September 11 - 17, Southwest Road Trip

My trip from my home in the Mojave desert in California to the banks of the Green River in Utah began with familial challenges and unexpected car issues. This was only my 2nd out of state road trip that I had ever done on my own, car packed with camping gear, art supplies and altar items. I made my way along the Southwest to share space with loved ones among the Saguaros & laugh at the silliness of life and relationships deep in the remote sandstone monuments of Canyonlands National Park. Midway, I stopped to camp and gaze at the Grand Canyon’s South Rim, a landscape I had always imagined from stories, photos and descriptions. I don’t yet have the right words to interpret what I was able to experience and view but I hope that the few photographs that I took can in some way capture the emotional impact that the canyon had on me.

I write this now from the basement studio of my artist residency with Epicenter, a non profit organization that runs the Frontier Fellowship from Green River, UT. Last night I gave a brief but very ‘Blanca’ artist talk in which I focused on my cultural work and interdisciplinary artist practice which involves emotional (to me) themes of family, trauma, cultural traditions, plants and dreams. Most if not all of my art is about healing as I create mostly to process my mental health; relational healing and the work that happens in the dream & waking world.

In order to be present with myself, the folks here in Green River and the land itself I will continue to be absent on social media and will posting a few blog entries a week in order to archive my experience of this new chapter of my life. xoxo - b

Porque Somos Blancas

I left the Mojave desert in the late morning on September 11th. As I made my way east from my home in the Morongo Basin I was inundated with nationalists occupying Highway 62, revving their engines in an attempt to embody yet another level of patriarchal violence and settler colonialism. Once I pass the military base in 29 Palms the flags and noise subside and I am once again hypnotized by the incredible quietness of the landscape. Desert milkweed, palo verdes and smoke trees wave farewell as the solitude invites my heart to lean into my internal ocean.

My mom had just had surgery the day before and although her procedure went well I had received an update that she had had a bad reaction to a medicine she was given: ‘unresponsive’ read my sister’s text. My parents and I had not really spoken since summer solstice due to a conflict that involved a heartbreaking conversation around sexual assault and domestic violence. We had not yet resolved the conflict before leaving for my trip and I was unable to hug them mostly because it felt performative; a familial pattern I am trying to break free from.

I managed to get to my first stop in Tucson safely albeit with a anxious gaze from my check engine light that decided to turn on after driving through Phoenix. That evening I cried deeply into my friend’s bedsheets, tummy full of birria tacos and topo chico. I woke up later that night after two consecutive days of nightmares involving my mother’s death which prompted me to put aside the conflict and call her the next morning: she was finally doing better in ICU, eating and managing to walk again. I told her that Tucson greeted me with butterflies as I spoke to her on the phone, that it was so lush due to the recent monsoons. She laughed and said “Oh Tucson was where your dad got thrown into a detention center in 1985 because he wouldn’t go back to México!” Just two years before she birthed me. I laugh because they share these trauma stories through dark humor, a way to cope over the years as migrants. I can’t see her face but I can tell she’s smiling. I let my heart rip open even further and cry over the phone, our vulnerable exchange accesible to my sister and father since the call had been put on speaker due to her arthritis and inability to hold the phone. “Me siento tan conectada a ti,” I sing-cry to her, apologizing for not giving her a hug before I left California. She responds and says it’s probably because we’re both Blancas.

Blanca in the ICU in Southern CA wearing a blue hospital gown as she speaks to her daughter Blanca who is in Tucson, AZ. She is smiling while she communicates over speakerphone. Blanca is laying in an ICU bed and there is a simple wooden cross hanging on the wall behind her.

Cantos a Colombia: Embodied Voice Immersion 2019

First of all, I’d like to thank everyone that donated, shared my efforts and sent me affirmations while fundraising for the opportunity to attend Sonido Sana’s Embodied Voice Immersion this past October. I am feeling grateful to everything that transpired in order to for me to participate in my 2nd year of this immersion. Fifteen individuals participated, all of which came from unique backgrounds and personal journeys with voice, sound & singing. The program is designed for anyone to participate since everyone has the capacity to sing and create vibrational resonance in their body.

I, like my teacher Almunis, do not come from a musical family. Nor do I come from a family that sings. Yet, all of my immediate relations enjoy and admire music with a deep passion. So much that my father will always ‘buy’ us music from trios when we are in México, or like when my sister and I would sneak into our older brother’s room to listen to their electronic music library when they weren’t home. Heck, I even took choir for a series of years as a pre-teen until I was told I had to choose between visual arts or performing arts. I chose the former. Music continued to thrive in my life yet what was missing was the ability to feel the resonance from within my own body. I badly wanted to sing and experiment with my voice but had allowed multiple insecurities to validate my fear and thus never pursued any voice practices until much later.

At 32 years of age, It is quite incredible to register the vibrations in my body from the sounds I create, an embodiment practice I have much to be grateful for. Now that I am back in the states I plan to continue developing my practice, singing and creating sounds with as much passion and tenderness as I had in last month’s retreat. When I feel an emotion overwhelm me I sing it out, connect it to the sound that it belongs to and release it from my body. All sounds wants to move, flow. Como un río. Again and again I find myself connecting this practice to Mexican traditional medicine in which limipas move stagnant energy, quite often emotions, out of our bodies and back into the earth. The same happens when we tune in to our vibratory body and use our voice to move energy through.

My intention is to continue learning with Almunis so that I may be able to integrate this practice into my community offerings. Her teacher training certificate requires the completion of 200 hrs; it doesn’t necessarily make you an expert in sound healing but it does help develop your relationship to how sound can heal through one’s vibratory body. That is a beautiful gift to cultivate in another and it is my wish to create that container for healing in the future for my community.

The photos below are but just a glimpse of what the land offered me during my stay, indigenous land of the Guane people.