Featured Artist: William Estrada
“What Does it Mean to be Vulnerable?”
an original, personal essay for Arts Alliance Illinois (June 2020)
(William Estrada, photograph by Abdul-Aziz Hassan)
Growing up, I was constantly reminded not to show so much affection, because caring too much would be a sign of weakness. I was told not to ask so many questions of adults because it was disrespectful. I know I wasn’t the only one who was told this, who was reminded to guard their curiosity so they wouldn’t disrupt people's comfort.
I was told not to be so critical of the places I learned in, of the places I worked in, and to be grateful I was being offered opportunities. There was the expectation to learn cultural norms so I could succeed as an artist and as an educator. I was expected to compartmentalize my various experiences and feelings so I wouldn’t offend anyone. And I did that for many years, but it was a constant reminder that I couldn’t show up as my whole self. I couldn't represent the various and complex stories that make me who I am.
Artmaking was the only time I could fail, the only time I could explore ideas without necessarily knowing where I was going to end up. Teaching gave me a voice that centered my curiosity in making with people. Teaching also helped me imagine the various platforms I currently use to explore ideas in a very public and intimate way.
Teaching art gave me permission to collaborate with people. Students and I would ask questions that critically framed conversations on race, power structures, cultural representation, equity, and knowledge creation.
William Estrada
visual artist
(prints created as part of the R.A.D.I.C.A.L. Printshop Project at the PO Box Collective)
Adults are usually dismissive of young people's ideas because they lack our experience—experiences we have equated to mean knowledge. But the truth is that we are dismissive because we have forgotten how to imagine worlds that don’t exist.
We have forgotten what it means to build worlds full of joy that don’t rely on any systems currently in place. We have been robbed of our childhood. As adults we have been robbed of play. We no longer allow ourselves to get lost in making things. We don’t dance with our whole body anymore. We haven’t allowed ourselves to make rhythms and songs just because our body needs it. We don’t make the time to create objects and play with them for hours.
We were forced to grow up, to do all the things we once swore we wouldn’t. We were shamed for wanting to play and were slowly convinced to let go of things that required deep explorations through our expansive curiosity. We were told to replace playing with serious things, organized things—things that could be quantifiable. Theorizing what learning should look like, and analyzing our learning through assessments. We could no longer dance relentlessly, color for hours, or get lost in our thoughts, because they couldn’t be measured by productivity models.
We were promised growing up would be more joyful.
Adults were wrong.
(people in their neighborhood making art with the Mobile Street Art Cart Project, workshop was part of the Mobilize Creative Collaborative)
In classrooms across the nation, we are told to teach young people about developing a growth mindset and that students must have grit.
These moments of triumph, when people have surpassed all expectations and have beaten the odds, are celebrated with applause and are used as examples to others of what is possible. We love a great story of someone overcoming hardships by ‘pulling oneself up by one's bootstraps’ and making it. Stories that highlight these narratives give a false sense of success, because we as a society refuse to accept we have upheld generations worth of systemic racism in this country. Racist policies embedded in the fabric of our everyday lives that don’t allow most of us to imagine anything else could ever exist.
Stories of triumph under these immense hardships make for great stories because they don’t challenge the status quo as long as they don't disrupt our own personal comfort, as long as we don’t have to question what responsibility we bear in the manufacturing and maintenance of these racist structures.
So we clap, we celebrate individual achievements without questioning what created the barriers in the first place or what we need to change in order to guarantee these achievements are no longer individual celebrations, but collective expectations for whole communities.
(photographing a family at the Back of the Yards Festival as part of the Family Portraits Project)
My practice as an artist and educator is a constant reminder that we need to create disruptions and opportunities for people to engage in play. Creating opportunities that invite adults to be curious, to ask questions, to tell their story, to make mistakes.
These disruptions allow for new relationships to form, making the time to explore new ideas, new materials, new experiences. The time we dedicate to artmaking reminds us of our own ability to imagine the worlds we want to live in—worlds that rely on our collective strength, on mutual aid and moments where we might hurt someone and apologize, reflecting on how to repair the harm we have caused. Artmaking in public gives us permission to be vulnerable, to take chances, make mistakes, and learn from others. Deeply listening to what people have to teach us and consider what we can add to the conversation. It slows us down and we welcome it even when our bodies attempt to rush us out of habit.
The art I create is embedded in people's experiences, amplifying people’s stories in their neighborhoods so they aren’t forgotten. To remind them that they are worthy of all the praise they deserve. So people's complex and varied experiences are seen.
I get to share space with people I may never see again. In every encounter, we plant a seed in each other. The seed grows across communities as we water relationships, deepening and intertwining our stories, finding commonalities and making connections. Reminding us that our collective liberation is based on fighting for each other. We slowly weave creative ecosystems based on mutual aid, quenching the longing for meaningful connections, and dig deep into the roots of critical love and curiosity.
(background images for Arte With Maestro William)
We create spaces that honor our whole selves and see our imperfections, but are willing to accept us anyway.
Creative spaces where we learn to take chances, apologize if we make mistakes, and repair the harm we have caused. Artmaking serves as healing, as we process our own trauma and begin to address our own fears. It reminds us to linger a little longer in our imagination, so we can begin building new spaces together. Spaces that no longer rely on structures that rob people of their joy. We are forced to confront all those things that made us afraid of failing, of not knowing.
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