Crossing borders

The last week I planned my work from miles and kilometers away through expensive international phone calls and the coordination of cars and tools and people in their home towns. I crossed the Guatemala border and the Belize border with difficulty and a naive budget of entry and exit taxes. My invisible little hands nudged people in the mornings and at night unseen forces got the youth up from their chairs and to the greenhouse to water little baby plants. A pottery workshop grew from rough, rocky mud and shaped itself into piggy, hen and fish-banks. I wish all weeks worked this smoothly, things just fell into place with such ease.
The trip to Belize marks three months from the time I traveled, In these three months I was supposed to start a list of projects that I haven’t started to think about yet. I feel like the year-long plan that ArtCorps helped me design in the beginning is a small sham, imposed caprice, and that I need to work with the pace of this place, rather than the pace I brought with myself. The trip, by dingy school buses, small boats and tiny vans, gave me enough time to reflect. I asked myself again, this time with the possibility of a clearer answer “What am I doing here?”, and every stranger I met who cared, gave me directions, was curious about my comings and goings, helped me answer this centric question.

However, Belize pictures are on hold since I broke yet another camera.

Pottery workshop