New Experiences at AMSET

The most important part of this blog (so far) is obviously service. That is the assignment after all. Sharing an experience I had at the art museum is difficult, though, because I’ve had so few. Causally, I’m going to share an experience instead.Two weeks ago, I went to the Art Museum under false pretenses. I believed that I was going to ‘serve’, when in fact the favor was reversed. If I was an indebted servant, this would be much like being given a day off, only to have the money for that day added to my debt. Luckily I’m not. Emily and I arrived at the Art Museum only to be told to stand in the back of the teaching room. It was a sunny day, and all the windows made it a bit stuff. We lolled about telling jokes and making fun of those too lazy to join us for the day, waiting for our assignment. There were T-shirts on the table, and we, or at least I, thought that we’d be printing them. We did not, however. Instead, Andy made an announcement. He told the class-and we two-that there was a puppet show in the Learning Room, and that if we were good, we’d be allowed to go see it. Additionally, if we were bad, we’d be taken out so fast our heads would spin. Since I possess an irrationally strong attachment to keeping my head much in the same position relative to my body, an attachment I find many others share, Emily and I headed into the puppet show like the meek lambs we are.
 It was a one man puppet show, which made it interesting, notably because he was not a ventriloquist. His name was Michael Gunst, and he was a performing artist.  He had created the whole show, the backdrop, the puppets, even the music. He performed his piece with a reverence often assumed for church. His masks were amazing. He told us the story of the Wabanaki, a Native Aerican tribe in the Northeast. The four protagonists, much like those of the proverbial Wizard of Oz, set out to meet their God, in the hopes that he would grant their wishes. Three failed because they didn’t follow his instructions. One succeeded because he did. It was rather interesting, because if it had been a biblical tale, there would’ve been sins associated with the failure, but there weren’t
.It was so unusual I actually tried to stretch the characters boundaries in a partial attempt to relate them to something I know. One wished for possessions, which could easily be linked to greed. One wished to be tall, perhaps out of vanity? Perhaps to have power over others? The other one, however, confounds me. He wished to live a long time. Is that cowardice? Is cowardice a sin? Is it also vanity, because he wished to know the time of his death? It shouldn’t be, he didn’t ask for exact figures.  Even the motives of the one who succeeded were suspect. He wanted to be the world’s greatest hunter. He didn’t specify that he would feed his family, or that he even had a family. Should it be taken for granted? Was there a deeper meaning to the story, or was it simply, ‘follow directions’? Much like a djinn, however, their god still granted their wishes, even if they didn’t follow instructions. The one who wanted possessions sank in a river, because his boat became so full. The tall one became a tree, the one who wished for long life became a rock. While their motives interest me, and perhaps you, my dear reader, the most important thing I learned wasn’t from the story teller. It was from the children.When the story ended, they asked what happened to all of the characters. This isn’t shocking, I know, someone is never paying attention. However, all of them? All of them have such little comprehension that they couldn’t grasp what was inferred to in a twenty minute puppet show, with only six characters? I was more than confounded. It became a combination of depression and hatred for the human race. Do we fail our children that much? Andy said that the ones who ask questions do better on their standardized tests, because they eventually learn. I couldn’t believe it. They actually have trouble with standardized tests? There is no reason to have trouble with standardized tests. They’re in English, and even if you have issues with Math Reading, in Elementary school, is relatively straight forward. If you don’t speak English, they offer it in other languages. How do you still have issues?The Art Museum is teaching me things after all. That day, I came into contact with a part of the population I rarely see. I learned that the issues the teachers I know complain of aren’t exaggerations, due to the fact that they see so many kids. I learned that children do need our help.Additionally, Gunst, the puppeteer, responded to their questions by asking them what they thought happened. My relatives did this to me when I was young. You have several choices. If you didn’t know the answer to the question you asked, you can make something up. If you do know the answer, you can say it, or withdraw your question. These children wouldn’t make their own answers. I don’t know if it was because they were shy, and making things up isn’t ‘cool’, or if their imagination is really so lacking. I will choose to believe the former.

Extra

My first visit there, I got the grand tour, which was lovely of course. It’s a very open building, with white washed walls, and a marble floor. They add walls for the exhibits to make the most of their space. And while they do need the help, and are glad that we come to them to volunteer, generally speaking neither party is getting a lot out of it. Truthfully, we, the TALH students who serve there, are saving them a lot of work hours. I believe they only have seven employees, if there are more I haven’t seen them.  Jake, Emily, Savannah, Emmie, Humna and occasionally Katherine go on Wednesdays. Lauren and I go on Fridays. Originally Lauren, Jake and I were going to work in the library. AMSET and Lamar University were trying to collaborate and code all of their books, so that they could share a communal library. This sounded great, since I love books and art, and am not overly fond of children, which is a common theme among most of the service activities. Rather unfortunately, though, I still have to work with children, at least on Wednesday. I’m not actually working with them, since they’re ten and reasonably self sufficient, but I am in the same room as them, which should count for something. Andy is in charge of volunteers. And so, by his decree, for the first five weeks, I made sugar skulls. This was not fun. This was not exciting. This was a rather tedious job following the basic outlines of making snowballs and sugar cookies all at once. (That sounded fun, but let me emphasize that it was in no way fun, beyond the infantile, ooh-I-got-my-hands-dirty sort of way.) We mixed meringue powder, sugar and water until it was the consistency of biscuit mix, and patted it into skull molds. Then we flipped the molds. 700 times. We made 700 skulls, and I was involved for more than half of them. (Which isn’t to say I did the most. I’m fairly certain Lauren did the most. Like most things, I wasn’t actually good at it, I was just good enough to be able to complain about other people being bad at it. Life story.) After we finished making sugar skulls I missed a week. And then I helped screenprint T-shirts for three weeks. This is also not fun.

Dear future TALH student

Dear future TALH student,

            The Art Muesum of Southeast Texas is a nice place to volunteer. The building, for instance, is freshly painted and white-washed as nicely as Tom Sawyer's aunt could have ever wanted. The people inside are nice as well. The security guard, whose name-I believe- is Grant, stops following you around after your first couple of visits. The children, if you should happen to work with children, do not care who you are, or what you do. Andy, who is in charge of the volunteers, is loud and rather large, like Hagrid, but is lacking in the necessary facial hair. Much like Hagrid, he isn’t mean, and has little sense of personal space. This is not a problem, although I wish I had been aware of it when I started volunteering there. He presides over the children, and instructs them in the general study of art. He likes volunteers, and teases them. Sandy, who is in charge of the Museum, seems nice, although she is very busy, and seldom seen. She is in charge of the library, should it ever be organized to the point of allowing you to further organize it.

            Should you volunteer at the Art Museum of Southeast Texas, you should be aware of the following things. The first is that the museum closes at five. This means that you must get there by three in order to complete your two hours of service (required weekly. The second is that there will be children, any and every day but Friday. I volunteer on Wednesdays and Fridays, both days supposedly without children, but every Wednesday there are children. This is due to the Museum’s familiarity with having volunteers for the children. If you attend the museum on Friday, you generally get arbitrary work, such as making sugar skulls, or cleaning out the room. Though chance, and generally unrelated to whatever you thought you were going to do, this is important because it frees the few paid employees of the building from having to do it.

            It is not just Wednesday when there are children. They appear all days, barring Friday & the weekend. You don’t actually work with them, either. We usually work at the back of the room they’re in, finishing their projects, or cutting out their papers. They can talk to you, should they wish to, but Andy discourages talking amongst them. Interestingly enough, volunteers can talk, or even play music all the time. If you really want to work with children, the Art Museum probably is not for you.

            There is little ‘etiquette’ necessary for this job. When you arrive, you put on the name tag at the front desk, and await assignment. Andy will generally give you something to do. If you are making sugar skulls, and have plans for afterward, you probably should not wear black, although I did every day. If you are printing, you probably should not wear clothes you do not want to get dirty. Additionally, you should eat beforehand, although they will sell you food there.

            I helped the employees of AMSET lessen their load, so to speak.
Through cleaning, and manual work, I allowed them to get more done in the time allotted them, which is truthfully all you can ever wish for. In this manner, I, as an unskilled laborer, did what unskilled laborers do. I learned various small things, that ironing acrylic paint makes it permanent, that small children are the same everywhere. I swept, although I hate sweeping, and never volunteered to do it at home. I worked to the end of my two hours, finding things to do if we ran out at an hour and a half. AMSET will doubtless become more adept at using its volunteers the more opportunities it is given, so I urge you to volunteer there.

Sincerely,

Simone

Part 2- Background: My Journey to AMSET

Background information is required for this post to make any sort of sense to anyone else. I have left my home of ten years, the grand metroplex encompassing Dallas and Fort Worth, Texas, for the quaint delights of Beaumont. ‘Quaint’-when used here- is meant to imply all of the disdain any person from any reasonably sized city can scrape up for a city of less than 120,000. The suburb in which I lived held three times as many. And I was not restricted to my suburb. I went to school in Fort Worth, I visited museums both there and in Dallas, there were three malls within fifteen minutes. I realize that it was, and is, unneccesary, and more than a little bit ridiculous, but I miss it, all the same. And Beaumont, with its singular one story mall, lack of a Fiesta, and infrequent parks, is just not doing it for me.

Don't get me wrong, it IS a lovely city. The weather is nice, there's a lot of land, and squirrels. There's a highway that turns into a road, and then back into a highway. Unfortunately, since I left my art school in Fort Worth (which doesn't really count as a city up there, but seems like New York from down here), I've missed art. I've missed it in all the usual ways, completely tritely, and in pining for it, I've become one of those female painters from the 60's, talking about forming a commune, and supporting starving artists./ It had gotten to the point where I would have stalked anyone carrying a portfolio. The cliched stereotypical art student, which I had attempted to escape all my life, had caught up with me. (Even in reading this, I feel ridiculous.) Suddenly into the depths of my depression, the service requirement of my school saved me. Swooping down like a dementor, Batman, or perhaps even a roc, I discovered that I could volunteer at the Art Museum of Texas, and that not only could I do that, but it would be downtown, where slightly more people were visible. 

I was overjoyed. I didn't cry tears of joy, but it was a close thing. Really. Truly. The depth of emotion behind my stolid exterior could have drowned a lesser man. But not I. I forged ahead, using the waves of my passion as a motivating force, urging me forward to the welcoming shores of AMSET, the Art Museum of Southeast Texas. And welcoming they were. In my experience, every nonprofit organization is welcoming, simply because they need all the help they can get. And it is a nice museum, with a lovely staff.