magazine of the philadelphia folklore project · magazine of the philadelphia folklore project ......

Volume 18:2/3 summer/fall 2005 ISSN 1075-0029

ma g a z i n e o f t h e ph i l a d e l p h i a f o l k l o r e p r o j e c t

● I choose to stay here

● We are here to make changes

● Acrobatics and freedom

● The dance is an offering

● We shall not be moved

● Arabic song, flamenco footwork

● Folk arts education

14 We shall not be movedBy Thomas B. Morton,Lois Fernandez & DeboraKodish

18 Arabic song, flamencofootworkBy Toni Shapiro-Phim

22 Folk arts education By Toni Shapiro-Phim

32 Membership form

3 From the editor

4 I choose to stay hereBy members of CommunityLeadership Institute

8 Joaquin Rivera: We are here to make changesBy Elizabeth Sayre

10 Acrobatics & freedomBy Bill Westerman

12 The dance is an offering: OllinYoliztli CalmecacBy Kay Turner

Front cover:

Arisa Ingram anda celebrant

ovecome withthe spirit, at the

river, atODUNDE. Photo:

Thomas B. Morton

insi

de

Works in progress is the magazine ofthe Philadelphia Folklore Project,an 18-year-old public interest folklife agency.We work with people and communitiesin the Philadelphia area to build criticalfolk cultural knowledge,sustain thecomplex folk and traditional arts of ourregion,and challenge practices thatdiminish these local grassroots arts andhumanities. To learn more,please visitus: www.folkloreproject.org or call215.726.1106.(Note: we’ve moved to735 S.50th Street,Phila.,PA 19143)

philadelphia folklore project staff

Editor/PFP Director: Debora Kodish Associate Director: Toni Shapiro-PhimDesigner: IFE designs + AssociatesPrinting: Garrison Printers

[ Printed on recycled paper]

philadelphia folklore project board

Germaine IngramIfe Nii-OwooEllen SomekawaDeborah WeiDorothy WilkieMary YeeJuan Xu

we gratefully acknowledge support from:● The National Endowment for the Arts,which

believes that a great nation deserves great arts

● Pennsylvania Council on the Arts ● Pennsylvania Historical and Museum

Commission● The Humanities-in-the Arts Inititative,

administered by The Pennsylvania Humanities Council, and funded principallyby the Pennsylvania Council on the Arts

● The Philadelphia Cultural Fund● The William Penn Foundation● Dance Advance,a grant program funded

by The Pew Charitable Trusts andadministered by the University of the Arts

● The Pew Charitable Trusts● The Malka and Jacob Goldfarb Foundation● The Samuel Fels Fund● Independence Foundation● The Connelly Foundation● The Philadelphia Foundation● Stockton Rush Bartol Foundation● Windcall/Common Counsel Foundation● The Hilles Fund● The Walter J.Miller Foundation● The Henrietta Tower Wurts Foundation● The Douty Foundation● Aramark & The Philadelphia Arts & Business

Council● and wonderful individual Philadelphia

Folklore Project members

thank you to all

2005 Summer/Fall WIP 3

editor

Home, and the hard work ofmaking and keeping a home, ismuch on our minds these days.I write this from the WestPhiladelphia rowhouse that wehave been rehabbing for theFolklore Project’s new home.The Folk Arts–CulturalTreasures Charter School, ajoint effort with AsianAmericans United, was granteda charter this spring and willopen this fall—a new home for much of our folk artseducation work. Huge dreams,both of these major efforts at home-making happenedbecause so many peopleinvested their time, labor and vision. Collective effort and community made both of thesehomes possible—and evenimaginable.

These two building projectsleave no trace in these pages,but essays in this issueintroduce other efforts thatwere part of this past year’swork at the Folklore Project—our arts education and artistresidency programs, adocumentary video, and anexhibition—touching indifferent ways on theinterrelated questions of howwe make homes, becomeresponsible to place and to oneanother, explore where wecome from, and build (and hold onto) places where we can belong.

Length of time or investmentof labor in a place is noguarantee of safety, peoplehave learned. Fighting the Cityof Philadelphia’s takings ofprivate homes, residents fromWest Kensington talk aboutwhat their homes mean tothem. They count what ispriceless and irreplaceable,

including the lifetimes of care,work, and memories that addintangible value to their homes.This is a different kind of maththan that practiced by cityofficials deciding whose homes should be removed and leveled, and which families displaced.

People can build up a kind offreedom and comfort in aplace, and over the course of 30years, the ODUNDE festival hascreated that kind of free zone inthe blocks around 23rd andSouth on the second Sunday ofevery June. The space that isODUNDE is built in time, not inbricks, but it is as enduring andlife-sustaining. On the 30th

anniversary of ODUNDE, weare proud to offer an exhibitionof Tom Morton’s powerfulphotographs, on display in ournew home through December.A handful are shown in thesepages. (A sampling of hisimages also illustrate the 30thanniversary ODUNDE calendar, for sale through our office).

Considering takraw players,Bill Westerman writes, “Beautyand justice—whethercomprised of free movement orfree ideas—are defined andredefined locally.” In a worldwhere folk arts are so oftenconsidered to be exotic, easilylearned, simple, or somethingthat can be bought and sold,put on and put off, the artistsdescribed in this issue—Joaquin Rivera, the membersof Herencia Arabe, ChamroeunYin, the Aztec dancers of OllinYoliztli Calmecac, the takrawplayers—are using folk arts toshape languages, times, andplaces in which they can namethemselves and others in ways

that feel right, good, beautiful,and just.

Trying to reorient peoples’questions, Northwest Nativepoet Elizabeth Woody once toldan audience of folklorists, “Youall are Native people, too. Youhave just forgotten where you come from.” Challenging how her listeners definedthemselves, Woody was alsotalking about our responsibilityto cultivate a deep sense ofrelationship and belonging toplace—wherever we are. Weinvite you to read about peoplewho are engaged in just such work.

—Debora Kodish

f r o m t h e

4 WIP Summer/Fall 2005

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Below: Bodine Streetbefore. Photo: BahiyaCabral. Above: BodineStreet in the process ofdemolition. Photo:Debora Kodish


The NeighborhoodTransformation Initiative(NTI) sounded good atfirst—a new commitment by the city of Philadelphia torebuild and revitalize poorand working-class neighbor-hoods. But some people inthose neighborhoods are ask-ing whether the city is remak-ing their communities fortheir benefit or someoneelse’s profits.

Under NTI, the city ofPhiladelphia used its powerof eminent domain andother means to condemnand acquire more than 5,000properties in the year 2003alone, arguing that thesewere necessary steps to“save” the city, bring in newresidents, and build a biggertax base. In 2004 theCommunity LeadershipInstitute (CLI) and othersdiscovered that about 250 ofthe impacted propertieswere occupied homeswhose residents were to berelocated. Some residentshad accepted relocationdeals, but others did notwant to move from theneighborhoods in whichthey had lived for decades,or even generations. Addinginsult to injury, much of thisproperty was taken withoutany apparent plan in placefor redevelopment. That

year CLI spearheaded theCity-wide Coalition ofConcerned Residents andbegan organizing to helpindividual families, raisequestions about what NTIwas doing (and how it wasdoing it), and get a morato-rium on the takings. At heart were basic ques-tions about who benefitedand who suffered for thesake of“development.”

In 1950, 23% of CenterCity residents were peopleof color. By 1980, only 10%were, and that number hascontinued to drop even asthe diversity of the city as awhole rises. Between thosetwo dates, a series of urbanrenewal programs had amassive impact on NorthPhiladelphia and CenterCity. Writing a decade ago,sociologist NancyKleniewski found communi-ty people’s feelings still sim-mering, condensed in theirdescription of such pro-grams as “urban removal.”As they saw it, “poor andnon-white people have hadto bear the brunt of thedemolitions and displace-ment from redevelopmentprojects.” There is animportant body of scholarlywork about the decline ofPhiladelphia’s industrialbase and about specific eth-

nic communities. But thetransformation of place isseldom seen from the view-point of the poor and work-ing people affected.

Residents fightingtoday’s takings by the cityare articulating both impor-tant theories of value anddifferent versions of neigh-borhood past, present, andfuture than those used bycity officials. How can weget others to hear displacedresidents’ sides of the story?And, even more, how canwe make sure that the city’sfuture hopes will notdemand sacrifices—eventhefts—from particular resi-dents? In order to addressthese questions, PFPworked with CLI to developa documentary video, Ichoose to stay here, overthe course of 2004.

Describing what is price-less and irreplaceable, resi-dents reckon value in con-nection to a place over gen-erations, in terms of homesand legacies that can lastand be passed on to one’schildren, recognizing builtenvironments filled withlifetimes of work and care.Zinka Hoxha says, “It’s notjust losing your house.You’re losing your neighbor.You’re losing all your yearsexperience in that house. All

[Continued on next page ➝ ]

I choose to stayhere:

perspectives from people fighting the city’s “takings” of homes

b y R o s e m a r y C u b a s & m e m b e r s o f t h e C o m m u n i t y L e a d e r s h i p I n s t i t u t e

that. Good and bad.Whatever happened to youthrough these years—it’sthere. That house—it’severything to you.” This isa different calculus fromthe bureaucrats’ reckoningof monetary profit andloss. Following areexcerpts from some of theinterviews.

Milagros Velez-Ardón:

When we moved toAmerican Street, my dadbought that house and hefixed it completely. Whenhe got it, it was completelydestroyed. There werebasically no walls and itwas just trashed. But youknow, he did buy thehouse and he put a lot ofmoney into it. He fixed itup himself, him and DonRamon, his neighbor. SoI had heard from one ofmy neighbors down theblock that, “Oh, your dad’shouse, the city’s planningto take it. You might get aletter.” I told my dad, andhe did not believe what ishappening. My dad’s like,“What are they talkingabout? No, this can’t hap-pen because this is not acommunist place! We’refree here. Nobody cancome and take my home.”But little did we know thatit did happen. The citywants to move him out.

They want him to moveand take the property andknock it down to make wayfor something else.

On Bodine Street,where we used to live, on that block, the RDA(Redevelopment Authority)was already sending allthese letters to all theneighbors, saying they hadto move out, that theywere going to give them$20,000 for their homes,but that they had to moveout almost immediately.And of course, those peo-ple, they were like my par-ents. They came from adifferent era. They didn’tknow what was going on.They were scared. Theyhad no clue about what todo about the situation. Soa lot of them did move.

It has changed our perception of things. Nowwe know the city can dowhatever they like. It’s likewe don’t have any rights,even though we get tovote. Because you know,they say, “Oh, this is emi-nent domain.” But eminentdomain is supposed to befor a public use, like ahighway. The city tries tochange things. They try tochange the meaning ofeminent domain. Reallywhat they’re doing isjust—they do whateverthey want. They want tomove people out because

these homes are not pay-ing enough taxes.

Tata and Ramon Hernandez:

Tata Hernandez: We livedat 2150 Bodine Street,which was our house,which was taken awayfrom us. If we had achoice, we would still bethere. I miss it. There werefour generations in ourhouse. One time, an olderAmerican guy was check-ing out the house. He said,“Don’t worry, I’m checkingit out because it was myhouse 50 years ago.” Hesaid, “I made the housenew 50 years ago.” He toldme, he was admiring thehouse all over again. Hismom used to live there,too, and he raised his kidsthere, too. We will neverbe able to talk about it likethat. I did not feel goodabout what happened. Aletter came. We knew itwas trouble, but we didnot believe it—becausethings like that cannot hap-pen. It was like a big sur-prise. We were in disbelief.Ramon: I would neverhave left. Everybody saidyou can’t fight with thecity. I said, “I’m going tofight because it’s right.”My good memories arewhen I started living there,and of my mother. On theother side of the house, I


i choose to stay here/continued from p. 5

Rosemary Cubas,Victoria Howard,

Elizabeth Segarra andMildred Rivera in the

CLI office, 2005.

Zinka Hoxha andRosemary Cubas

shooting a video atZinka’s home, 2004.

had a grove of trees. Itreminded me of PuertoRico. I went around theneighborhood, and I choseparticular trees to rescue

from unclaimeddirty lots. Thosewere not typicaltrees for here—Ichose trees thatwere typical ofPuerto Rico. Tata: And whenhe went outthere, it made

him happy. And it lookedpretty. Ramon: I worked more than10 years on the garden. Tata: He always weededand tended the grove, tokeep it nice, and to makesure it wasn’t dangerous.He planted all the trees onthe street, even the onesnot near his house. Ramon: I carried them inmy car and I watered themby hand, with a bucket. Ibuilt a casita and made itlook like a little house likein Puerto Rico, an old-fash-ioned casita. I had it forcute, for beauty. And peo-ple were always over there.There was grass and agrove of trees, and flowersaround the trees. Thetourists would come! Myhouse I fixed, too. I did itmyself. We did it ourselves.I didn’t use sheetrock, I did itall the old-fashioned way,the old way. I cannot forgetmy house because my lifewas in it.Tata: I still go around there.And I still have the key toopen the door. But thenyou see it, and it is gone.And when I go to my newhouse, in my mind, I don’tsee it; I see 2150 Bodine.

Elizabeth Segarra:

Iris Torres was the first per-son to knock on my doorand tell me what was going

on in this area. And shewas like, “You have tocome to this meeting. Thisis really happening.” And Ikind of didn’t believe her. Isaid, “Wow, this really canhappen?” So that made memore newsy and curiousabout it. And then I startrealizing that it was real.They said they were gonnabuild a factory to give thecommunity work, but weknow that’s not going tohappen. They bring theirown people. They alwaysbring their own people.They do not hire peoplefrom the community. Theymoved this community,destroyed this community,and for what? And they’retaking a lot of our historyand throwing it away.Because the structures ofthese old buildings, arewonderful—they’re brick.The new houses they arebuilding now are paper.

Iris Torres:

They dealt us a bad hand tobegin with. The reason whyI say that is because it’sbeen a struggle throughouthistory, in the 70s, in the80s, in the 90s, and now. Igrew up here. And so Iremember going to theschools, and it wasn’t easy.You had to fight gangs sothat you could cross streetsjust to go to school. Youknow, Stetson was onegang. You know—youcouldn’t get off the bus on5th Street because that wasone territory of one gang.You couldn’t get off on 6thStreet because that wasanother territory. I comedown here, I go to PennTreaty. Penn Treaty—there’sno gang, but all the whitepeople that surround theschool hated the blacks andthe Puerto Ricans whowent there. So there was

racism. And we had apolice district two doorsdown who never did any-thing about it. So it was astruggle just to get youreducation. You had thosestruggles in the schoolswith the racism. And usgrowing up at that time, itwas hard. It wasn’t until thelate 70s when all hell brokeloose and there was vio-lence in that park 24-7because the Latinos weregoing to come and theLatinos were going to stay.

And now finally—because I say it from expe-rience, I’ve been here for 15years on 2nd Street. And ittook me all that time,through all these struggles,to finally get that little sub-urb that everybody’s goingso far to get. I got it rightthere, and I still can’t haveit, because the city doesn’twant to give up the land tome now. When they weregiving it away for nothing,years ago! When they’regiving it away to othersright now. And now we’refaced with the reality thatmy home could be—tomorrow— gone. After allthose struggles with thecity to get that little piece ofland, my home could betaken tomorrow

Rosemary Cubas:

And people say, “It’s only249 homes.” But it’s 249families who have similarhistories to the ones thatwe’re telling you. There arepeople who have spentthree, four, five generationsin their homes and arebeing displaced. That’swhat we are talking about.It’s the displacement of his-tory, and it’s not just a mat-ter of memories. People’shealth is being destroyedbecause when you destroytheir history, you destroy


[Continued on p. 30 ➝ ]


by Elizabeth Sayrear

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Joaquin Rivera, 2005.Photo: Elizabeth Sayre

We arearehereto makemakechanges :changes :

Joaquín Rivera is an institution and a familiar face in Philadelphia’s Puerto Rican community,

the third largest (after New York City and Chicago) in the mainland United States. Despite his many

years of social and cultural activism, largely accomplished through musical performances in all kinds

of venues, he humbly maintains that he is not a “real” musician, although clearly he is. His work in

fact asks, “What is ‘real music,’ and what is music for?” and proposes answers: music is cultural

memory, music is for everyone, and music exists to change people’s lives in a positive way.

pleñero Joaquin Rivera


Born in 1946 in Cayey, PuertoRico, Joaquín Rivera says helearned to play music relativelylate. Growing up in hishometown, which has sincebeen engulfed by the San Juanmetropolitan area, he did nothear plena, which is native tothe coastal, sugar-growingareas where communities ofpeople descended fromenslaved Africans areconcentrated. Rather, people inCayey played la música jíbara, aSpanish-influenced music of thePuerto Rican countryside, andlistened to tunes on the radioand jukeboxes: Cubanguarachas, Dominicanmerengues, pan-Latino boleros,and mariachi music from theMexican film industry (“salsa”music as we know it today hadnot yet developed). As ayoungster, he dreamed of beinga handsome charro (mariachi)with a big singing voice, likeMexican film idols JorgeNegrete and Pedro Infante. Toopoor to buy an instrument, hewould follow musicians aroundand carry their instruments inexchange for learning a littleabout how to fret chords on theguitar and the 10-stringedcuatro, considered by many theisland’s signature instrumentand a powerful symbol ofPuerto Rican identity.

In 1965, Joaquín Rivera cameto Philadelphia, following hismother, who had re-located twoyears earlier. He found it hard toadjust to the differences inclimate, language, and culture,particularly the more distantrelationships with friends thatwere considered normal in thislarge city. For five years hesewed and laminated fabric in afactory at Kensington andOntario Streets. Having learnedEnglish in night school, heearned his GED at the BereanInstitute and later took classesat Community College andRutgers University. For the last33 years, he has worked for theSchool District of Philadelphia,

principally as an assistant to thebilingual counselor at OlneyHigh School. The number ofLatino students at Olney hasincreased dramatically since hisearly years there, and PuertoRicans are now 35–40% of thestudent body. Rivera notes thatLatino parents and students areasking for more and receivingless than in the past, and thatthere is a great need for morebilingual/bicultural staff at the school.

Music, once an activityconstantly shared with friendsin Puerto Rico, became inPhiladelphia a way to fill hissense of cultural emptiness.Some Latino students at Olneywere getting together andplaying panderetas, the threeframe drums that are theprincipal instruments of plena.This was Rivera’s introductionto plena. He subsequentlylearned more about it by talkingto players on the mainland andthe island. He and the studentsmaintained a group at schooland at Christmas decided tocarol the classrooms, explainingto non-Latino students howChristmas is celebrated inPuerto Rico by singing themusic of parrandas, a traditionalholiday style. During the sameperiod, he began to rehearseinformally with some friends ina grocery store at Howard andCumberland, adding panderetasto the parrandas music theywere practicing. Theserehearsals were the genesis oflos Pleneros del Batey, whohave now been together foralmost 20 years. Batey means"yard" in Taíno, the language ofthe indigenous people of PuertoRico, so the group’s namemeans, roughly, “the musiciansfrom around here.”

Plena music, originating inlate 19th-century coastal PuertoRico, is sometimes called asinging newspaper, with lyricscommenting on events of theday, from political corruptionand scandal to natural disasters.

Songs consist of a four-linechorus alternating with short,and sometimes improvised,verses. The traditionalinstrumental accompanimentincludes the three panderetas—the seguidor, segundo, andrequinto (the highest-pitcheddrum, which solos over thecombined texture of the otherinstruments)—and a gourdscraper called a güícharo.People dance to plena, but thedance steps are not as tightlytied to the drum patterns asthey are in the other famousAfro Puerto Rican genre,bomba. Says Rivera, “The plenarhythm is simple. We don’t keepa distance from the public; weare the public.”

Los Pleneros del Batey, withRivera shouldering most of theresponsibility for the group,have played at innumerableevents in the Philadelphia area:parrandas at Christmas,community celebrations ofThree Kings’ Day (January 6),the Feria del Barrio (acommunity festival held for 25consecutive years in the Fairhillsection), the annual PuertoRican Day Parade, and rallies forlocal Latino politicians, amongothers. They have appeared onWYBE, Channel 35, and on“Puerto Rican Panorama,”Diego Castellanos’ culturalshow on Channel 6. They haveplayed at schools, communityand senior centers, hospitals,and prisons, where, Riverareports, their music producessmiles, tears, dancing, singing,and hugs from gratefulaudiences. They played atHarvard University the yearRuben Blades (Panamaniansalsa superstar, lyricist, actor,and political candidate) receivedhis law degree, and inWashington, DC, supportingJesse Jackson’s candidacy forpresident in 1988 and protestingthe U.S. navy’s bombingpractices on Vieques island inthe late '90s (subsequentlyhalted). They play anywhere



sepak takraw

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Players spiking theball during an East

Coast takrawtournament, 6th

and Wolf Streets,Philadelphia,August 2003.

Photos: BillWesterman

When the weather iswarm enough,one of the mostgraceful sports inthe world is

played in the small park at6th and Wolf Streets. Thegame is barely known inAmerica outside theSoutheast Asian immigrantcommunities where it is apassion. Young Lao adultscome together in the lateafternoons, when theirfactory shifts end, forgames of sepak takraw, aSoutheast Asian form ofvolleyball played with thefeet and head. They mayplay all day on weekends,while local entrepreneursbarbecue meat and sellpapaya salads, and familiesbring out lawn chairs towatch the young men flythrough the air. Sometimesspectators videotape thematches for futureenjoyment.

Sepak takraw emerged in either Thailand orMalaysia, or perhaps insome form in both. Thename is an interestinglinguistic hybrid: sepakmeans "kick" in Malay;takraw refers to the ball inThai. Written sources differon the game's origins butplace the first mention ofthe sport between the 11thand 16th centuries. Takraw,

as it is commonly knownand played, is basicallyvolleyball but without theuse of the arms (with thesole exception of the tossto the server to begin play).The hollow ball, whichweighs about half a pound,is made of woven rattan. Ateam consists of threeplayers on a side: a server,a spiker, and a setter, whofeeds the ball to the spiker.Either the setter or thespiker can toss the ball tothe server, who serves anentire game.

The game is playedprofessionally in Thailand,Singapore, and elsewherethroughout Southeast Asia,and a move is afoot to getit accepted into theOlympics. Worldchampionships for menand women are held inThailand every year, andthe Asian Games includetakraw every four years. In Laos, which is too poor to send teams tointernational competitions,the game is a popularparticipatory sport. Laotianrefugees brought it toAmerica in the 1980s and 1990s.

Most of the players inSouth Philadelphia wereborn in Laos or in Thairefugee camps but learnedthe game in the United

States as young adults,practicing by kicking a ballsuspended from a tree and learning through watching other players.Neighborhoods in Readingand Minneapolis haveHmong players as well,and you can also findtakraw where there areThai and Burmesecommunities, but it is theLaotians in America whohave made the sport theirown. The South Philly parkeven contains a significantcontingent of Laoimmigrants who wereresettled in Argentina inthe early '80s and havemore recently been movingto this city. They grew upplaying soccer (eventhough there is anArgentine association offutvoleibol, as it is knownthere) and took up takrawin Philly. Needless to say,they play in a styleresembling soccer, withextensive use of theirheads both defensively andoffensively. Every summer,tournaments in Minnesota,Lowell, Mass., andPhiladelphia draw teamsfrom all over the Northeastand Midwest; an indoorwintertime circuit isemerging as well.

Players speak of thegame with an insider's

by Bill Westerman


proud appreciation of itsbeauty. At a tournament in Philadelphia, I met TeeRathida, a 26-year-oldathlete from North Carolina.He told me he likes thesport's combination of volleyball, soccer,gymnastics, and martial arts.

Seeing takraw played byyoung Laotian refugees inSouth Philly’s RooseveltPark more than 10 yearsago when working for theFolklore Project, I found itcaptivating and acrobatic.The most exciting andeffective play of the game isthe kill, when the spikerleaps, usually doing a flipbackwards in the air, andspikes the ball down withthe full force of the leg andfoot, sometimes evenlanding on one foot as well.It looks like what is knownas the bicycle kick in soccer,although it is done withrepetitive precision. Theother team tries to block thespike and send the ball backover the net, usually with aleg lifted high in a jump(counting on luck to stopthe ball) or with the back (abroader target, but with noforce to return the ball) for adefensive win.

Native playerassessments consider thekill the most importantfeature of expert play,although international-levelplayers know that the servecan also be an offensiveasset, akin to the serve

of Pete Sampras. Localplayers in SouthPhiladelphia were quick topoint out the athleteswhom I should look at andphotograph: "Be sure totake pictures of Number 9,"they told me during onetournament, recognizing avisiting player fromMinnesota whose leapswere high and who seemedto float in the air, with well-extended limbs thatpropelled his leg to its fullkicking force. And yet whenI asked who was the bestplayer in South Philly,players unanimouslypointed out a young mannamed Et, adding, “Henever kills the ball, though.”As I watched him, I startedto get a sense of thecomplexity of nativeaesthetics. They admiredhim for his speed and hisreflexes, of course, but alsofor a high degree ofspontaneity, skill in aim,and creativity in split-second strategic judgmentabout ball placement andforce. It’s not all aboutpower. The most admiredplayer is not just fast—he’sclever. Et also clearly enjoyshimself when he plays, andthe vicarious pleasure ofbeing a spectator dependsin part on the players'enjoyment. Spectatorsadmire not just acrobaticsand power, but theswiftness of the athlete'sintelligence, just as one

might admire a dancer oran improvisationalmusician.

If asked, the player orviewer will typically saytakraw is fast, acrobatic,exciting; it relies on analmost inhuman ability tofly upside-down; it requiresskill, timing, spontaneousdecisions, fast reflexes, andso on. As in the descriptionof any sport, those areaesthetic judgments basedon a comparison with morequotidian rhythms andforms of movement; sportis removed from themovement of everyday life.

We are all critics when itcomes to sports, choosingthe games and the athleteswith aesthetic qualities that move us, for whateverpsychological orphysiological or culturalreason. The West Indiancultural critic C. L. R. James,in an analysis of theaesthetics of cricket, wrotethat “the sense of form…is not a gift of highcivilization, the lastachievement of nobleminds. It is exactly theopposite…the significanceof the form is a commonpossession.…[T]he facultyor faculties by which werecognize significant formin elemental physical actionis native to us, a part of theprocess by which we havebecome and remainhuman.” Local knowledgewill tell you that sport is

Acrobatics& freedom:

in a south philadelphia park



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Those Indians had many ways

of dancing and merrymaking to

celebrate the religious fiestas of their

gods, composing different songs to

each idol according to his importance

and greatness. And thus many days

before the feast days came, there

were long rehearsals of songs and

dances for that day; and with each

new song they brought out different

costumes and ornaments, with

mantles and feathers and false hair

and masks, according to the songs

they had composed and what

they were about.

—Fray Diego de Duran, Historia de las

Indias de Nueva Espana, 16th century

Already we are playing our flowered

drums. This is our duty on the earth. —Aztec poem, c.14th century

Brujo de laMancha andothers preparethe ofrenda.Photos:MeredithRapkin

The scene is a parking lot in front of Hollywood Video on Washington

Avenue in South Philadelphia. Here, on a hot Sunday afternoon in August 2004,

the flowered drums of the ancient Aztecs were heard again. And the duty to play

them was assumed by a serious and passionate man accompanying a group of

costumed Mexican dancers who moved ceremoniously and elegantly to the

rhythms he beat out on a huge drum made from a tree trunk found in Fairmount

Park. Invoking the old gods of Tenochtítlan (the pre-Spanish Aztec name for

Mexico City), the dance increased markedly in energy and complexity over the

course of the hour-long performance. A predominantly Mexican audience studied

the dancers intently. The same dancers would be seen again a month later on the

big stage at Penn's Landing, part of the Diez y Seis de Septiembre (Independence

Day) celebration. Sponsored by the Mexican Consulate, Diez y Seis draws

thousands from the Greater Philadelphia area. As the flowered drum sounded

once more, a grito, a shout, went up, and hundreds of celebrants exuberantly

rushed the stage to gain a spot closer to the dancers.

These dancers are part of arapidly growing Mexicanpresence along the Easternseaboard, in large cities likePhiladelphia and New York, andin smaller places in westernNew York State, New Jersey,Pennsylvania, and elsewhere.(An older and more establishedmigrant community lives andworks, primarily in agriculture,in Kennett Square, nearPhiladelphia). Much of the newmigration comes from the Stateof Puebla in Central Mexico.Where the Kennett SquareMexican community is thebackbone for state mushroomand agricultural industries, thenewer migrants, based in thecity, work primarily in theconstruction and serviceindustries. Many are menbetween the ages of 18 and 30who have come to earnAmerican dollars for theirfamilies back in Mexico. U.S.immigration policy limits theamount of time Mexicanmigrant workers can legallystay here and makes it harderfor them than for othertransnational populations toachieve legal status.

Consequently, this youngcommunity is both transientand in transition. Displacementand deportation are abidingissues. As a relatively new,expanding, and unassimilatedpopulation facing social andeconomic instability, the city’sMexican community, now morethan 15,000 strong, relies onforms of expressive traditionalknowledge—folklore—to createsolidarity and to signal theproud claim of mexicanismo:the sense of being Mexican.Mariachi music, piñatas,tamales, posadas, and othercrafts, foodways, processions,

and celebrations take theirplace in a system of folkwaysthat transfers old meanings to anew place.

Many of the Mexicans inSouth Philadelphia hail fromSan Mateo Ozolco, a townoutside the city of Puebla,where Nahuatl, the pre-Hispanic Aztec language ofCentral Mexico, is still the firstlanguage spoken. The retentionof Nahuatl signals a kind ofcultural resilience. Centuriesafter Cortez and his coterie ofconquistadores claimed what isnow Mexico City anddecimated all that precededthem, the legacy of the Aztecnation has never beenforgotten. The historical andarchaeological records are richin artifacts, codices (books), andarts that tell the story of lifebefore the Spanish and bothpopular and folk traditions havepreserved and perpetuatedknowledge of the Aztec era,creating a usable past thatfuses history with identity.

One manifestation of this isdanza azteca, a stylized form ofritual dance appropriated fromthe past to serve the present.Practiced primarily in MexicoCity and seen most frequentlyat the great zocalo in front ofthe cathedral there, groups ofdancers costumed in dramaticAztec regalia simultaneouslyperform rigorous dances thatre-imagine and reclaim themajesty and spirituality of theclassic Aztec period (13th-15thc.) and of the Aztec forbearers,Chichímeca and Olmecacultures of the North. Todaydanza azteca is recognized asan offshoot of conchero dance,also based in ritual andceremony reflecting indigenoushistory and values, but using

folk Catholic saints as its sourceof symbolism and belief. Thewidespread cultural revolutionof the 1960s led someconcheros to abandon theirCatholic affiliation andperformatively reclaim the pre-Spanish past.

Danza azteca is relatively rarein the Northeastern UnitedStates. It can be seen inPhiladelphia thanks to aremarkable group called OllinYoliztli Calmecac (OYC), formedhere in Philadelphia in 2003 andled by its founder, Daniel"Chico" Lorenzo and artist Brujode La Mancha. The leaddrummer for OYC, Daniel iseloquent and knowledgeableconcerning Aztec history andculture. After moving fromPuebla to Mexico City in 1985,he studied pre-Hispanic cultureat the Simón Bolívar Instituteand at Casa Tlaxcala. He alsohad the instruction of TíaCandelária, his father's sister, acharcoal seller in the Mercado,who taught him about Nahuatlcustoms and instilled in him aprofound sense of theimportance of respeto (respect).

Born in Mexico City, Brujohas lived in Philadelphia since1998 doing construction workand teaching art classes. Hisfather was from the State ofVeracruz; his grandmother, adeeply traditional woman whospoke Nahuatl, Tojolobal andSpanish, brought him to thecountry for holidays likeSemana Santa (Holy Week) andDía de Los Muertos (Day of theDead). Brujo's time in Xico, asmall pueblo, was formative.He loved the drama of Catholicfeast days. His grandfather,who farmed in Veracruz, oftendug up and brought home littlestatues and bits of pottery from


The dance is an offering: Ollin Yoliztli Calmecac

by Kay Turner



pfp*

exhib

itio

n

We shall not be moved:Thomas Morton’s photographs of 30 years of ODUNDE

Above: Kulu Mele drummers,Omomola Iyabunmi. Nana

Korantemaa Ayeboafo, and others lead the

procession to the river.Right: Women of Kulu Mele

in a moment beforeperforming.

Founder’s statement

by Lois Fernandez

I want this exhibit to show what ODUNDE has done for our people in the city. Folks in ‘75 afterthe Black Power movement weresaying “We’re Black.” And we weresaying, “No, we’re African people.Black is a color not a people.” So wehad to come up under that. To beable to tell people that you areAfrican people, as my father told meas a child. And I hope we can movefor our people to be able to claim,

“I am of Yoruba stock, or fromGhana, or Cape Verde.” ODUNDEhas contributed to that learningprocess of our people, to know whatit is to be of African descent, that weare Africans here in America.

[Continued on p.17 ➝ ]



This is the peoples’ festival.The people made it. We could nothave done it without the people.Make no mistake about it. It hascertainly not been easy. It wasalways for the culture. It wasalways for the people. So whenpeople wanted to kick us offSouth Street, we had to usesurvival skills. This is ourneighborhood. This is ourcommunity. The souls of ourancestors are on South Street.And that’s why we took ourstand—that we would not bemoved from where ODUNDEstarted, in an historic AfricanAmerican neighborhood.

The procession is what sets usapart from other festivals. Theprocession attracts folks from allwalks of life. Everybody goes tothe river and they make theirofferings and we have acommonality there. Thirty yearsago, people thought we werepagans, heathens. People said,“Going to the river? To do what?”We always said, “The river is anelement. It is Oshun thatsymbolizes that power.”

Oshun has sustained us for 30years and that is why we arehere. And the spirit of Oshun iswhat is felt there—you see it inthe peoples’ faces. You go up onthe bridge, you come down onthe bridge and all of thesegreetings—you get all thisfeedback. I can’t do anything butfeel it. It is the power of Oshunthat comes down.

I can only say it was the spiritthat moved in me that moved meto do it. As I look back, when Imet the Yoruba in New York—when I first saw them, I wasmoved. I felt it in my guts. And Italked to them. And I watched thewomen with all those braceletson their arms. I changed mywhole dressing style, then finally Ichanged my whole wardrobe toAfrican. That was one of the waysthat this started. Nana Oserjemanwas one of those who first openedmy eyes, there, with the firstYoruba temple in New York City. I

dedicate this show to his memory.

Photographer’s statement

by Thomas B. Morton

As the 30th anniversary of theODUNDE festival arrives, I look atthe 35 images in this exhibitionand I am reminded why I am atODUNDE in the first place. It isthe people, the purpose, and theunbridled pride and beauty.Broadly speaking, the purpose, asI see it, is to remember, celebrate,and recommit us to ourselves asourselves. Also: to recommit toeveryone and everything that hasand will ever have a heartbeat.

I find strength and renewaleach year in recognizing ourunbroken family ties across timeand space—whether we knowthe latitude and longitude of ourAfrican home village or not. I amalways struck by the leaps at willacross time and space. Afro-Philadelphia seems anincongruous but fitting locale forsuch an event: Philadelphia,U.S.A., “The Philly Dog,” and“The Philadelphia Negro.” Butthe homeland is where we areand we are all over. Home iswhere the beat is.

The eternal present of theuniversal symbols of life andspirit—including color, water,fruit, touch, percussion—and ourcollective ori and ase at ourcrossroads together helpODUNDE transcend, enhance andelevate its context. The ODUNDEexperience for me is a spiritualhomecoming, but I am still aliveto enjoy it with others.

The unencumbered deep pride of self, purpose and theoverwhelming beauty I feel—I just can’t help but try to communicate it. Thesephotographs were not actuallymeant to clinically “document.”They were just supposed to betrue and representative of themoment. I find that the hardestthing is to focus on one momentwhen there are literallythousands of “moments” at the

same time all day! But this iswhat I try to do. Get into theaction and look for the light.Taking and sharing my images ismy own participation and myown personal celebration of thepublic celebration of our deepunity that transcends both “race”and place.

These are reflections, imagesof my experience. I am only one of many, many ODUNDE photographers and fortunate to be in the mix.

Curator’s statement

by Debora Kodish

Looking through 3,000photographs made by Tom Morton at ODUNDE overthree decades, I am pouringthrough a remarkable familyalbum. Photos trace peoples’lives over time and mark passinggenerations of participants. Theseare precious photos, preservingimages of an event that hasbecome a central annualobservance for many, fixing inour minds’ eyes people whowere important in crafting ritualswith meaning, keeping memoriesvivid. I hope that this exhibition,in pulling together even a smallsampling of photographs of suchfeeling, significance, and beauty,helps to convey something ofwhat ODUNDE means to so many.

Tom Morton has alwaysspoken of how he “is given”photos, rather than “taking”pictures. This is modesty on hispart. His appreciation andknowledge of African Diasporanexperience and his long-timeconnection to the people andevent allow him to see,recognize, and understand the“gifts” around him in complexand stunning ways. Hisphotographs are loved andvalued within the communitypartly because he helps peoplesee who they know themselvesto be. He gives peopleunparalleled images of their most

Opposite page:Lois Fernandezon the SouthStreet bridge,duringODUNDE.

odunde/continued from p. 15

The eighth-centuryMoorish invasion ofSpain from NorthAfrica resulted in therise of the Arab

kingdom of Al-Andalus(Andalusia) on the IberianPeninsula. The kingdom’srule of more than 700 yearsgave rise to a distinctcivilization, noted by poetsand scholars as one of greatsplendor and brilliant artisticdevelopment. People in arange of social strata were expected to beaccomplished in song, theplaying of musical

instruments, and dance. Therichness of the Andalusianarts left an indelible mark on Spanish culture, onereflected in, among otherthings, the art form knownas flamenco. Cante,flamenco song, is the life-blood of the art,accompanied originally onlyby claps (palmas) or otherpercussion. Later, guitar wasadded. In the 19th century,dance became an importantpart of the flamenco sphereas well. In flamencorhythms, and in the songsand vocalization styles, one

can discern decisively Arabictraits or themes that mixed,along the way, with Gypsy,Berber, sub-Saharan African,Jewish, Christian and otherinfluences in that uniquelyAndalusian combination ofraces, faiths, social classes,and cultures.

For the past couple of years, members ofPhiladelphia-basedFlamenco del Encuentro,under the artistic direction ofAnna and Tito Rubio, haveimmersed themselves inexplorations of flamenco’sArabic lineage, playing with


>art

hap

pens

her

e< arabicsong,flamencofootwork:

MIchele Tayoun, Mariadel Chico and AnnaRubio in rehearsal.

Photos by JamesWasserman, 2005


overlapping and alternatingflamenco and MiddleEastern rhythmic, melodic,and movement patterns,and with interpretive fusionas well. To this end, theyformed the Herencia ArabeProject, in which musiciansand dancers collaborate touncover resonancesbetween these artistic

traditions and practices.Flamenco dancers AnnaRubio and Maria del Chicohave been working inpartnership with MicheleTayoun, a dancer ofLebanese heritage steepedsince early childhood in thedances and music of NorthAfrica, the ArabianPeninsula, and the Near

East. Michele is best knownin her Lebanese (and thebroader Philadelphia MiddleEastern) community as anaccomplished performer ofraqs sharqi, Arabic for“Oriental Dance” or, what isoften called “Belly Dance.”Some of the musicians in

by toni shapiro-phim

herencia arabe



the project (Spanish-bornflamenco guitarist Tito Rubio,Lebanese-American percussionistJoseph Tayoun, and Armenian-American oud player RogerMgrdichian) got a jump-start ontheir collaboration last year with support from the PFP’sMusicians-In-Residence program.The group’s singer, Antonia Arias,who studied flamenco song inSeville last year, is the daughterof Anna Rubio. Michele Tayounhas been contributing her vocalskills in Arabic song to theensemble’s work as well.

Indeed, it was Michele’s singingthat inspired the development ofa new dance sequence whenvisiting flamenco dancerextraordinaire Antonio Hidalgo ofSpain was in Philadelphia thispast May. He had come to workwith Flamenco del Encuentro in master classes andperformances, and becameenamored with Michele’s voice,

and intrigued by the artisticpossibilities he intuited simplyfrom hearing her melodies.During one rehearsal of theHerencia Arabe Project, inpreparation for a show at theAnnenberg Center, Antonio calledMichele over to the chairsarranged in a semi-circle in therehearsal studio. “Would yousing for me?” he asked her.“Anything in particular?” sheasked in return. He wantedsomething in the AndalusianArabic style he had heardMichele rehearse earlier. Sheobliged, and began a song. AsAntonio listened, trying to teaseout the rhythm by clapping hishands together and on his chest,the others at the rehearsal startedgathering around. They couldsense that a special process wasunfolding. Antonio hadrecognized that this style ofArabic song meshed nicely with asolo he was preparing to the

alegrias flamenco rhythm. Backand forth, he (of Andalusia,having been born and raised inCordoba) and Michele clapped,sang, clapped some more.Antonio stood up and everyone’sgaze followed. He set up apattern in which the rhythmwould switch back and forthbetween seven beats, and 12,with Michele singing during the7-beat section. Michele stoodfacing him, and continued withher song. Antonio danced, hislightening-fast steps pounding inabsolute precision.

When twenty minutes of thiskind of experimentation—withinput from everyone else in theroom—had passed, a newperformance sequence had beenborn. Tito turned to me and said,“This is what it is all about.Moments like this, when it allmakes sense. When it is,beautiful.”

Contexts for belly dance and

Anna Rubio, Maria delChico, Michele Tayoun,Roger Mgridichian (on

oud), Antonia Arias,and Tito Rubio (guitar),

in rehearsal. Photo:James Wasserman.


Arabic music, in the Middle Eastand here, include weddings,community festivals andnightclubs, as well as theatersand concert halls. Flamenco, too,is in clubs and restaurants, onsmall and large stages, and inpeople’s homes. Both belly danceand flamenco involve a softnessand flow of arms and fingers. Yetarticulated movements of thepelvis distinguish belly dance,while percussive footwork is acore characteristic of flamenco.Posture is different, too. Aflamenco dancer holds hershoulders down and back, chestlifted. A belly dancer tends tokeep her shoulders more relaxed.Some styles of belly danceperformance can includemovements executed while onone’s knees, or on the floor. Withflamenco, it is the relationshipbetween the feet and the floorthat is a constant. Improvisationis a hallmark of both belly danceand flamenco. However, whereasthe belly dancer performs a kindof conversation with thepercussionist, with the dancer, attimes, providing the melody, theflamenco dancer responds to thesinger, and the song. In thetangos section of the HerenciaArabe performance (tangos isone flamenco rhythmic pattern),Michele had to learn to dance tothe song, as opposed to thedrum, as part of theircollaborative process.

Within Herencia Arabe, thedancers develop and presentdiscreet flamenco and MiddleEastern dance sections, alongwith parts in which theyincorporate both types ofmovement. In choreographingthe opening part of their Mayperformance, dancersemphasized aspects of eachother’s dance traditions that arecomplementary. For example:alternating left and right armmovements that trace an almostcircular pattern in the air fromjust behind the ear, over the headand out in front, and up along thechest for Anna and Mariah, and

the reverse of that (arms movingin a backward circular motion) forMichele. In the closing passage oftheir performance, they chose toinclude a chorus, a jaleo (literally,“scream”) in which all thedancers, and singer Antonia, areon stage, singing and clapping.This is a traditional way offinishing the Jerez style ofbulerias por fiesta, the finalflamenco rhythm of the show.

In reflecting on thiscollaborative experience, Micheletold me, “I think it’s unique. Andwe can’t, shouldn’t, let it go. I loveworking with this group ofpeople. Everyone has strengthsthey bring to it. I enjoy thecreative and artistic aspects somuch. I keep thinking about howto change things. I see a lot morethat could come out of it, in termsof the dance and the vocals, andeven the costuming.” Tito chimedin: “ This piece [for HerenciaArabe] is in its infancy. It’s green.We have to keep askingquestions and challengingourselves.” “Everyone in thisensemble respects each other, asartists and as people,” said Anna.“There’s incredible support.”

—Toni Shapiro-Phim

The Philadelphia FolkloreProject has been support-ing the Herencia ArabeProject’s rehearsals thisyear as part of our DanceHappens Here initiative.With funding from DanceAdvance, a program ofThe Pew CharitableTrusts, administered bythe University of the Arts,and from thePennsylvania Council onthe Arts, the NationalEndowment for the Arts,and PFP members, DanceHappens Here aims tooffer opportunities foraccomplished artists toengage in meaningful andconstructive artisticdevelopment.

Folk arts &multicultural education: notes on a folklore project program

by Toni Shapiro-Phim

pfp*

prog

ram

Chamroeun Yinand his students.

Above is dancestudent Monique

Van. Right:Chamroeun and

Anna Koy.Photos: Toni

Shapiro-Phim


Over the course of a year,roughly a dozen traditional artistsenter classrooms and communitysites to work intensively withyoung students as part of theFolklore Project’s 10-year-old FolkArts and Multicultural Education(FAME) program. In addition toteaching technique, respect forculture and tradition, discipline,and persistence, the FAMEprogram builds community in theform of connections between andamong students, teachers,parents, community members,and the many people at differentsites who have helped to supportthe program.

In the fall of 2001, MiriamHershberger, an English as aSecond Language teacher,became our partner in the FAMEprogram at SouthwarkElementary School in SouthPhiladelphia. There she set thestage so that Chamroeun Yin, anaccomplished Cambodianclassical dancer and costume-maker, could immerse his youngcharges in the intricacy, grace,and history of Cambodian dancefree from worries aboutclassroom management or thelogistics of scheduling and space.

Miriam helped connect what thestudents learned in theirresidency sessions withChamroeun to broader learningsthroughout the school day.

The collaboration betweenMiriam Hershberger, ChamroeunYin, and the Folklore Project is asa model of what we strive for inour FAME programs: a collectivevaluing of traditional art as animportant way of knowing and ofconstructing knowledge, and as ajoyful activity; a dedication toconsistency and mentoring thathelps students build meaningfulrelationships with accomplishedteachers; and a commitment tothe importance of technique aswell as respect for andunderstanding of the art andartist. In March of this year, thePhiladelphia Folklore Project losta valued colleague when MiriamHershberger was killed in a tragicaccident. It is impossible to beginthis description of our FAMEprogram without rememberingher and lamenting her passing.She made a great difference tous, to the children, and to thisprogram, and she will be greatly missed.

On a typical arts residency day

at Southwark, Chamroeun arrivestwo and a half hours before hisafter-school dance class is set tobegin. Stationing himself in theauditorium (where he will teach),he pulls yards of velvet and silkand bags of gold and silversequins and colored beads fromhis backpack. He spreads thecloth across a table so as to catchthe afternoon light from the hugewindows lining the wall. He putson his black-rimmed glasses andbegins the painstaking task ofembroidering pieces that will gotogether to make up Cambodiandance costumes. Miriam wouldstop in to share news about thedance students and discussperformances or demonstrations,if any were in the works. Or shewould inform Chamroeun aboutschool testing or conference plansthat necessitated rescheduling ofhis classes. Or she would assisthim with paperwork and English-language or cultural issues.

As he sews hems or stitcheslayers of sequins and beads intospecific designs, Chamroeunmakes himself available tostudents who pass by the



folk arts education/continued from p. 23

auditorium. His dance studentsand others come in to observeand ask questions about thematerials, process, and endresults. He is inevitably stillworking with the cloth when his10 students arrive at 3:10. Heexplains to them the variety ofcostumes in Cambodian classicaldance and the symbolism of thedesigns that adorn the garmenthe is working on.

These young students—fromgrades one through five—got tothe auditorium on time becauseMiriam Hershberger would go totheir classrooms to make surethat they were on the right trackfor the day. (Most were not in herclasses.) When they arrived, theywould find a snack set out forthem. Chamroeun, Miriam, andPFP staff felt that it was crucial tooffer the children some food anda drink before starting the 90-minute class at the end of a longschool day. Miriam arranged tohave snacks supplied by theschool, and she would oftenbring treats she had bakedherself, sending bags of extrashome with each student. Evensnack time was learning time, asdesigned and carried out byMiriam. The children wereexpected to sit politely, clean upafter themselves, and be fullyready to focus on Cambodiandance when the class began. Soshe would usher them to thebathroom and make sure that,once back in the auditorium, theyhad their shoes off and wereseated appropriately on thewooden stage at the start of the lesson.

The teacher-studentrelationship in Cambodian danceis complex, highly formalized,and a central part of the practiceof this art. The Cambodian wordfor teacher, kru, is the same asthe word for spirit. In Cambodia,even the youngest dancestudents (about the same age asthose in Chamroeun’s Southwarkclass) perform ceremonies thathonor not only their presentteachers but also the spirits of all

the dancers and dance teacherswho came before. In this waythey recognize their place in along cultural and artistic lineage.Though Chamroeun doesn’tinstruct his students to makeelaborate banana trunk and leafofferings to him or present himwith incense and candles—asstudents do on Thursdays,“teachers’ day” in Cambodia—henonetheless expects them tomaintain a certain decorum inclass. Miriam, who spent years inSoutheast Asia and had visitedCambodia, was attentive to thisaspect of Cambodian dance. She,Chamroeun, and PFP staffdeveloped a set of behavioralexpectations for the students,emphasizing respect for the art,the artist/teacher, theirsurroundings (i.e., the school),their fellow students, andthemselves. Thus they wouldprepare for Chamroeun’s firstinstructions of the day by sittingattentively on the floor of thestage, two rows of childrenfacing front, legs bent and foldedto the side.

Chamroeun begins with aseries of exercises to prepare thestudents for the rigors ofCambodian classical dance. Theyflex and stretch arms, fingers,and hip joints. They must keeptheir backs arched, theirshoulders down and open, andtheir toes flexed throughout. Theaim is to build up both strengthand suppleness. Because theymeet just once a week to study—it used to be twice a week, butschool district requirements forcertain after-school programmingnow preclude an extra day—thestudents are encouraged topractice this routine at home aswell. The next exercise covers thebasic movement "vocabulary" ofCambodian dance. Chamroeunhas been working this year onmoving his students, some ofwhom have studied with him forfour years, from basic children’sdances to the more demandingclassical pieces performed by

teenagers and adults. The study of an art form is a

serious and demandingundertaking. Cambodian classicaldance, like other arts, involvesthe use of multifaceted symbols(nonverbal and verbal) tocommunicate meaning. Likemathematics and language, artrequires fluency in specificsymbol systems in order to gainmastery. Moreover, dance,poetry, storytelling, painting,quilt-making, music, and so onrepresent ways of constructingknowledge based in imaginationand creativity. In addition toimparting specific technical andexpressive skills, the study of anart form (in our case, a traditionalart form) can connect people tohistory and a range of meaningsabout the art and its culturalcontext.

Chamroeun, PFP staff, andMiriam have provided Southwarkstudents over the years withopportunities to engage withCambodian folktales andtraditional paintings, history, andmythology while learning aboutthe culture of dance training andperformance in Cambodia. FAMEhas always focused on teachingand learning, but it also includessupport for public performancesand exhibits. Miriam wassteadfast in her dedication tohelping the students share theirachievements with their otherteachers and peers at Southwark,and with their families and thebroader community. Most (notall) of Southwark's Cambodiandance students have been eitherimmigrants from Cambodia orthe U.S.-born children of recentimmigrants. Parents ofparticipating students come toobserve classes and haveexpressed appreciation at thisacknowledgment of theirpersonal history and culture.Miriam made a point of involvingthe parents in decisionsregarding open recitals or otherperformances and eliciting theirfeedback and input regarding theprogram in general. This is

another of PFP’s priorities inestablishing and running FAMEprograms: when we work in aschool setting, we try to involvethe students' families as much aspossible in the project. We valuethe community engagement,from which we, too, benefit and learn.

Another of our school-basedarts residencies this year tookplace at the Newcomer Center atSouth Philadelphia High School,just as winter was slowly pullingto a close. In February and MarchMogauwane Mahloele, musician,singer, songwriter, andinstrument-maker from SouthAfrica, taught an intensive 10-dayresidency to students gainingproficiency in English beforemoving on to regular high schoolprograms. Mogauwane hasworked with students at theNewcomer Center before, and theteachers there kept asking for himto return. Wilda Hayward playsthe same role at the NewcomerCenter that Miriam did atSouthwark—that of “sitecoordinator” for our FAMEprogram. She is tireless in herpursuit of meaningful andconstructive experiences andprojects for her students, most ofwhom are recent immigrantsfrom war-torn countries of WestAfrica, such as Liberia and theIvory Coast. (Southeast Asian andLatin American students are

enrolled there as well.)Mogauwane and Wilda, alongwith PFP staff, developed aprogram in which the studentsconstructed their owninstruments and learned to playthem. In groups of three and four,they made sekeres, beaded gourdinstruments that add a percussivebeat to many of the musics ofAfrica. Required to measure andknot colored nylon string inexacting patterns, the studentschose the color design but had tofollow their teacher’s instructionsprecisely in order to achieve theright sound. More than onestudent had to undo 15 or 20minutes worth of painstakingwork when they (or Mogauwane)realized that they had missed aknot, or tied one too loosely, orhad put on one too many beads.

Once they finished the sekeres,the students learned a rhythmicpattern and song. WhenMogauwane teaches a song inSePedi, the language of hisBaPedi people, he asks thestudents to share a song of thesame genre (a lullaby, forexample) from their ownbackground. Sometimes anintensive exposure to the arts ofanother culture inspires us to lookat our own cultural heritage andpractices in a new light. Studentsat the Newcomer Center broughtin stories and songs from homeafter being introduced to South

African ones in class. The groupwork and attention to detail, andthe relationship betweenconstruction of and performanceon an instrument, point to stillmore ways in which an artsresidency can challenge studentsto synthesize and evaluate whatthey are learning and doing.

FAME programs are designedwith the artist’s development inmind as well. It is important thatthe artists articulate their owngoals—for the students as well asfor themselves—and that theseclasses be a part of the holisticpicture of their creative lives. Forthat reason, PFP works with theseartist/teachers outside the FAMEprogram: offering technicalassistance in maneuveringthrough the grant-writing andproject development spheres;supporting some with non-teaching residencies that allowtime and space to build on theirwork, alone or in collaborationwith others; and helping toarrange or produce communityconcerts or exhibits featuringthese artists and their arts. Overthe past couple of years, bothChamroeun and Mogauwaneapplied for and were awardedfellowships by the PennsylvaniaCouncil on the Arts, andMogauwane was one of ourfeatured Musicians-in-Residencein 2003-2004.

Kim Houn, an aide atSouthwark, has taken overMiriam’s role for the rest of thisschool year. Chamroeun and hisstudents, along with Kim and theparents, prepared for aCambodian New Year assemblyin mid-April. The entire studentbody experiences not onlyCambodian classical dancesperformed by their classmates (incostumes made by Chamroeun),but also stories of the New Yearand its place in the annual cycleof nature and Cambodian spiritualbeliefs and practices. In the past,Miriam coordinated these events,always including the parents of



Monique Van, ChristinaKoy, and Elizabeth Dy,Chamroeun Yin’sstudents at Southwarkperforming “The BirdDance” in their AprilNew Year recital. Photo:Toni Shapiro-Phim


they are invited and needed; saysRivera, “If it’s for the people, I’lldo it.” Just this spring, he playedat the funeral of Richie Pérez, arenowned New York labor activistand one of those who draped theStatue of Liberty with the PuertoRican flag during a protest actionin the 1970s. In fall 2005, he willplay at Taller Puertorriqueñowhen Lolita Lebrón comes tospeak. Now 85 years old, she wasone of four Puerto Rican activistsjailed for 25 years for firing shotsin the U.S. House ofRepresentatives in 1954.

One community leadercommented to Rivera, “Joaquín,you are the only one who has theguts to sing those songs”—lyricsthat express Puerto Ricannationalism or comment on socialand political problems. ThePleneros sing both well-knowntraditional plenas, such as “Quebonita bandera,” and their owncompositions. Rivera has writtentunes about cultural icons andfigures such as Yuki-Yu, theTaínos’ God and protector ofPuerto Rico, and the Piragüero,the strolling street vendor ofshaved ice flavored with sweetsyrups (one can find piraguas inNorth Philadelphia in thesummertime). Other songsaddress political and social issueslike AIDS, the bombings onVieques island, poverty, policebrutality, or, most recently, theunjust seizing and destruction of Philadelphia homes as part of the city’s “NeighborhoodTransformation Initiative.”Rivera’s composition“Philadelphia, Philadelphia, Ichoose to stay in my home” isfeatured in a new documentary “Ichoose to stay here” co-producedby the Community LeadershipInstitute, the Philadelphia Folklore Project, and filmmakerBarry Dornfeld.

Rivera continues at the forefrontof Puerto Rican cultural activismin Philadelphia as one of theorganizers of the Festival deBomba y Plena, now in its third

year. “We needed to dosomething,” he says, “to create aday of percussion.” Discussionsbegan in 2002 at the Church ofChrist and St. Ambrosio at 6thand Venango, where Rivera leadsmusic for services and holidaycelebrations. He and othercollaborators created theCoalición Pro-FolklorePuertorriqueño and sought thesponsorship of communityorganizations la Asociación deMúsicos Latinos Americanos(AMLA) and Taller Puertorriqueñoin order to get the festival off theground. This year, the festivalincluded performances by groupsfrom New York and Chicago, aswell as appearances by localgroups Philareyto and RaícesBorinqueñas, children’s groupGrupo Tambueno, José Cátalafrom Camden, and los Plenerosdel Batey, not to mention manyopportunities for audiencesto sing, dance, and play. This year, Raíces CulturalesLatinoamericanas, a communityorganization located at 5th andSomerset, co-sponsored thefestival and combined it with acelebration of Santiago deApostol, a traditional folk festivalfrom Loíza, Puerto Rico. TheFestival de Bomba y Plena beganat noon on June 25 with aprocession from the Church ofChrist and St. Ambrosio to FairhillPark (at 4th and Lehigh, acrossthe street from Julia De BurgosBilingual School), in the heart of Philadelphia’s Latinocultural district.

Recently honored by losPleneros de la 21 of New Yorkfor his community work,Joaquín Rivera still dreams ofcreating a place in Philadelphiawhere artists could go any timeof the day or night to share workand ideas or play music.Whatever the future holds,Philadelphians can rest assuredthat he will continue to play andwrite songs. Rivera says, “That’snormal for me, telling peoplethe way I see it, singing about

what is not right. We are here to make changes.”

—Elizabeth Sayre

Elizabeth Sayre hasperformed, written about, andorganized events around Afro-Latin and African music forfifteen years. She has been alecturer in Music History atTemple University, director ofAMLA’s community musicschool, and staffethnomusicologist for thePhiladelphia Folklore Project.

joaquin rivera/continued from p. 9

NOW AVAILABLE!FOR SALE: $10

ODUNDE30TH ANNIVERSARYCALENDAR

18 months of photographs by Thomas B. Morton[JUNE 2005 - DECEMBER 2006]

To order:$10 + $1 postage/handling- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Yes! I want an ODUNDE calendar!

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Mail checks to “Philadelphia FolkloreProject”, 735 S. 50th St., Philadelphia,19143. Also available through our web-site: www.folkloreproject.org


free, engaged, and deepest selves,images rarely captured elsewhere.

It is a privilege to offer this firstphoto exhibition in our new homeas a token of our thanks forODUNDE, for Lois Fernandez, forTom Morton, for the peoplepictured on these walls. We areinspired by their long-haul culturalwork and dedication. In this timeand place, it can be anoverwhelming task to sustainculture and traditional arts, to keepalive real alternatives that are life-giving for people.

Thirteen years ago now, thewonderful folklorist Gerald Daviswrote of the “special truths of theODUNDE festival—and kindredevents which fill public spaces invital demonstrations of power andkinds of Blackness. ODUNDEdoesn’t enforce a single version ofBlackness; its…years of enduranceare powerful antidotes to theverdicts of institutions, theories,models and definitions which try torender single and over-simpletruths. [Zora Neale] Hurston [once]recognized that ‘something deep’was going on in peoples’ various‘readings’ of identity. Withthousands of others, we canrecognize that something deep isgoing on in ODUNDE.”

We shall not be movedincludes 35 photographs byThomas B. Morton, a selectionfrom more than 3,000 negatives,taken over 30 years. Theexhibition was curated by DeboraKodish. Selenium-toned gelatinsilver photographs were printedby Robert Asman and installed byKim Tieger. We are grateful forsupport from the NationalEndowment for the Arts, thePhiladelphia Exhibitions Initiative,the Pennsylvania Council on theArts, the Philadelphia CulturalFund and Philadelphia FolkloreProject members.

odunde/continued from p. 17

on the faculty of New YorkUniversity. She consulted onthe Folklore Project’s LocalKnowledge project with thesupport of The PhiladelphiaExhibitions Initiative. OllinYoliztli Calmecac have beenparticipants in PFP’s DanceHappens Here residency

project, with the support ofDance Advance, a grantprogram funded by The PewCharitable Trusts andadministered by Universityof the Arts.

danza azteca/continued from p. 29

Nia Bel Al-Rasul, ofNanikha, with thenext generation, atODUNDE.


akin to dance, with different rulesand without music, but with anoften well-defined sense ofbeauty that encompasses fun,caprice, and a certain seriousnessof play. The form of a bodywhirling in the air, especiallyaround an imaginary horizontalaxis, is pure and elemental, ahigh art whether in a park or on a stage.

I don’t think it is a stretch tocharacterize the sepak takraw"movement”—and that is howthe sport’s most devotedparticipants characterize the spread of the sport on their English-language international website(www.takrawworld.com)— as a badge of identity, perhapseven an act of resistance to the professional sports, such assoccer and basketball, promotedso heavily by the internationalmedia. Certainly those growing upand playing takraw in America areultimately choosing this sport overthe ones that dominate school life,or those with corporate backingeven at urban playground levels.Unlike, say, cricket in India orbaseball in Nicaragua, where thesport accompanied the colonizingpower, sepak takraw emerged incolonized countries, resisted beingtaken over by colonizers (English,French, or Chinese), and remainedin the hands and feet of the locals.For takraw players and fans, thesport's humble origins add to itsfunctional beauty; there is no judgeafter all, except the scorekeeperwho decides whether the point ismade, and yet we are all judges,too, critiquing more than merelythe score— but instead, the flipsand twists of the players—in ourminds. For Laotians in America,like the professionals in Thailandblazing their own path in the worldsport, takraw is an alternative wayof conceiving human leisure, itsmost exciting features—defyinggravity and making the mosteffective plays while flying upside-down—a metaphor for inversionand freedom.

Television, the entertainment

corporations, and the wealthiercultural institutions often tell uswhat is beautiful these days,rendering both local culture andlocal taste peripheral, at bestquaint. Folklorists, in contrast,often look to the local to findwhat is most meaningful topeople in their communities,whether intellectually,aesthetically, or spirituallyexpressive in a way that cannotbe articulated in any language.The takraw players will affirmthat the sport is uniquelybeautiful. In South Philadelphia,they will come home from thefactory each day, go to the park,and play in the evening hours ofthe summer heat. They feel it isworth the expense to travel fromPhiladelphia to Minneapolis orLowell a couple of times a year tomeet with other players andwatch and share techniques intournaments. They don’t needexpensive marketing campaignsto promote the sport’s appeal.They communicate how muchthey love it through their playand through an explicitcommitment to keeping it alive—and, increasingly, they do thisthrough the internet. Takraw isenjoyed on a purely local andpersonal level, beneath the radarof the media (it is televised onlyin Thailand). Yet players see it asa Southeast Asian contribution toworld culture. While internationalcorporations like McDonald’s andCoke are viewed as trying toestablish a globally uniformtaste, takraw players here andinternationally envision theirgame as a bulwark of localculture and, as its popularityspreads beyond Southeast Asia,a challenge to a homogeneousglobal marketplace of a fewuniversal, big-money (andgenerally Western) sports.

We seldom think of recreationas an essential part of oursurvival, as a balance to thedemands of working for cash andworking for others. Rarely do wethink of athletic recreation as away to practice beauty, to find

meaning or even freedom fromthe constraints of the physicalworld. We don’t yet knowscientifically why food,movement, and nonverbal artsresonate so profoundly in ourbodies, though we can speculateabout how narratives ofresistance or stories and songsthat speak to deeply held beliefsmove us to critical thinking andsocial action. Beauty and justice—whether comprised of freemovement or free ideas—aredefined and redefined locally. Wealways call on some level ofthought (conscious or not) todecide what is worth keeping,teaching, and practicing in ourlives. For the partisans of takraw,the ability to fly once in a while,to extend one’s reach beyondwhat seems humanly possible,and to act and react withquickness and creativity issomething to aspire to, becausein those moments we are freefrom the gravity of theeveryday world.

—Bill Westerman

Bill Westerman is a folklorist with a long-terminterest in immigrantcommunities. He worked at thePhiladelphia Folklore Projectfrom 1990–1994.

acrobatics & freedom/continued from p. 11


pre-Hispanic times, relics thatfascinated the child. Brujomaintains "it doesn’t matterwhich way you follow—theAztec warrior or the Catholicway. There is only one root, theroot that connects us toMexico."

Daniel, Brujo, and several ofthe other dancers in thePhiladelphia group recall seeingdanzantes aztecas when theywere young. Brujo says, "I sawit every day. The two bigmarkets are near the zocalo,and anyone passing by on theway to market would see thedancers." Daniel actuallydanced in the zocalo in MexicoCity. For eight years he waswith Los Conejos (The Rabbits),a family-based grupo who havebeen dancing azteca for at least15 years. Another OYC member,Roberto Guzman, who grew upin Mexico City, recalls that boysin his neighborhood played atdancing azteca. Thus, this newPhiladelphia dance tradition isrooted in the memories andexperiences of its practitioners.

OYC organizes its own eventsand also participates in city-wide Mexican celebrations suchas Día de Los Muertos and Diezy Seis de Septiembre. In theshort period since their firstperformance on December 12,2003, for a ceremony dedicatedto Coatlicue earth mother of theAztecs, the group has becomean important cultural resourcefor many of the Mexicans in theGreater Philadelphia area.

Like their counterparts inMexico City, OYC performselaborate, muscular dances.Costumes feature tall plumedheaddresses and warlike goldbreastplates. Dances are oftenassociated with procession,incense, altars, invocations, andprayers, reminding participantsand audience alike of the powerof tradition represented in thepublic evocation of ancestralthemes and ideals.

Before the fall of Tenochtitlanin 1521, the Aztec nation

followed an elaborateceremonial calendar thatdivided the year into 18 monthsof 20 days each. Each monthwas dedicated to a particulardeity traveling the cosmiccircuit, and most days of eachmonth were celebratory; ritualand pageantry paid homage todeities such as Quetzalcoatl, thePlumed Serpent, and Coatlicue,the earth mother. OYCsymbolically adheres to thiscalendar in its performances.

Because, as Daniel explains,"The dance is an offering," ritualactivity precedes the danceitself. The large tree-trunk drumserves as a focal point. Anofrenda (offering altar) withfruits and flowers is prepared infront of the drum and then"gifted" at completion to thosewho attend. Incense is liberallyused to purify the dance arena.Then Daniel begins to drum andthe dancers process towardhim, entering from the east, theplace of the rising sun. Theyform a circle. Each of the fourquarters is represented, invokedby the name of the Aztec deitywho resides there: Quetzalcoatl(east), the serpent deity of thewind; Tezcatlipoca (west), thesmoking mirror; Huitzilopochtli(south), deity of war and music;Mictlan (north), the deity andrealm of the dead. The circlerepresents the cosmos, with thefour quarters standing for thenorth-south, east-west axes andthe drum in the centerstretching upward through ninedimensions (nine heavens) toilhuicac (heaven) and downthrough 13 layers to Coatlicue,the earth deity. According toDaniel and Brujo, the circlerecreates the calendar and thedrum is the center, el alma(the soul).

La energia (the energy) of thecircle is important, according toDaniel. Energy is directedtoward the center and towardthe ofrenda, which alwayscontains maize, a seashell,incense, fire, water, and salt,

representing the elements. Thedance is similar to the oneperformed in Mexico City, hesays: "Same drum rhythm,same steps. The movementsimitate animals: aguila, lobo,conejo, paloma, caballo,venado. The basic dance step isa cross—the four quarters—footforward then cross left, or crossright. The pace and intensity ofthe dance may increase,becoming more athletic withleaps and turns as dancersimitate an eagle, wolf, rabbitand so forth, but the cross-stepalways returns. The danceraises energy; Brujo calls it"energia cultural—"culturalenergy." For him, danza aztecais a dance of remembrance, "toremember the ancestors—huehuetle, the grandfather." Toremember what was before:"[Now] we are mixed, but youshould know where you came from."

As performed by OYC, danzaazteca is a sharp, muscularinsertion of Mexican identityand integrity into the urbanAmerican landscape ofPhiladelphia. This reclaimedtradition appropriates historicalknowledge and reframes it aslocal knowledge that dissentsfrom, and resists colonizationand cultural homogenization.On a daily basis, Mexicans mayexperience prejudice, or betreated as interlopers, necessaryfor labor but culturally invisible.But on holidays and specialoccasions, danza azteca speaksto a past glory and a still-vitalspiritual value system thatrefuses conquest.

—Kay Turner

Thanks to Meredith Rapkinfor help with translation. Forinformation about OYC,contact Brujo de la Mancha [email protected]. KayTurner is a folklorist at theBrooklyn Arts Council and is

danza azteca/continued from p. 13



their health—mental and physi-cal health. And that’s what’shappening. It is not only theirhomes—it is their lives that arebeing stolen. People are afraidof what is happening, and theyare afraid that something willhappen to them. They feel atrisk. This is destroying the well-being of entire communities.People live in fear that every-thing they have built, worked sohard for, and struggled for atsuch cost, is being destroyed.

Never forget who made itbeautiful here when no one elsewanted it.

We stayed when others left.Including the City. The City leftus to our own devices. We usedour own devices to lift ourselvesup, to lift our neighborhoods up.And now that we’ve done it,they come in, and they call it“fixing the neighborhoods”?Fixing it for whom? And forwhat? When you speak like this,they diminish it by calling itemotional. These are not emo-tional but very practical matters.Human beings depend on thewelfare of the mind and thespirit, and this kind of develop-ment is destroying the fiber ofthe human being. We have wit-nessed it, and it is wrong. It’snot good for the city. It’s not

good for the whole population.It’s not good for society.

And literally down the streetin Northern Liberties, we see themarch of gentrification upward.What we are experiencing is a different kind of blight.Speculators are sending post-cards asking people if they wantto sell their homes. The city isdoing this—creating andspurring blight in our communi-ty with little or no regard for theimpact on long-time residents.

Nowhere, during many yearsof planning processes, wasthere any mention of taking peo-ple’s homes for the progressthat was purported to come. Itwas progress that was supposedto benefit the residents. It was adreamscape. And what it hasturned out to be is a nightmare.

Developers make promisesof money to the city. But thereality is that all we are seeing isthe destruction of some stablecommunities. As for the creationof housing—the majority of itwill be out of reach for themajority of people being dis-placed. So the promises of thismoney coming—I think it is alie. And the destruction of thesocial fiber of neighborhoods,the destruction of people’shealth, and the destruction of

the social health of communi-ties—none of this is beingweighed. What about the valuethat we have created? Whatabout the stable, quaint, tourist-worthy neighborhoods we havecreated? These are missinglinks. These social costs need tobe weighed.

In 2003-2004, the Folklore Projectcollaborated with CLI members andfilmmaker Barry Dornfeld to makethe documentary video I choose tostay here, available through CLI(267.968.4518 or 267.968.4514), or thePFP office or website (www.folklore-project.org). The city of Philadelphiadescribes NTI on its website:http://www.phila.gov/nti/reports.htm.For a recent critique, see Mark AlanHughes, “The Recent Truth AboutNTI” (June 7, 2005)http://www.mahughes.org/showarti-cles.cfm?artid=182. We thank WYBEand the Pennsylvania Historical andMuseum Commission for their sup-port of this project.

the young dancers. Sheresearched Cambodian arts andculture on her own, checking with Chamroeun and otherexperts about the content andpresentation before opening upthis window to her Southwarkcommunity.

At the first dance classfollowing Miriam’s untimelypassing, some of the parents andyounger siblings stayed to watch,a show of support forChamroeun, his art, and thisprogram, and an invaluablecomfort to the students. They arehonoring her—her generosity ofspirit and deed, her intelligence,

her respect for individuals andcultures, and her dedication toeducation in and throughtraditional arts.

— Toni Shapiro-Phim

In addition to FAMEresidencies mentioned here, aresidency in West African andAfro-Cuban dance took place atthe High School for Creative andPerforming Arts. Four otherresidencies occured outsideschool environments: MiddleEastern dance and music at St.Maron’s Hall, South

Philadelphia’s Lebanesecommunity center, Liberiandance at Calvary UnitedMethodist Church, heritagegardening in West Philadelphia,and lion dance in Chinatown.These residencies are funded bythe National Endowment for theArts, the Pennsylvania Councilon the Arts, IndependenceFoundation, Stockton RushBartol Foundation, DanceAdvance, a program of The PewCharitable Trusts, administeredby the University of the Arts, andPFP members.

i choose to stay here/continued from p. 7

folk arts education/continued from p. 25


G R A P H I C D E S I G N / A D V E R T I S I N G

M U L T I M E D I A / P U B L I C A T I O N S / W E B D E S I G N

I F E des igns+ A S S O C I A T E S

Call 215.848.4499 or email us at [email protected]/www.ifedesigns.com

vision+creativity+service

>grand opening (of our new home)

Sept. 24: OPENING CELEBRATION 2-5 PM

>grants workshopsOct. 16: FOLK ARTS GRANTWRITING 101

Nov. 12: ARTS ED ROSTER

Dec. 10: FOLK ARTS GRANTWRITING 102

Jan 14: NARRATIVES & BUDGETS

Help for folk arts projects. 10-Noon. Call to register.

>programsOct. 15: I CHOOSE TO STAY HERE

Oct. 27: HOFFMAN WOMEN KLEZMER

Nov. 13: MOGAUWANE MAHLOELE CD

RELEASE PARTY

Dec 4: ZAYE TÉTÉ: LIBERIAN SONG

Call for details.

>workdaysCall for details: HELP US GET THE NEW

PFP BUILDING IN SHAPE! Paint, clean, & make our

garden grow with master heritage gardener Blanche Epps.

>exhibit ionsOct. 1, Nov. 5, Dec. 3 & by appointment

IF THESE WALLS COULD TALK: THE BILL &

MIRIAM CRAWFORD DINING ROOM. Four walls

collaged with decades of social change memorabilia: an instal-

lation of folk art and social history.

“WE SHALL NOT BE MOVED:” THOMAS B.

MORTON: 30 YEARS OF ODUNDE. Photo exhibi-

tion tracing a celebration that has insisted on the right for self-

definition., reclaimed culture, and created community.

>save the dateMay 26-27, 2006 DANCE HAPPENS HERE:

a weekend of performance and master classes

with stellar artists Germaine Ingram, Kulu

Mele, Thavro Phim and friends

WANT TO LEARN MORE? For details, visit

www.folkloreproject.org, or call us at 215.726.1106 and we’ll

send you a full calendar, with times and more information.

2005pfp•calendar

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about the philadelphia folkloreprojectFolklore means something different to everyone—as it should,since it is one ofthe chief means we have to represent our own realities in the face of powerfulinstitutions. Here at the PFP, we’re committed to paying attention to theexperiences & traditions of “ordinary” people. We’re an 18-year-old publicinterest folklife agency that documents, supports & presents local folk arts andculture.We offer exhibitions, concerts, workshops & assistance to artists andcommunities.We conduct ongoing field research, organize around issues ofconcern,maintain an archive,& issue publications and media. Our work comesout of our mission: we affirm the human right to meaningful cultural & artisticexpression,& work to protect the rights of people to know & practicetraditional community-based arts. We work to build critical folk culturalknowledge, respect the complex folk & traditional arts of our region, &challenge processes & practices that diminish these local grassroots arts &humanities.We urge you to join—or to call to learn more (215-726-1106).

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