Author Archives: Lystria Hurley

Harlem Studio Museum Practicum: A place of Service

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The fall of 2019,  was a season of wonderful opportunity. I reached a point of success in my career and to add motivation to joy I was accepted into the Harlem Studio Museum teaching practicum, a meeting ground for artist and educators to exchange thoughts and ask questions about art and artist.

The entire program was pure joy and a place of liberation. Everyone around me shared a keen interest in Black art and when we were not looking at art we were reading about it. The readings we delved into were not readings I would have came across in a DOE setting. It was a moment that was radical and renewing!

When we weren’t discussing art, we discussed ourselves. The small room was always full of meaningful chatter. We shared what it meant to show up as our happy selves and be paid for it. We thought deeply about the difference between conceptual mainstream artist and Black conceptual artist. We concluded in many conversations, that the market forces play an important role in the  work we see and don’t see.

Now, as I write this blog post, I think on that happiness I felt back then and I wonder, do people still show up as themselves anymore? Workplaces are changing drastically. We are also changing drastically…to be real and forthcoming does not seem the goal anymore.

Back in 2019, when I felt mostly settled and in true joy; I, transferred that energy into the classroom. Everything SMH exposed me to; I facilitated in the classroom. I developed strategies for children by using SMH theories and practices.

I was able to apply their theories and practices to my teaching because I understood it. The cohort was small and thus Ilk, our facilitator had  ample opportunity to explain theories. We learned each other names and made life long friendships. Because of this community, I was invited to travel to California to see an artist marry and I am currently working on a community project with another artist. I had space during this fellowship to  engaged in conversations about artists of African descent, contemporary art practices, and strategic museum programming.

As a teacher, I met other intelligent educators who were as passionate about art as I was. One educator asked me to submit my work to a Zine she was completing with a group of artist. Another one invited me to her first gallery show.

Our facilitator, Ilk, was enthusiastic about each topic and it showed up in each of his classes.

I was opened up to a whole new world about artist and their practice. What I enjoyed the most about the practicum was it gave me insight to how the museum world looked. Before the fellowship, as a teacher, I’d take my students to the museum and keep most of my questions about operation systems to myself. As a matter of fact, I always thought the museum world was untouchable and of the elite until I sat at the Harlem Studio Museum Practicum table.

Ilk peeled each skin of elitism off ever so gentle.

We attended special guest lectures with well established and up and coming artists such as Chole Bass and Douywe Bey. We were welcomed to different variations of the museum such as the reading room, their library, art in the park and learned of its connection with the Schomburg Research Center.

Now after this exposure, I look at museums as places of servitude. The art is answering to the people of the time and to the time itself.

Over all, it was a wonderful opportunity that is impactful even seven years later.

Precept of the Day

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The precept of the day was by C.S. Lewis:

“It’s not the load that breaks you down. It’s the way you carry it.”

When I received the compositions from my students, they were spot on. One student decided to say why me communicating with his mother was the perfect example of a load. Another one spoke about the history of the Black People and their loads. Most students spoke of the mind and how we imagine things.

The Forgotten Purse

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Sister Brenda got off the church bus tired and sleepy. With her big black tote, she walked into the restroom then got a hot chocolate from Dunkin’ Donuts. She was thankful for the mini break.

When she got back on the bus she sat comfortably. Everyone was eatting and the lights turned off. The bus driver, Deacon McCloud, left the rest area and picked up the speed on the turnpike.

“I left my purse!” Sister Brenda yelled frantically.

“You did what?! Sister Brenda?!”

“What was in it?”

Everyone begin to ask her questions as the bus inched over the George Washington bridge.

“Did you have money in it?”

“How much?”

“My iPad is in it -with all my memories!!” She sobbed.

The questions stopped and everyone begin to brainstorm. Finally, someone got the number to John Fenwick Service area. But no one picked up.

“Let’s pick it up on our way back.”

Sister Brenda wasn’t happy but what could she do? She tried to stop worrying about it. The weekend came to an end and the church trip ended. All the people hugged. “Peace Be!” The church family climbed the bus while the saints in New York waved.

Sister Brenda went to sleep. Everyone went to sleep but Deacon McCloud. Thoughts about the past weekend was heavy on everyone’s mind. The sermons, the conversations, the food, the songs…

The bus left the Bronx. It breezed pass what was left of the city and rolled into the George Washington Bridge. It hit traffic. It sped up. Then, it slowed down again. New Jersey vanished as well as the service area, John Fenwick…

“My purse!!” Sister Brenda yelled with hope. “My Purse!!”

People near her woke. Others repositioned their bodies. Deacon McCloud looked into the rearview mirror with blood shot eyes. He gripped the wheel and asked in his most patience voice.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Remind me earlier? I’ll swing the bus back.”

Sister Brenda stood up this time. Fighting sleep. She watched the driver make a wide turn.

“This is not the station.” she said matter of factly when he creeped up to it. “It is too!” They began to banter about which service station she left her bag. She never got off the bus because she was now confused. “My bag” she whispered. She went back to her seat.

The bus driver drove the bus back to the south. As the people awoke, they were surprised she still didn’t have her bag! They begin to brainstorm.

“Can’t someone who is passing the station get the purse?”

“There are other buses.”

“The bus going to Virginia will get it!” Someone hung up their phone.

“Nope, Virginia already passed the station too!” Someone else hung up their phone.

“The bus going to South Carolina will get it!” Another person in the back chimed in.

But the South Carolina bus couldn’t describe the bag well enough. They left.

A week passed and Sister Branda thought about her iPad. She focused on all her pictures she took and songs she wrote. Imagining each song help to drown out the voices of doubt. There were plenty. Some whispered and other voices said it loud and clear.

“You can always get another iPad.”

“You probably won’t get your bag back.”

“You know how big that station is!?“

Then she got a call. A couple who lived in New Jersey and attended the conference got the news. They lived right next to the station! It was nothing for them to casually stop by. And it was nothing for the service station to hand over the big black bag with all of Sister Brenda’s belongings. Her money she forgot she had and the iPad with all the memories.