it over the past eleven years in the most creative fashion I know how, even now, during one of the most devastating financial periods in our nation’s history.

The economic crisis has put us all into crisis, and I have once again turned to my art. I have had my heart broken by what has happened to my country, my state, my city, and the school system that I have worked so hard to improve. The greed, lack of heart and conscience, and hypocrisy that surrounds me just seems to be getting worse. The wide spread anger, disgust, and apathy is really getting to me. I am pissed. I feel so defeated by forces outside of my control.

So, just like when I was a kid, I am once again an innocent victim of circumstance, and have turned to my art to get through it. I distract myself by being constructive. I have thrown myself into my own work, painting, cartooning, and writing like never before. Through painting, I can really be alone with myself – getting away from “them”, so I can release my anger, frustration, and fear through the process of creating. Through my cartooning and writing, I can say things that I haven’t been able to say as a nonprofit leader, PTA president, or woman with kids in tow. My art is freeing me. I love it. I’m excited. I’m as happy as I would ever hope to be, all things considered, and I have a lot to show for myself.

Trying to save the arts for others has turned me to my own art, so I can save myself. Fellow artists: Turn to your art.