NO, NOT ME. I DIDN'T WASH UP ANYWHERE.
I was born in Madison, Wisconsin, the third of four children, descendants of Austrian, Polish, German and English ancestors. My dad was an Air Force pilot and my mom a former aspiring actress. He was from Boston and my mother liked to boast that she was from Chicago having escaped Evansville, Indiana, at eighteen by stealing the family car. From Wisconsin we were sent to Italy, Germany, then back to the States and North Carolina, South Carolina, Virginia, Ohio, Maryland, and then to Portugal and back again to Tampa, Florida. My mother gave up dreams of the stage and settled in as the resident artist and interior designer for the duration. She did quite well, and as a bonus, enriched all her children with her creative talent and a lifetime of exposure to the many finer cultural pursuits to be had in the varied destinations. I'll also add that my dad was an unassuming photographer and wood turner of considerable skill. My siblings and I came to realize how much he also influenced us creatively, but much later in my life.
So throw all these ingredients in the soup and what you get is "me". I love to fly, can't get enough of the wind in my hair, and am constantly attracted to strange places and new faces. I performed on a school dance team, and excelled at anything creative. As a young adult I had a great desire to act, but my natural reaction to being in front of a crowd was regretfully not inherited from my mom. I shook uncontrollably at my first audition. I took my father's advice "Don't go into acting. You'll never make a living". Although going into art making would never pay the rent either. As it ends up I am an artist, designer, wife, and mother.
In college I met a guy that was different. He had a strange accent, listened to music that I had never heard before, loved anything creative, and had lots of stories of the mysterious land across the ocean that he called home. We fell in love, and after earning our degrees, I felt that old need to "Get out of Dodge". We got married, packed our bags and headed to his homeland, the Dominican Republic.
Living abroad as an adult was exciting and challenging. As an Air Force Brat I knew the score but everything was different this time. There was no PX or military Post Exchange or commissaries for me - no prepackaged community of American friends - no US approved doctors or sanctioned hospitals to visit. Here, I was adopted by my Dominican family and my husband's friends. I had not attended any US Foreign Service crash language, or local culture, courses. I could only say "Hola" and a couple of swear words I picked up along the way. There was no quality television, nothing in English, and certainly no cable TV. I had rarely, if ever, watched "Kojak" and watching it in Spanish was a painful comedy. Most of our circle spoke English but after five minutes they forgot. Parties weren't much fun since I spent my time watching everyone laugh out loud at jokes and stories I couldn't begin to understand. I fell back on a skill learned in childhood, adapt or be shunned. I was fluent in Spanish in six months.
At twenty-four I had a live-in cook and housekeeper. Yes, there were perks to be had. She was the one who taught me Spanish. Everything was pulled one by one from the frig and I would ask one phrase I had learned: "Que es esto?" ("What's this?") and she would politely respond with the correct word. She grew up on a farm in the center of the island and spoke with their customary dialect. After a while I really confused everyone. Here was this "Gringa" that spoke Spanish like a farmer from the heartland.
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| My living room window view over a public park - sort of like Central Park. |
My new family was humble yet very well respected in the community. Friends and family were usually very willing to help an emerging artist develop a career. People in general were always very impressed by artists and I always felt tremendous public support. But as typical within Latin cultures, as a woman and an American, I did feel it was much harder for me to prove myself. In the local art scene I definitely could perceive that people thought I was too lucky. For them, to be a blond, blue-eyed American, I had it too easy.
I was really taken aback when I was awarded a 1st Prize for Video in the prestigious Biennial at the Museum of Modern Art in Santo Domingo. I received my award on stage to thunderous applause. I expected hardly anyone would clap for me, and though it probably was not really "thunderous" I was shocked at how loud it seemed. At any rate, a foreigner is just that, and although I was forever considered an outsider, the position was one I was very accustomed to and seemingly comfortable performing. I fell in love with the place and stayed for eighteen years.
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| My favorite of my many artist studios - this one in the old part of town |
It was idyllic back then. We lived for weekends at the beaches. We ate fresh oysters with a squirt of lime juice five minutes out of the water; or a fresh fried fish, cooked under the shade of a palm tree 50 feet away and brought to you as you sunned on your beach towel. But then there were the hurricanes. Oh yes, when David (a category 5 there) was scheduled to roll through I thought it would be just another interesting story to tell. After that experience, the stories are told with awe and the greatest respect for nature. We lost all power and water for three months. If you hadn't left town before it came, you were literally in for a rough ride, and there was no emergency crew coming.
My parents never returned to visit the places where they lived. They spoke about going all the time, but it never happened. I do know that traveling to foreign places is very different when no one is watching your back. And probably, as they got older, they felt that old adage "You can never go back". Going back does kill the dream memories you have invented. When I first arrived in the Dominican Republic life was very different from how it is today.
But for me going back is easier. Our children were born there, we have family there, and we visit often. It's true you can't go "back", but you can view returning as new adventure, to a new place, where you might even bump into an old friend. And if you're lucky, it may even confirm the choice you made to "move on" as the right one.
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| Downtown Santo Domingo around 1980 |
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| A Mountain Valley in the center of the country . |
Alette Simmons-Jimenez
Miami, FL
www.alettesimmonsjimenez.com
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