Under the supervision of their host, Tarek Abou Zeinab of the Hariri Foundation, the children were given the opportunity to express their feelings through drama (they enacted the Pandora story), art, poetry, and other group activities. 

During the lunch break, many children were overheard communicating their excitement over experiencing a full program of social activities, enabling them to feel happy and carefree for a day.   The poetry exercises provided the means for the children to convey -- as individuals and as a group -- their desire for peace in their country.

The enthusiasm in the children's faces communicates volumes about their experience.  The children also specifically asked Tarek to communicate their gratitude to ArtReach and FAM, and to pass along their regards for the children in the United States -- a beautiful sentiment that the ArtReach team sincerely appreciates.

Project Lebanon is a living program, so let's turn our attention to the living application of the ArtReach method within Lebanon. Just as the gifted Project Lebanon participants had responded to my unspoken brokenness weeks ago, they have joined together to initiate outreach for the children of their local community, Saida, using ArtReach-influenced activities.  (Saida-focused group pictured, at right).  

The training may have concluded weeks ago, but integration of the ArtReach techniques in real-life situations has only just begun.  This is an exciting time, as the Project Lebanon professionals integrate ArtReach methods into their day-to-day work with children.  And, with each of the professionals leveraging their individual gifts, the combination of the existing curriculum, infusion of the ArtReach expressive arts methodologies, and unity of purpose of the Project Lebanon professionals creates a strong, steady ripple of positive, healing affects for the children of Lebanon.

 . . . more on the work in Saida . . .

I will be talking with our Project Lebanon friends soon to learn individual stories re: their work with the children of Saida.  In the meantime, I leave you with pictures of their recent activities with the children.  Personally, I am drawn to the intensity in the faces of the children -- I recognize the unanimity of their shared experience.  Beautiful.  And this is just the beginning.

Remember the drawing in the Courage is Green journal entry?  The drawing from Tuesday supplied the courage I needed for Wednesday and Thursday.  Don't laugh, because I'm being sincere:  I consciously thought about my vibrant, green symbol of courage before walking to Thursday's session.  This might be a good reference point for all of us, because courage may be green for me, and red for somebody else, and that is just the point -- helping children identify and visualize their strengths can provide them with personal power down the road. 

• "These pieces were cut from the paper like a puzzle. We took up the pieces and decorated them, but now that they've been returned, they should fit back into the original puzzle."
• "The pieces should be allowed to rest where they feel the most comfortable."
• "Because the pieces were cut into puzzle-like shapes, has the concept of predestination entered the exercise?"
  
• "At first look at your drawing, I think it offended me. After you explained it, I understand your perspective and can now appreciate the meaning in your artwork."
• "I feel like I need more forgiveness in my life, so I would like to postion my piece beside the piece that represents Forgiveness."
  

As I stood, admiring the fragments as art and appreciating the represented emotions, I was reminded of a long-forgotten poem that I had written about 20 years ago.  Not sure at the time why the poem had entered my head, I made a mental note to find it once I returned home [I'll link to it from here when I find it].  The poem had outlined my wishes for after I've departed.  At the time, I wondered why I was reminded of death.   Now, remembering that the poem was actually a celebration of the remarkable moments of my life, I understand why it was in my thoughts:  I wasn't thinking of death, I was absorbing the moment and adding the feelings of strength, acceptance, and unity with my friends to the list of significant moments in my life.

Everything affects everything.  Simple and profound.  May the children of Lebanon know the feelings of strength, acceptance, and unity in their lives as well.

In the post-drama group discussion, the drama therapists brought attention to the closing scene, where Hope held Pandoro's hand.  When asked who had suggested that action for the scene, I nodded to Hope across the room to give her credit for the idea.  It turns out, I was wrong.  I had reached for Hope's hand in a spontaneous, primal, symbolic gesture.  The scene had affected me deeply.

Holding the hand of Hope, using her gaze as a lifeline . . . these are symbols.  Opening the Box, closing the Box . . . the appearance of violence, hatred, war . . . all symbols.

Sure, I'm an adult and we'd expect my understanding of symbolism (intellectually).  Apply the imagination and the innocence of children, combine this with the disruption and fear that they've recently experienced, and convey childlike symbols for nurturing and safety . . . I believe the result will be emotional connections to the symbolism that will not only provide the opportunity for honest expression of suffering and grief, but also provide personal pathways for each child to connect and express their pain. 

I'm a living example:  once I expressed Pandoro's pain, MY pain, within the safety of the group, I had paved a personal pathway for emotional expression.  I use the word "personal" intentionally -- once the pathway was cleared, all sorts of tears were ready to follow, representing recent and long-forgotten personal hurts and happenings.  The drama therapy activity helped me find the clear path and, once my emotions had validated that the path was safe, others followed to provide personal healing that extended way beyond the symbols revealed in the drama.

I'll be honest, I'm amazed by what had resulted from these drama activities.  At the time, I was too overwhelmed in my grief to see anything clearly.  One week later, I am closer to understanding.  I still cry sometimes when I think about the path -- like right now -- activating other tears that are itching for release.    And as I sniffle, I smile with the memory of caring, comfort, and acceptance from my Project Lebanon friends. 

You know, I have no idea if public tears are unusual in the culture of my Lebanese friends.  If it is, they never let on.  One particular example stays with me.  During an ArtReach Institute session, I stepped out and plopped into a chair in the lounge, tears flowing into my handful of tissues.  One of the participants stepped out a few minutes later, saw me in the chair, and his eyes deepened with concern. 

"Lori, you're crying," he said, solemnly.  I felt honored by the sincerity of his reaction, as he was usually one of the more boisterous people in the group.  In his hand, he held the Lebanese flag, an extraordinarily meaningful symbol to the participants from Lebanon.  "You're crying," he repeated, and stooped down beside my chair.  I smiled through the tears that were flowing faster with the catalyst of his empathy.  He reached up to my face with the cloth of the Lebanese flag, and dried my tears.  The impact of this spontaneous gesture bathed me in calm. 

He dried my tears with the Lebanese flag.  This expression of friendship carries symbolism that spans all cultures, all languages, all races, all ages -- all PEOPLE.  And it feels like Peace.

A character labeled Violence blurted her intentions in English, only I didn't understand what she had said.  Maybe she repeated her statements again in English, maybe she jumped directly into French, I really don't know.  Her facial expressions, inflection, and movements spoke to me and I knew to get out of her way.  The knowledge that stayed with me from our interaction:  I don't understand Violence.  I really don't.

In a similar manner, a wave of characters poured out of the box and presented themselves to Pandora and me.  I felt conflicted, frightened, awkward, and overwhelmed.  I looked to my sister, and saw the same confusion on Pandora's face.  I think we cried out for our mother (she did not respond).  I felt fragile, alone, and ashamed to face our Conscience.  I needed to save my sister; I felt like I was beyond saving.  With the sirens still screeching in my head, I knew that I needed to throw myself onto the Box.

Likely, Pandora and I walked two steps to the Box to mime its closure.  To experience the pendulum of my emotions, imagine this scene occurring in an Indiana Jones movie:  the Box looks like a treasure chest, only the treasure is death, and I am responsible for releasing this into the world. 

My impulse, once the Box was closed, was to run -- to lasso evil and return it to the box, maybe.  Or, maybe just to run.  The drama therapists whispered for us to "stay with it," and our focus returned to the Box and the characters that remained when the lid was closed:  these serene characters represented Hope.

In my memory, the room became still and quiet.  The two women playing Hope spoke softly to us, and we were drawn to their encouraging words and calm strength.  "What would you say to Hope?" I heard the drama therapists ask, and I know that Pandora spoke and the Hopes responded with support and promises to guide us on our journey.  I remember speaking to the Hope closest to me, and I heard her respond.  I do not remember her words;  I remember her eyes.

With her eyes, Hope spoke directly to my soul and communicated acceptance, forgiveness, and comfort.   She did not release my gaze because she knew that I was sinking beneath the weight of the unmistakable guilt in my chest:  All of this is my fault.  Unleashing evil, violence, pain.  My fault.  Anger, suffering, death.  My fault, every bit.

Children often feel responsible for events beyond their control, Dr. Bernhard Kempler had advised earlier in the week.  As Pandoro, I felt buried in darkness and suffocated by shame . . . until Hope reached my hand and guided me into the light.

Honestly, I figured the role of Pandoro would be a breeze because I could simply put on a cap and be instantly “costumed” as a boy.  At Pandora’s suggestion, we would play the role as children who “find” the box while playing ball in the house.  We planned to dismiss our mother’s request for us to stay away from the box and open it together when she wasn’t looking.  Again, easy part . . . Pandora and I practiced playing catch with bottles of craft glue, then I goofed around with friends, stepped outside for fresh air, donned my cap, and waited for my cue.

And that is where the drama began -- Pandora and Pandoro stood before the group, glue bottles in hand and adrenaline a bit on edge, alongside the person who would play our Conscience.  Our start was a little slow -- we're amateurs after all -- so I was grateful for the warnings to NOT open the box from our mother, and the emphasis provided by the vocalizations of our Conscience.  I remember giggling as I told Conscience to "talk to the hand" and squealing (like a girl, predictably) at the spider drawn on the box as we gazed at it with Temptation. 

In fact, there were characters in the role of Temptation who danced to original music and songs.  The Temptation team was really good:  I found myself becoming truly curious about opening the box and revealing the cast of characters who were eager to "escape" (I knew they were "in the box" because I observed their casting; soon, Pandora and I would unleash Envy, Violence, War, Greed, and many others into world).

Although Conscience continued to emphasize our mother's wishes, Pandora found the Key and I leaped into the role of "lookout" after our mother left the room to go to bed.  We had agreed to lift the lid in unison, but all other words and actions were most definitely improvised.  Mother did not return, and the Box was quickly unlocked and opened.

I have goosebumps covering my arms and legs as I remember this play.  (If any of you readers out there know me personally, you've likely figured out that I am REALLY dragging my feet on getting to the heart of this story because it's painful.)  The box was fully open, and the improv band/Greek Chorus was playing scary music.  Characters were flying from the box and, in my memory, there was an excruciating roar in the room.  I think I was standing at this point, eye-to-eye with Pandora and Conscience.  All of my body parts were at full attention, and I felt a twitch in my right arm.

. . . I write this from Javaology, a coffee house in Atlanta; despite the soothing overhead music, I hear "No Pandora No" playing in my mind, and the tears on my cheeks have begun to pool onto my shirt.  I have a meeting (day job) in 20 minutes, so I need to stop here and collect myself.  I'll pick back up with the story soon.

Photo Credit:  Studio Eva, Rhodes, Greece

Back to Rhodes:  To recap, Monday’s activities gave focus to similarities, and Tuesday’s highlighted differences – and, important point, the information was provided by individuals to individuals about the individual’s feelings, frustrations, hopes, and more.  These were heart-felt expressions of fundamental human needs, like safety for their children, and peace for their country.

In group process, we individuals related to each other as people first and as a group second.  As people with emotional histories, we connected under the safety of the group and united through our shared commitment to creating a climate of peace for ourselves and for our children.  This doesn’t mean that everyone was in agreement all of the time.  In fact, I appreciated the differences in viewpoint because (to me, at least) they demonstrated our ability to be honest with each other and true to ourselves. 

As the week progressed, my appreciation and respect for the ArtReach faculty increased in proportion to my exposure to their extraordinary professional skills and to the power of their unique methodology, ArtReach Method. 

Earlier in the program, the ArtReach faculty had communicated the healing benefits of creative expression.  To restate in “Lori speak,” the individual child knows (at a deep level) their expressive needs; therefore, the child is uniquely capable of self-selecting and self-directing their creative expression for maximum benefit.  As an example, if the class is to participate in a group drama about a myth -- e.g., Pandora’s Box -- and a participant suggests that the lead character, Pandora, be played from the viewpoint of a boy instead of a girl, then allow the child this artistic license.  And, if several children choose to play the part of Pandora, allow it.  Likely, the children know (at a level below their awareness) that there are feelings that can be processed by participating in this role, and processing feelings is healthy and encouraged within the safety of the group.

Transition with me to the Wednesday afternoon group drama activity: the dramatization of Pandora's Box, highlighed in the journal entry that follows.

Rather than handing-out the pieces, or piling them in a stack, the art therapists leading the session, Stephanie Wise and Ashley Dorr, suggested that each person choose the piece from the floor that speaks to them. I appreciated the approach, since the selection of art materials is pivotal for self-expression; my chosen piece was shaped like a chubby half-moon – kind of curved, yet wide enough to hold up to the art experience (whatever that might turn out to be).

Once in my chair, like some others in the room, I stared at my blank slate and gave it a healthy pause. After about 45 seconds, the piece needed green, a really dark on-the-scary-side green. And orange, lavender, baby blue, and some other colors that I had no idea why I was choosing them, but they felt good at the time. I started drawing with the deep green, oil pastel crayon.  The stick figure that appeared from the thickly applied green felt fearless and strong -- and, the moment I internally "spoke" the word, I knew the stick figure was me . . . physically strong, as I had been described by my new Lebanese friend.  Clearly, her suggestion was powerful.  I kept drawing.

My goals, at all times, are to be as smart and courageous as I can be.  Which leads me to my next full disclosure:  to me, true courage is the most critical of all personal qualities.  The courage I value is honest, fair, empathetic and doesn't let fear stand between her and the right path.  I picked up a crayon and rewarded the courageous green figure with happy squiggles of lavendar, rays of yellow light, and glimpses of baby blue sky.  I help up my work, tilted the art in the light, and flipped her upside down -- and, you know what?  She was still fearless upside down.  My green, strong girl was just as courageous upside-down as she was right-side-up.  Excellent. 

Almost done, I decided.  Just needed a bit of dark orange and red, and a bit of smearing and shmushing.  The affect was striking, although I don't know what I had expected since I hadn't had a plan (I was drawing the feelings as they came to me, as instructed).  With the addition of these fiery colors, it looked like I felt my courageous girl was floating over chaos -- perhaps a bit dangerously.

"This is good.  It feels real,"  I thought to myself.  "And the chaos looks risky and uncertain, but I do not feel afraid."

Little did I know that I would need a great deal of courage the next day, because I was about to face chaos and it WAS dangerous.    

Photo Credit:  Studio Eva, Rhodes, Greece

It's late in the day, however, as I write this . . . so I need to close, but you have my word that I will come back to the subject of the pieces on the floor and will link to those thoughts from this journal entry.  Peace, Lori

Addendum:  The link.  

The commitment of this team gives me hope that peace is within our reach.

My name is Lori Heinsman, and I am participating in the FAM/ArtReach Institute’s Project Lebanon program (hereafter, "Project Lebanon").  While Project Lebanon reaches beyond the training sessions held this week (Dec 4-9, 2006) in Rhodes, Greece, the purpose of this blog is to share with you some of my experiences from these five days of learning the ArtReach Method and interacting with the group.

For the next few weeks, I will be updating this blog.  (“Blog” is slang for “web log,” an online journal written by ordinary people about subjects passionate for them – from communicating personal news with family to offering support and resources for people who like to travel with their pets.) 

Considering that the ArtReach “extended family” is global in nature – with team members, program graduates, partners, supporters, and others located in different parts of the world – we believe this online channel will be an effective way to share information with you.

Just as the ArtReach Method is flexible and tailored to the needs and strengths of the participants, we wish for this blog to be responsive to the concerns and interests of our readers.  YOU can help us by posting comments and asking questions.  

And now we begin our first ArtReach blog, covering the Project Lebanon training experience as expressed through the voice of Lori, one of many participants in this week of learning through ArtReach.