The Story of The Giant

This story was written as part of the seminar “Everyone can learn if…“, held in June 2018 at the ATD Fourth World’s international centre in Mery-sur-Oise, France. This seminar brought together teams from different countries, all involved in educational programmes in partnership with parents living in extreme poverty. This milestone seminar represented the culmination of several years of collaboration between activists, school professionals, Volunteer Corps members, and allies.

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By Caroline Moreau

To begin with, you have to be ashamed of yourself. Then live in this neighbourhood and go downhill, Then be proud of this neighbourhood and bounce back within yourself. Adore the chaos that brings forth the sun.
Hélène Monette

To begin with, you must cross the town and go right to the bottom. Dash headlong down Sherbrooke Hill until you reach the river contained behind the Port of Montreal. Go to the people who have lived there forever. Listen to the Suzannes, the Marcels, the Celines hanging out in the local greasy spoon or sitting on the steps of the convenience store. They are the ones who’ll tell you the history of the neighbourhood, its streets, and its inhabitants.

They’ll explain that the building, which today has been converted into trendy loft apartments and communal work spaces was once home to the Grover Textile Factory. Men and women who could barely read and write came to toil here, night and day, for starvation wages.

You must listen to the Rogers, the Francines, the Andrés. They’ll reminisce about their childhood with their twelve brothers and sisters, crammed into a cardboard box, a three-room flat impossible to heat, that was an absolute sieve in winter. You’ll hear, in their voices, the tremors that used to rattle the walls when the trains went by. The railroad that ran through the neighbourhood, now a pedestrian walkway, was used to transport goods from the port to the factories.

They’ll talk to you about the war, far away, on the Old Continent, the war whose horrors the people of Hochelaga had to thank for their livelihood and work. The Canadian Vickers shipyard alone made it one of North America’s largest industrial cities. You’ll hear, from afar, the voice of one of the greatest Canadian novelists, Gabrielle Roy: “Because the poor are not half as necessary to peace as they are, and always have been, to war.” (Roy, Gabrielle (1978), Fragiles lumières de la terre, Montréal, Éditions Quinze, p.164 (Coll. “Prose entière”).)

You’ll also hear the story of the economic crisis that followed. The factories were closing, one after another. Families that were already vulnerable found themselves leading an even more precarious existence. As if that weren’t enough, a few years later, two waves of expropriations left their mark on the neighborhood. First, for the refurbishment of the Port of Montreal, then for the construction of the Olympic Park that would host the 1976 Games.

Then imagine the years as they passed and turned into decades, turning the screws of a system of exclusion that increasingly tightened its grip on people. The violence of an obscene poverty perpetuated for generations, in spite of the country’s wealth, dragging in its wake emaciated, angular bodies, shaken by spasms, dizzy on too-high heels, struggling to retain some semblance of dignity, despite the sideways glances and insults: to the point, even, of erecting a camp amid a recent housing crisis. For weeks, tents and trailers formed a veritable village, with its networks of mutual aid and strife, on the edge of our awareness, in a non-place, along this highway that criss-crosses the river.

Everything is there. Yet something is missing. What’s missing are the bands of citizens who stand up against the bleakness of the times, faithful to the call whatever the era. These are the women and men who take action in the face of conflicts with employers, repeated housing crises, and the disintegration of public services.

Let’s remind ourselves, for example, of the Hochelaga Community Kitchen. Three women decided they wanted to make food choices with dignity, by doing more than just receiving free groceries. They set up a Community Kitchen, unaware that their idea would be adopted throughout Quebec and become an actual movement. During those same years, the Hochelaga Family Centre was set up on the initiative of parents who assessed their own situations and wanted to break the isolation they experienced. Without professionals or experts, ordinary citizens decided to take action, based on the strengths of each individual.

It was into this landscape that the ATD team established a presence with the Street Library and the Festival of Learning. Our focus was a housing development in a strategic area of the neighbourhood, where the issues of prostitution, homelessness, and drugs were widespread.

Twice a week, the street library offered an opportunity to gather with books and engage in practical or creative activities. It took place in two different ways, each with its advantages and disadvantages: outside, in public, in the small tension-filled park adjacent to the dwellings; or inside the buildings, in stairwells or on doorsteps, close to the families who didn’t manage to get out so easily. The street library had already existed a year when the tenants’ committee, chaired by Ginette, a resident of the seniors’ tower block, launched a scheme to provide breakfast in the community hall.

And so we decided to eat there, too. At first, one time just to experience it, and then on a more regular basis. We had become better acquainted with the older adults who lived in the tower. By insisting that everyone, without discrimination, was welcome and given equal attention while being served, Ginette allowed us to experience first-hand what living together really meant. Whether they were living in the housing development, in a room in a nearby house, or on the street; whether they were sex workers or night cashiers at the convenience store; whether they were intoxicated, semi-conscious, or asleep, Ginette would insist: “Everyone is hungry, so we must let everyone in. No other organization offers meals this early in the morning.”

Word quickly spread around the neighbourhood, and the community hall became a landmark. In 2014, Joëlle Tremblay, an artist and friend of ATD Fourth World came to eat with us. After she had joined us there for several weeks, the tenants’ committee was asked whether the community hall could be used to hold art workshops with Joëlle. Residents would have the opportunity to paint artwork to decorate the stairwell of the community hall. And so the decision was made to create four large panels depicting trees throughout the seasons.

At the inauguration party for this first community artwork entitled A painting for the stairwell: Seasons of the Trees, one mother expressed her amazement at what we could accomplish together. “At first, I didn’t believe that we could put an end to the squabbles and disagreements, but then I saw it could actually work. The street library and the Festival of Learning have already brought families and older people closer together. Over time, all the activities organized in the park have brought people closer together.”

Empowered by this first positive experience and with the artist Joëlle Tremblay still involved, we embarked on a second community project. This time, the idea was not to decorate a communal space but to create a work that expressed something about the neighborhood: a kind of collective self-portrait, composed by and with the people of the community.

This was when Tiago and his family moved into the housing development. It was said that they came from another tough neighbourhood in the north of the city, where racial tensions and conflicts with the police regularly flared up. Later, in conversation with Tiago’s father, we learned that the family had left Haiti in the aftermath of the earthquake.

Although they had been living in the housing development for barely a week, Tiago’s reputation was already established. “The police were prowling the park the other day. He pissed them all off and got a ticket.” “It’s the same at school. He made death threats to his teacher. He was suspended, and they are going to send him to a rehabilitation center.” “He spends his days roaming the streets. Gangs are circling around him, and he steals things from the discount store on behalf of others.” “He is in the process of being recruited. “He will end up in prison.”

It was clear that we had to see for ourselves. We went to his house on a street library day. We knocked on the door and Tiago opened it to let us in. We explained our activities to him: lending out books, reading in the park, and creative activities. He listened to us and then, unexpectedly, asked us if we had any novels.

Those few words were enough to change everything. We didn’t know it yet, but this question was the starting point of a slow process of transformation that was to involve the entire community. Already, the image we had built up of him, in spite of ourselves, was beginning to crack. The person whom the other children called “the thief” was also a reader of novels. We accepted his request and returned a few days later with a choice of several books. Little by little, a bond was forged that was strong enough for Tiago to agree to take part in the first stage of our new project: collecting stories. Because to create a work that speaks about the neighbourhood, you first have to meet the people who live there and hear their stories.

We came up with a strategy that allowed for easier interaction with the people involved in the housing development. We wrote questions on cards, such as, “What was your first work experience?” “Tell us about the worst thing you did at school?” ; or even “Do you remember a bad thing you did with your brothers and sisters?”. Tiago agreed to play along and came with us. Soon, other young people joined in, and a small group formed around him. The youngsters accompanied us on our door-to-door excursions and as we wandered around the park. They were the ones who held the cards, posed questions to the adults, and captured their answers on the tape recorder’s microphone, just like a TV interview.

Without expecting it, we were picking up a lot of injury stories. The people interviewed had dealt with life’s hard knocks in their own way. We heard about physical injuries, illnesses, accidents, hospitalizations; but also about life’s trials and tribulations, those wounds that don’t leave scars, but which leave their mark all the same. We heard of separations, relocations, toxic marriages, and plunges into depression.

In each of the stories, several predicaments appeared which, while never being resolved, ended up becoming the turning point in a learning process: a life lesson, a new perception of self, others, and the world. A strength emerged, quite unexpectedly, from the deepest of silences. Sometimes it was the support of a loved one, or the community rallying around the person in need. At other times, a difficult situation revealed hitherto unsuspected personal resources that lay dormant inside, thanks to which the person was able to resist the temptation to give up everything.

Every evening, we systematically transcribed the previous day’s recordings. Together with Joëlle, we re-read the transcripts and, through them, we saw the main subject of our future creation taking shape. The people of this neighbourhood had difficult histories, and we wanted to take them into account. But the richness of those life stories lay in the resilience with which people overcame their ordeals. Not only had they survived, but they had also learned important lessons. As the embodiment of those two aspects, we imagined a dual character, half-wounded, half-angel: a larger-than-life being who was greater than the sum of the individual stories. In other words, a giant.

We were now entering the second stage of our creative project. We needed to move forward towards transposing this idea into a visual language in partnership with the young people of the street library and their families, with the elders, and with all the people we met at breakfast. However, we still didn’t know what our future giant would look like. Joëlle’s expertise and experience enabled us to organize a dozen or so exploratory workshops that combined theater, drawing, and painting as opportunities to learn together. Each painting workshop was always preceded by a period of observational drawing. Paintings by well-known artists and photos on the theme of the workshop were hung on a clothesline that crossed the community hall. On occasions when we met outside, we hung them in the park, transforming public places into creative workshops. Parents and children were invited to choose an image. Everyone honed their sense of observation, first drawing a pencil sketch inspired by the image, before moving on to painting. This process enabled us to approach the creative process step by step so that everyone could slowly gain confidence in their own artistic abilities. Joëlle would give very specific instructions: a background of a particular color, a darker line to highlight the silhouette of the characters, etc. These guidelines established a kind of framework that ensured an interesting result so that the participants could be proud of their creations.

Week after week, we accumulated the visual elements that were going to be reassembled into a large triptych during the 2016 Festival of Learning. Once again, Joëlle orchestrated everyone’s contributions to bring The Giant into being. At the end of the four-day festival, our Giant had appeared. At the centre was the blue silhouette of the large wounded man, his body turned away in withdrawal. Around him spread two vivid yellow angel wings decorated with symbols of inner strength and life lessons — pouring out “a cornucopia of solidarity,” as one participant put it,

Tiago remained on board throughout the entire process. He continued to take part in Joëlle’s exploration workshops. He improvised the costume of a severely wounded soldier, struck a pose, and embraced the ridiculousness of it. Tiago also disguised himself as an angel, sketched alongside the other young people, wore an apron, chose his colors, and was inspired by the works of famous artists like Niki de St-Phalle or Frida Kahlo. Over those weeks, the way people looked at him changed, as did the way parents and other young people interacted with him. A father asked Tiago to help set up the daily sports matches in the park. Another suggested that Tiago and his son could prepare a workshop together as part of the festival. The youngsters at the street library stopped calling him “the thief.” The benefits were even felt by Tiago’s mother, who joined other Haitian mothers to cook a traditional griot dish for the shared meal that marked the end of the Festival of Learning.

The painting also had a sound component. During the Festival of Learning, alongside the painting workshop coordinated by Joëlle, we offered a writing and audio recording workshop. With the support of a professional radio host, everyone was invited to create a short story and record it in a small temporary studio set up in a room near the housing development. Once the audio capsules had been edited, they were inserted across the back of the painting. If people leaned forward as if to give the Giant a hug, those stories became audible.

The workshop didn’t involve writing a story in the usual way. Participants were not asked to invent but rather to assemble a story by inserting sentence fragments and words they had selected from a word bank into a ready-made story structure. The narrative framework they were given sought to reproduce the same two-fold pattern present in the visual aspect of the work. In other words: to evoke the wounds dealt by life, but also to recognize the courage and resistance in the face of those wounds.

To create word banks before the Festival of Learning took place, we immersed ourselves in the stories, which were the raw material of our project. This time, we had to transform the same things that had already been translated into visual language into poetic language. To create our first bank of phrases, we extracted fragments from each of the transcripts:

“I had 7 stitches in my leg…”

“I was desperate for love…”

“I found myself with lots of bright lights at Saint-Jérôme hospital…”

Participants were then invited to choose one of the anonymized and decontextualized phrases and interweave it with other fragments. We highlighted all terms related to injuries: diagnoses, treatments, diseases, and medical personnel. Individual words were then extracted so that the participants could pair them with others. This gave rise to real linguistic inventions: such as trauma-cardiogram or family embolism, found in the following example:

“I had 7 stitches in my leg. I had a trauma-cardiogram with a family embolism, a scar of happiness. I came very close to never being here with you all, and I’m talking to you about it.”

This text was written by a mother we knew well through the street library. So we knew how much her piece revealed about her own experience–although we hadn’t anticipated that one outcome of the workshop would be the creation of a self-portrait. But of course, composing a text from the words of others doesn’t mean you can’t talk about yourself. People reveal themselves through the words of others, perhaps even thanks to the words of others. Potentially, in the end, we need the words of others to talk about ourselves in a more distanced way. Perhaps the truth of our experience also becomes heightened when we hear its echo resonate for someone else.

We also found that the playful, humorous aspect of the workshop made it accessible to people who were far removed from the written word. As is often the case when we embark on a creative process, there’s something liberating about constraint. Because the words that were to be used to construct the text had already been provided, the participants experienced writing as an act of montage. Words became tangible, they took on the form of cardboard boxes to be moved and arranged. Joining words that refer to ideas from different fields, such as embolism and family, challenges our common sense, and gives rise to improbable images that are rich and symbolic. It means bringing a poetic dimension to our relationship with language.

One of the street library’s youngsters, for example, wrote a story that ended with: “The police came, they had a disease of judgment”. The texts are full of such associations: breach of trust, bipolar funeral, ignited attention, childhood burn, cardiac event, difficulty concentrating, medical infection, language pill, deficit of abandonment, mental intervener, intoxication of consciousness, and so on. It can be argued that the constraints of the workshop opened up a realm of freedom, allowing everyone to reclaim everyday language, to bring it closer to their personal experience, thus regaining power over it. This is particularly significant with terms referring to the medical or institutional world, which people may feel they have no power over in their everyday lives.

Proud together

After completing the collaborative art project, we went on to organize an exhibition in the community hall of the housing development, where it became a subject of dialogue, exchanges, and meetings between residents on the one hand and visitors to the neighbourhood on the other. The visual elements of the triptych and the audio recordings inserted there resonated with those who stopped by. Visitors recognized something about themselves, and the soundboard inspired them to tell their own stories.

The Giant was then exhibited on the premises of several local community organizations. Other people who didn’t live in the housing development could see it, too. On World Day for Overcoming Poverty, October 17, 2016, The Giant was displayed as part of a larger exhibition organized in an art gallery. Children, young people, and parents from Hochelaga came to explain the creative process to the crowd. It was an unforgettable day for the children who felt proud of their parents, and vice versa.

The Giant made its final appearance at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts in autumn 2018, following several other exhibitions. It was part of a group exhibition featuring local associations from various Montreal neighbourhoods, each showcasing their community art projects.

The project entitled “And if the walls could speak of us” offered residents of the historically underprivileged, working-class Hochelaga neighbourhood the opportunity to proudly feature, like everyone else, in this highly symbolic cultural institution.

Analysis and principles of action

Discussion with seminar participants

Romy: In this extraordinary story I can see several successes. One is how art found its place in an underprivileged neighbourhood and became a means of collective expression. Another is how a rebellious young man, who was seen as a bad influence, found his place in the community.

Caroline: We wanted to create work that was collaborative and intergenerational, that allowed families to share their knowledge amongst themselves and with others. And we did everything that we could to ensure that everyone, young and old, could participate. During the story-gathering phase with the adults, the children engaged in various activities. They dressed up, acted out the stories, and sketched and painted scenes from them. Additionally, they participated in writing workshops. The children were captivated by the stories told by their elders, which they had never heard before, at least not in such detail. The workshops provided them with an opportunity to think about how they could convey those stories through their drawings, helping them internalize the narratives.

David (Guatemala): I’m wondering how it all started because every time you mentioned a new stage in your story you had to go back and explain something that had happened before.

Caroline: You’re right. In fact, over the years, thanks to home visits and activities such as the street library and the Festival of Learning, strong relationships have been developed with the children, their families, and some of the elderly people who live in Hochelaga. They had already carried out community art projects there. The families knew Joëlle because she had already created paintings with them representing the four seasons to beautify the stark stairwell in their building. This answered people’s deep desire for beauty.

The process of creating The Giant went a little further. Based on the principle that everyone has culture and knowledge to share, our main objective was not to teach everyone how to hold a brush or mix colours but to highlight the cultural expressions and unrecognized knowledge of the residents of this neighbourhood. By working on how to put their own and others’ experiences into words and paintings, people became aware of their strength and resilience in the face of adversity and difficulty. They got to know themselves in a new way.

Romy: Can we say that this is the situation after the project: the painting workshops gave the residents the ability to understand themselves and express who they are and what they know? Did the activities help them break their silence and isolation?

Caroline: Yes. Putting it simply: the Giant project has shown that collaborative art-making can strengthen a community, creating new kinds of bonds between people, so that they feel safer and more comfortable going out and participating in neighbourhood life. By taking part in these activities with their whole family–because some of the parents joined in the activities too– people regained confidence in their ability to act, and they felt proud of themselves.

Irène: I love the idea of collecting the stories of the Hochelaga residents. But how did you get them to tell you their stories?

Caroline: We diversified our way of doing things. For example, we seized opportunities such as community meals in the neighborhood where people normally engage in informal conversation. We listened to them very carefully and then said, “That’s interesting what you just said. Would you be willing to be interviewed and have us record your story? This will remain confidential, of course.” We took the time to explain to them what we were looking for. And we had another method, which we used more systematically. We went to the park, to the place where there were tables, and approached the people sitting there with the help of a little questionnaire, but in a lighthearted, fun way.

Bruno D (France): What kind of questions did you ask?

Caroline: Open questions that leave them free to answer what they want: “Can you tell us any story about your work?” Or: “What is the worst thing you have done at school?” Or: “Can you tell us something you did with your brothers and sisters?” We didn’t intrude on their private lives, but we invited them to recount moments in their lives that had been important to them.

At one point we also went from door to door using our map.

Romy: Your map?

Caroline: In fact, the city department in charge of social housing was unable to provide a housing map or a list of homes. We drew up a plan of the buildings ourselves, listing every apartment on every floor, and entering the names of the people who lived there. People helped us fill it in by telling us who lived on their floor. Even today, we keep track of changes and keep it up to date. The map helps us not to forget any of the families, simply because we don’t see them very often. In fact, it was through the map that we discovered where Tiago and his family lived.

Donald W. (USA): There are two elements in this story that I would like to understand better: Firstly, the art form that was chosen: street art with a multi-sensory component. And secondly, the concept of the wounded or broken person with the wings of an angel. Who had these ideas?

Caroline: The Wounded Giant character came from the stories people told us. Of course, we could have chosen another character, a mother, for example. But with all the stories of illnesses, accidents, and injuries, the street library team and Joëlle, the artist, opted for the Wounded Giant.

Donald: But where did this expression come from? I can’t imagine someone saying to you, “I’m a big, broken guy, half-hurt, half-angel….”

Caroline: It seemed important to the team to bring out all the dimensions of the stories, the difficulties but also the courage, resilience, and solidarity people showed. Those who only see poverty in this neighbourhood don’t expect all this. Yes, the Wounded Giant and the Angel are metaphors. They are a reflection of the neighbourhood. There is a lot of prejudice. You have to get closer to find out what’s going on. In the painting of the Wounded Giant, you can only hear voices if you place your ear against the openings. The entire work of art is a metaphor for the neighbourhood in more ways than one.

Hélène (France): And once you had chosen the character of the Wounded Giant, how did it take shape?

Caroline: During one of the workshops, some children dressed up as wounded people with lots of bandages and crutches and mimicked cries of pain. The other children had 35 seconds to make a sketch. One child’s drawing of a “wounded” girl caught the attention of the artist, who printed an enlarged copy of the outline of his sketch. Then we went back and asked people what thoughts came to mind when they saw it. There was a lot of communication between the team and the families, back and forth, as the painting evolved.

Alban (Central African Republic): You spoke about the change that has taken place within the community. I see it not only as the result of the collaborative art project, but also of what you undertook with Tiago. With all the criticism of him, some parents thought he should be avoided. But you do exactly the opposite: you go directly to his house to meet him. Without saying a word about his bad reputation, you introduce yourself, tell him about the street library, and ask him if he’s interested in borrowing a book. And you manage to get him to participate. I see a principle of action at work here: Go and find the one whose contribution is still missing.

Romy: Yes, that struck me too. It seems to me that this is a turning point in the story: you offer to lend Tiago a book, and you seem surprised when he asks if you have any novels. He was certainly just as surprised that someone showed up with an offer instead of coming to reproach him. You built up your relationship from then on, returning week after week with new books until you felt you could invite him to join the art project.

Reymond (Philippines): What did you say to the father who refused to allow his child to continue going to the street library?

Caroline: I don’t remember the exact words. We let him know that we could also come and do the street library on his doorstep. Or, if his children didn’t want to join the group, we could come and see them at their home, so they would have less chance of coming face to face with Tiago.

Reymond: I ask that because sometimes we experience similar situations in Manila, where we have to adapt our usual ways of doing things to make it possible for a child to participate. For example, we used to pick up a child and accompany him to the activity, then drive him home again. Because he was so excluded that the other children would get up and leave when he came alone.

Romy: You have brought together both sides: the oppressors and the oppressed. You involved Tiago in the art project and imagined a way for the other children to participate in the street library, taking into account the father’s concern for their safety. You didn’t try to discuss it with him, you didn’t take sides. You allowed everyone the time they needed to make peace in their own way, when they were ready. I would also keep this as a principle of action.

Donald: I found it impressive that you adapted to the needs of the person in a wheelchair, making a very long brush so that she was able to participate in the art project.

David: It has to do with the principle of action: include everyone. Just like the map you made, which was a tool that enabled you to put this principle into practice.

Caroline: I wonder if I can add one more principle of action: be ambitious and demanding. We decorated the workshop venues with reproductions of works by famous artists to provide a context and inspire the participants. The quality of their output made people proud both of their creation and their collaborative work. It’s pride like this that allows us to defend our neighborhood, feel part of a community, and be open about where we come from.

Don: What I liked was your way of translating individual traumas and experiences into portraits of courage to represent the neighbourhood. I see a dynamic there where one thing leads to another. When individual experience is integrated into a more collective context, you create strength, you make the community stronger. It’s fascinating!

Orna: So three modes of expression were used: painting, speaking, and writing.

Caroline: And the dressing up. But does that count as expression?

Romy: I would say so, yes. An instructor at the cultural center in Noisy-le-Grand said that through a theatre workshop, children could play someone else and that it helped them express things they wouldn’t have dared to say in real life.

David: Generally speaking, making art and beauty accessible so that people not only enjoy it but also express themselves, allows people to share something very positive: not only within their community but also with the outside world.

Quyen: Harnessing people’s creative potential.

Caroline: Yes, exactly. But for that, we must be convinced that this potential is there inside them: that people are creative, and that they are cultural beings.

Donald: An action principle would be: initiate and support artistic creation as an integral part of the action. Artistic creation can be found everywhere.

Orna: I would like to ask Caroline: how do you feel after sharing your experience with us?

Caroline: You speak of my experience in your own words, and it echoes your own experience. The principles you have identified in this project are useful because when one has one’s nose to the grindstone, one isn’t always aware of the impact of one’s actions. Hearing them from your lips reminds me that it’s not just my subjective perception, but also yours, ours. I want to thank you for this.

Principles of action mentioned during the conversation :

1. Create the conditions that make it possible for everyone to participate: young or old, healthy or challenged, entire families.
2. Include everyone.
3. Be convinced that everyone has culture and knowledge to share.
4. Highlight the cultural expressions and unrecognized knowledge of local residents.
5. Seize opportunities to have informal meetings (to gather stories).
6. Take the time to explain and discuss the proposed project with people.
7. Meet new people in a relaxed and fun way.
8. Ask open questions that allow people to respond as they wish. Encourage them to recount moments in their lives that were important to them.
9. Use tools (here, a map of the neighbourhood, for example) to make sure you don’t forget any family, even those you don’t see very often.
10. Include every dimension of the stories that people tell–the difficulties but also the courage, resilience, and solidarity that people have shown.
11. Throughout the project, communicate back and forth between the team and families.
12. Reach out to those whose contribution is still missing.
13. Come with proposals, not reproaches or lessons.
14. Seize the right moment as a turning point that can be built upon.
15. Break out of the usual patterns to make the participation of a child or adult possible.
16. Allow each party the time needed to make peace in their own way, when they are ready.
17. Find inventive ways of making the activity accessible to those with differences.
18. Be ambitious and demanding. Expect high-quality contributions.
19. Stimulate inspiration by creating inspiring spaces, decorating them, and displaying works of art.
20. Make the community stronger by translating individual experiences and traumas into portraits of courage that represent the neighborhood.
21. Use different modes of expression: painting, speaking, writing, dressing up.
22. Make art and beauty accessible so that people can not only enjoy it but also express themselves.
23. Initiate and support artistic creation as an integral part of the action.