Everyone Shares a Gift
Among my most meaningful and joyful experiences at Project HOME are our periodic Potlatches. The name, suggested by a former staff member some sixteen years ago when we first started the tradition, comes from the native American cultures of the northwest: a potlatch was a community feast in which everyone shares a gift.
For us, a potlatch is a kind of informal community arts festival, held on a Saturday afternoon in our big community room at 1515 Fairmount Avenue. Volunteers bring a great spread of food for the group of anywhere up to fifty or so persons. The room is arranged with several tables, some laden with an array of art supplies for creative tinkering. Other tables feature checkers and chess boards. Up front is a piano, often a guitar or two, assorted percussion instruments, and a microphone. For three hours or so, anyone who is so inclined can come up to the mike to sing, rap, read poems, or share whatever recitations or expressions fit the mood of the event. We have a pile of music books for folks who want to try a bit of singing, but can’t think of a song or recall lyrics. Talent is optional.
We have our usual performers: Richard reads his poetry. Carolyn mixes classical and pop tunes on her guitar. Karen shares her amazing piano talents. Jim plays a CD of his latest self-produced recordings. Not infrequently we get into a gospel groove, and a series of spiritually-minded singers turn the event into a revival. Some of our artists are exhibiting and selling their paintings. Sometimes staff or volunteers or friends bring young kids, and they too get into the mix, creating to their hearts’ content at the art tables or even coming up to the mike to sing. Occasionally we have a special artistic or crafts offering: mask making, yoga, a dance workshop. A volunteer from a nearby church leads the group in African drumming.
And then we have the occasional surprise: an elderly gentleman from our mental health residence who is usually shut down and stoic, decides to come to the mike and sing, wrapping his raspy voice around an old blues number. Another resident, hunching quietly over the art table, creates a canvass of brilliant color and startling design.
The beauty of these potlatches is the wondrous experience of a community where all the social labels and definitions melt away. True, some folks in the room have lived on the streets, struggled with mental illness or addiction; others have enjoyed material security. Some come from the inner city, some from the suburbs. Folks are of all hues and shapes and sizes. For a few hours, we all eat, sing, recite, draw and paint, and whatever. We enjoy the various expressions of creativity and the miraculous tapestry of human dignity and spirit.
And all share in the gifts.
