Collectors Corner! Ed Sandoval's Newsletter (Taos, NM)

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Collectors Corner!

Ed Sandoval Gallery's Newsletter

102-B Paseo Del Pueblo Norte, Taos, NM 87571

www.edsandovalgallery.com

edsandovalart@gmail.com

(575) 770-6360

Mrs. X: My Educational Journey from Student to Teacher & Reclaiming My Power

First of all, I have to say God Bless Teachers! They have one of the most important and difficult jobs ever, and even if all of their students are attentive and well behaved (every teacher’s dream that rarely if ever comes true), teaching is hard. I learned so much from my teachers and remember most of them fondly – the key word being “most.” Although the vast majority are kind, patient and encouraging, I dare to say that some of us relate to having that ONE teacher…that ONE…who makes us shudder when we remember being trapped in their classroom. This is my story of that particular teacher: Mrs. X.

In Kindergarten, dad decided that his children were going to attend school in Los Alamos. He dropped me and my twin brother, Danny, off at the school yard, and we freaked out. We didn’t speak English, didn’t know anyone and were being abandoned to fend for ourselves in this strange, frightening place. We immediately ran away and hid the entire day in the canyons. By 4th grade, I had made some friends and understood English somewhat well, but I wasn't confident at all. Those of you who know me will find this hard to believe, but I was quite shy and self-conscious back then …my sentences were choppy, and it was hard to find the right words.

Mrs. X was my 4th grade teacher. I don’t think she cared for me at all…unlike my other teachers, she wasn't compassionate and never smiled. In fact, she was stern and downright mean. One day, I really had to go to the bathroom, so I raised my little hand. She barked, “What is it?” I stuttered and tried to explain, but she looked away, waved her hand dismissively and said, “No you can’t go.” Well…you can imagine what happened…right there in the classroom…in front of everyone. As a boy, nothing could be more humiliating. From that moment on, I was at war...

Danny & Me around Kindergarten

When I reached the 5th grade, I thanked the heavens above that I was free! I was bursting with joy. Decades later, when I watched The Shawshank Redemption for the first time and saw Tim Robbins tunnel through disgusting muck to get out of that prison, I thought, “Yes, I know that feeling!!!” But my happiness was short lived (one year to be exact), because when I entered my 6th-grade classroom, guess who I saw. My heart dropped! Mrs. X again??? That entire year is a blur…I hardly remember anything except being miserable.

By high school, I had gained confidence, was more outgoing and was, in all honesty, a jokester. That ego boost helped when the unthinkable happened: Mrs. X appeared again as my English teacher! What a cruel world to put THAT teacher, who had no patience as I tried to learn English in elementary and middle school, in charge of my English class in high school??? Luckily, I only had her for one hour a day, so I diagrammed my sentences, silently nursed some angry thoughts and bolted for the door when the bell rang.

Me Teaching Jewelry Making to a Student (From the 1975 Los Alamos High School Yearbook)

1974 Yearbook Photo

Fast forward – I graduated high school, studied art in college and got my degree, and then taught art in Utah while getting my MA in Psychology. Here’s the full circle part. At some point, I wanted to return to New Mexico and saw a notice about a teaching position in the art department at Los Alamos High School, my alma mater.

I applied but never dreamed I would get the job. Fate is funny, or maybe it was karma (which has a wicked sense of humor). For whatever reason that I still can't quite fathom, I became a faculty member at my old high school, teaching art courses right down the hall from the dreadful Mrs. X! She was still there! About ten years had gone by, so I don’t know if she put two and two together. We interacted at faculty meetings of course, but she never said anything to make me think she remembered who I was.

One day, I’m in my classroom after an art class, putting away supplies and tidying up, and in walks Mrs. X! She looked down at me with that snooty look and said, “Mr. Sandoval. I am the sponsor of the Key Club, and I would like YOUR art students to do some posters for our next fundraising activity. I want posters to promote our event.”

Photo of Me Leading the Art Club (Back Row 3rd from Right) from the 1974 LAHS Yearbook

I stood still and stared at her. There was a long pause as she stood there haughtily, just waiting for me to comply with her demands. In those seconds, I remembered being a boy. I remembered my struggles, the sternness in her queen-bee voice and her callous ways. I slowly took a deep breath, keeping my eyes fixed on her, and said, “Mrs. X. This is an art class, NOT an advertising agency. My students are here to learn about fine art, not to be hired out as free labor to make your promotional posters.”

She gasped and stormed out of the room. I smiled. It took nearly 30 years, but I finally stood up to Mrs. X, and it felt darn good. They say the best revenge is living well, and in that moment, I was on top of the world. I was not hostile – I just stood my ground and voiced my opinion as a respected faculty member who was on her exact same level, something I couldn’t do as a kid. To this day, that memory still brings a big grin to my face.

I dedicate this story to everyone who has felt bullied or disrespected in life. Actually, my experience with Mrs. X taught me valuable lessons. First, as a teacher I vowed to treat each student with respect, to take an interest in their unique viewpoints and encourage their personalities to come through in their artwork. Second - and this may be the most important - it may take time (lots of time), but live well, don't give up, achieve, and you can reclaim your power...a lesson that's been instrumental to me personally over the years.

Healing Dirt at Santuario de Chimayó

We recently took some friends (hi Nathan and Devan!) on a driving tour along "The High Road," which runs through several quaint villages on the back roads from Taos to Santa Fe. We stopped at some art galleries and old, historic churches along the way, ending at Santuario de Chimayó.

I've written about Chimay ó before, especially at Easter when hundreds if not thousands embark on pilgrimages to get there. The devout walk as an expression of their faith, to give thanks, pray for loved ones and seek renewal/healing.

As you enter and see the magnificent alter and colorful retablos (paintings of saints), there is a side chapel up front and to the left that contains a pit of dirt. Legend has it that on Good Friday in 1810, the Penitente Brotherhood, who were worshiping in the area, saw a bright, mystical light. Don Bernardo Abeyta searched for its source and found (in the spot where the dirt is) a half-buried crucifix. A nearby priest came and took the cross away, but it disappeared from his possession and found its way back to that exact spot. This went on a few times...but the crucifix always returned.

Since that time, this spot (and its dirt) have been believed to have miraculous healing powers. Few people who come to Chimayó go away without kneeling to collect some. The faithful leave crutches, photos and rosaries to honor their physical, mental or spiritual cure.

I showed our friends a painting I had done for the church that hangs right outside the door to the healing dirt room. I had known Chimay ó's Spanish priest, Father Casimiro Roca, quite well because I went there for years, sometimes to paint and often just for peace and inspiration. In 1990, I had my easel set up near the entrance outside when Father Roca saw me and invited me inside to paint. What an honor! That is something that rarely if ever happens.

Humbled, I told Father Roca I would paint the room with the holy dirt and gift the church the painting. He set me up in the room adjacent, which has the crutches, photos and memorabilia from the people who have been cured. Unlike other works, I finished in one sitting, and I felt compelled to depict a Madonna, kneeling with hands outstretched and holding an orb of energy. Once finished, I gave it to him.

Father Roca has since passed away, and they erected a beautiful statue to honor his decades of service. As we were looking around, we met the new priest, who is also from Spain. Energetic and friendly, he chatted with us for a while. I showed him the painting, and he even blessed us in his office. It was such a lovely day.

El Santuario de Chimayó

The Painting I Did for Father Roca in 1990