b'Growing up, we lived a nomadic life. I saw many communities nestled in diverse ecosystems and biomes, from high desert mountainous regions to coastal plains inhabited by equally diverse populations. Although united by an American educational system, public schools were very different from place to place, emphasizing teaching one thing over another. Every place I went had art class, the one true constant. The art room was a space where creativity was encouraged, where experimentation was the golden rule, and I was able to imagine the impossible and make it somewhat possible. Evergreen woods and rockyBeing nomads meant we often traveled light, carrying only the most blue-green mountain peaksessential things: clothes, cooking utensils, portable keepsakes, trinkets dolloped with snow gaveand baubles, and photo albums. Mine was always some pencils, crayons, way to desert sage and rust- and a sketchbook, blank paper my mom would put in a folder. I spent colored cliffs and plateaus asmany hours in the back of a station wagon, dreaming up colorful we wound our way from a lifecharacters, imaginary flora, fauna, and vehicles that combined the colorful awkwardness of Dr. Seuss with the streamlined futurism of Star we left behind to a life we hadTrek to fill the pages. I cataloged the communities we passed through yet to live. We were nomads,and wrote and illustrated short stories based on my understanding. moving from place to place,I filled the pages trying to capture important moments, people I met, following the agricultural workthe stories they told, and the memories they had. Each community was that sustained our livelihoodsdifferent, and each narrative was individual. The one common thread as migrant workers. My lifewas me and my sketch pad. I cant say it was the language since in one was a constant in-between, in- part of the country, there was soda, in another, pop, and yet in another, between elementary grades,everything was Coke. in-between schools, in-betweenSince we traveled light, we often had to start over in every home we homes, and in-between siblingshad. My family traveled together, aunts, uncles, cousins, and sometimes packed like sardines in dadsgrandparents. Long-time friends also accompanied us, along with recent old station wagon.acquaintances made along the way. We often made living arrangements in small clusters of homes in the same neighborhood and sometimes on the same blocksometimes one home right next to the other. Our little community was held together economically; we all worked in the same place; socially, we all spoke the same language and had similar beliefs; and culturally, we were all from a similar heritage. We were also held together by a deep love and commitment to the arts. Some of us were singers, some played instruments, some were storytellers, and some were visual artists. Most of my fondest memories involve an evening of song and storytelling combined with making art out of found objects TRENDS // PAGE 8PAGE 9 // TRENDS'