Biography
Marthalicia Matarrita
Born and raised in Harlem, New York City. Marthalicia has many art disciplines such as drawing, sculpting, painting and creating large murals and is always expanding in new mediums.
Current area of art dialogue is based on educating the harmony between animals and humans, in many unique presentations.
Marthalicia early stages:
Sharng "black books" graffitti art journals as well as comic books were her past time.
Encouraged by faith to persue the art form, Marthalicia entered La Guardia High School of Performance and the Arts, and upon graduating high school, she enlisted in the Army National Guard.
She enrolled in S.U.N.Y. New Paltz for B.F.A. in Fine Arts. Her art resume further in her new art journey "Live Art Performance"
Today, Marthalicia has broaden her art experiences to many difference avenues in art venues, and oppourtunites where she builds with her community and others.
On a very late summer night, at a place in Brooklyn call Asterisk, I met Krts mingling amongst many half intoxicate fans of those that were performing musically that night. Alcohol and ill sounds filled this place, with a thick essences of excitement and pleasantry in this atmosphere. Dude, this place was also jammed packed, that I couldn't stand near my paintings that were displayed for this particular art and music show. This place was a hot spot. This night I met Broke MC and got to know CONSCIOUS, two other mc's hitting their grind head fast!
As the mist of tonic and Heine's danced in this air, while the MASH PIT of a crowd grew massive, I ended up moving from where I was, closer and closer to the main entrance, where I saw Mr. Krts smiling and bopping his head to the soul of hip hop echoing hard around us. "Hi, are you apart of any of this crazy ill music group performing tonight?" All I saw was a smile and a "NAW, BUT I AM A MUSICAL PERFORMER, I CREATE MUSIC" as he try to have a conversation with me without yelling. Dude, it was very difficult but we were able to network ok. But as a silence of the stage halted to a stop, and the loud conversations of others at this place still continued, I was able to get to know more about Krts and of his artistic sounds via his style. I was blessed to have a copy of his new album hes was going to release soon, and I was so trilled with joy to hear it as soon as possible.
Krts, such a spirit, such a magnetic soul, that once you start on talk to him, you kinda feel like you know him for such a long time. The comfort of chilling and talking and expressing ideas were so familiar and engaging that we connected at other events that held such a combination of music and the arts. He saw me paint live with my brothers at THE FIVE SPOT in Brooklyn, and he was able to connect me with the Antagonist Art Movement, in lower Manhattan, where I have shown many of my art pieces there. Within those month of painting live and getting some art showing gigs, I was able to truly listen to his music; his music blew me away. I was so influence by his style that I wanted to give him one of my custom t-shirts that I was creating to him. It was such an honor to later see him perform in many place with it. Wow, such an honor! He did a few more other gigs with the same tee, ( I bet he washed it, no doubt, but at least he wore it!//Mental note, give him another! no diggity). His showing of his heart stopping performance of those combos in sounds, continue to rave NYC, Philly, and else where that his name has evolved and is respected within many prestigious, and sophisticated groups, and companies. Krts still rocks, and I still listen to his first album as if its apart of my signature. Wanna bet, check out my myspace for yourself, I don't lie. Drop by his page and get to know him, he is truly one of a kind. So glad to have met such cool soul in NYC. ~martha
If you want to know more about him, check out these links:
Very fortunate to have met such a bright spirit! A while back I met this awesome spirit via someone else's myspace page, during the early cold months of 2008. Later on that same year, I was invited to participate at an Art Battle artbattles.com which so happen to have not only other dynamic artist, but as well the brilliant artist Fly Lady Di. I was even more so intimidated.
After the show, and on to others, I frequently saw her at other events all over the city. Then I found out towards the end of 2008, Miss Fly Lady Di left NYC to her home town far away( TORONTO ). Not sure if you do know her, but if you did, you can appreciate how soulful and dynamic her art works were, and in turn also very influential.
Below is a short video of her success here in NYC, and all the people she was able to encounter in her art journeys. I was so honored that she placed me as one of her "peeps" at the very last of her up incoming artist on NYC. Thank you very much *Princess* for placing me in your universe of artists. her link: myspace.com/flyladydi
Wesly was super amazed to know that there was gonna be a dog in the house. He didn't know what to expect. He thought it would have been a puppy, or at least a miniature dog. But a Stafford shire Red Nose Pitt? Dude, it was frightening for him. At first, Wesly would just look from afar. We told him that Isis was her name and that she grew up with SO many little infants and toddlers as she herself was a little pup. She knew that Wesly was a child, and she would go so near him to "comfort" him by her sitting oh so close to him, and waiting for him to pet her. Her eyes are icy blue, and clear and was crying for his attention. Wesly Smiled back to her and from there the bond was created.
From fall 2005 until present Isis was and still is an amazing dog. She is super sweet and very much loved by many people that have met her. At first glace, oh so many people thought she was intimidating and scary. But she's really not. She is a puss, a little teenage dog rely to play with someone. And now our family will be broken, because our living situation will not be the same. At this present moment, my family will be moving soon , to another place to stay, and the unfortunate circumstances, Isis can not join us. We are in alert and also searching for someone to take her in at least until my family gets situated in our new location some where either in Manhattan or the Bronx. If your interested in having Isis please dont hesitate and contact me here: or share this story with some one you know. Our family will gretly appreciate you and your kindness for this outcry.
Tomas ATOMIC Manon: Aka My older brother is making moves. Check out the flier he has developed if your are interested in maving ill moves on them dance floors. His contact info:
B Boy Atomic 1 @yahoo.com myspace.com/bboyatomic1 cell: (917)703-2164
Sly Art Vs. Robot City: There aren't much photos to provide, but at least the memory of such a night, that I wont ever forget! February 14Th 2009, Valentines day was a wonderful day for art!
What a super experience sharing a night with family and awsome friends, at Raye 6 Mixtape Album release party, that was held on February 14th, Valentine's Day! So many people showed love and listen to the sounds that the dj was providing and all along my brothers and I painted on two Bubble Girls. The photos below are of the M - Squared Art Production crew painting the models. hope you like them: ~martha
What an amazing show. Lots of love from close friends and most beloved fans and strangers! Such an inspiration to create works where appreciation is well taken to the heart! Without any hesitation, I present to you Bullets and Love, which is brought to you by FRESTHETIC P.S. disregard how tired looking I am. Been trough some sleepless days. But its all good. . Below is a/was a LIVE FEED directly from Mike's comp! Check it! I am sprinkled here and there amongst the audience. I am the one wearing BLACK JACKET with my hear tied in a bun. The almond chica. ha ha
I have created some sculptures in my life time, but this was one, was a bit more fun and also slightly disturbing. It wasn't intentional at first, but understanding the title of the show: "Bullets and Love" I took it and ran with this. Also, those military pendants that is upon the chest are real, and those were given to me on award ceremonies.
*On the top portion of the mannequin, there is my name tag that I wore with my class A uniform.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Going to paint live, body paint on some young ladies for one of Raye 6 amazing show, that will be happening in on Valentine's Day at 6:00pm. After the show, at 10:00pm, I will be heading out to paint Live for Mary J Blige R&B Tribute party that will also feature many special guest. Take a look at the flier to see who's who and what going on. Hope to see you all there, bright eyed and bushy tail!
East of Eighth Restaurant & Bar, which is located on 254 West 23rd Street, New York, NY 10011 will have some of my newest art works in displayed on the upper lever of it sophisticated Restaurant.
Amongst the newest art works, that I have created this year and previous one; I will also be showing some of my very best and never seen by the public works of art. Starting during the ending of February and the beginning of March, I will give everybody more info as to the date of the showing. I am super honored that I was asked by the owner to be one out of many to have art works displayed at their facility. If you have any questions as in regards in placing your art there, dont hesitate to ask; call 212-352-0075 and ask for Mikey and Dan.
Bullets & Love is back for the second year, we got some new artists & some old favorites, Its Fresthetic's own mannequin show where artists customize mannequin torsos to their interpretation of Bullets & Love. We have a great lineup of artist
Hope you can join us Thursday, February 12th, 2009. From 7pm til 10pm, Food, Wine & Music will be available
Really hope to see you all there and thank you very much for your continued support!
After nearly two years; after a long time of worry some years, my mom returns to us. My mom returns to my dad's job in Manhattan, after a year plus in search for her existence; she sits silently and looks in a confused yet serene manner towards me, as if waiting for me to say something? I was a bit uncomfortable, but I understood my mom is older and must be on something. (I know this because of the way she looked; pale, sunken cheeks and very slow reactions when she moved).
My brothers showed up and greeted her with excitement as well, and showed her how much they themselves missed her. It felt like a reunion. We talked a bit and she mentioned to us how she needed to leave. She said that she now lives in Weston House on 113 Street, at the corner of 7th ave. We were surprised that she was around and some what close to where we were living. We were all glad to know that she was around, and we vowed to see her soon. I made it my personal business to see her as often as I could.
And that's exactly what happened. I saw her everyday. After working in Victoria secrets, I took the 2 or the 3 trains to 116th street and walked over the familiar neighborhood. Once familiar with the place and the staff, I then had a meeting with them, for they were letting me know about my mother's condition. I was told by the facility managers the history of my mothers mental state and what it was. I found out that my mom has schizophrenia . They also told me how often she needed to take her medications, and how they are covering for them. I was stunned. All along I thought she was just drunk and sad, as well as saying things that she was thinking out loud. Now all made sense. The news took some time to let it sink in, into my heart. I had some questions that I had to ask the staff member, such as:
me: "can it be cured?"
staff: "no"
me: "is it hereditary?"
staff: "possibly, cant tell if your family line has a common gene, if so yes, if not your lucky"
I didn't let the news bother me. I place my time in seeing my mom as often as I can which helped me coup internally. She at least needed to know that someone loves her and that they are there. I made sure she understood that. So I visited her and took her out for lunch every afternoon, and or walks around the central park walk side, all the way down to 42ND street. yup we can walk. Some days I took her out to the movie theater and then walk right back to her facility. This was a fantastic time for me and her to bond together. She told me stories of her survival experience living in the streets. From almost being set on fire while she was sleeping on a public park bench, to the time she was scavenging for food in trash cans. She told me that she was arrested for peeing in front of a church, and a bunch of police officers arrested her and placed her in a van. a couple of days later she was in New York city. This mom of mine, walked all the way up North to Rockland County.
Fast forward to the year 2003. My family had the opportunity to move from the shelter and into a brand new home of our own, a 4 bedroom apartment in Brooklyn Crown Heights. This was such a thrill that we couldn't even contain our excitement. This same year my older brother Tomas left to Iraq. The year 2003 was the year that my youngest brother decided to take my mother out of Weston House and bring her "HOME" back to us, as we once was. I have to say, it was a wrong mistake.
My mom agreed and was very motivated to leave at once from her medical and social worker staff that she left with a bounce in her steps. Once home we had a nice room set for her and everything. It felt like a traditional family. I was at peace. months turned into a year, and I started to notice that my mom would return home a bit late. One day I asked why was she returning home so late, (11pm ish) and would say, "I was taking a nice walk, and getting to know Brooklyn better". As she was speaking, I smelled alcohol in her breath. I ignored it, but was conscious that she did it. A couple of days after, she continued to do the same. I confronted her and I told her that it wasn't a good idea and that she really needed to stop. She would say "yes yes, I understand, but its only one drink". There was no hope. There was no way getting to her. Her mental condition started to return to how it used to be while we were living in the shelter. I was getting so worried. I felt that I didn't have power this time, the power to monitor her. (this is the time period that I was also living in S.U.New Paltz as a student and an Resident Assistant).
I pleaded with my brothers and my dad to place time for my mom and give her, her medications. Tehy all tried, but they all had their agenda and their lives fixed. It was hard for them to brake their routine, so my mom was left alone once again.
Month turned into a year. 2004 I found out I was pregnant, and my mom was there for me. At least this new opportunity arose for her to changer her habits, because a new family member was about to be introduced to the world. The year 2004, was a year that I found out that I was schedule to leave with my combat medical unity, to Iraq and fight the "terrorist and care for the wounded". I was at least 3 month pregnant and they still wanted me to go. (long story, but to keep it brief, I didn't go. way too many Combat medical assistants were lined up to go, and I was one far too many. So I, and 80 other soldiers were left to work in the states).
2004 became 2005, and pretty much the same scenario. I graduated from school and I gave birth to my son Wesly. My mom was there for everything that happened to me. She baby sat for me as I did a few errans, worked part time and did some art gigs.
2006 storms on by, where my mother drinking resurfaced. The summer of this year as well as the fall was hard for us economically. The year 2007 the turning point of my mother mental condition began to regain more strength and her attitude towards us, was more and more defiant, refusing her medications, refusing to stop drinking and refusing to get help. She was getting way out of control. Eating with her eyes close, and drank her self to sleep. Peeing on her cloth, barley caring for personal hygiene and was arriving home extremely late and staggering. This particular year she was something I did recognize, a behavior oh so unwanted. She didn't take a shower for months. She slept with her going out cloth, and eat in her bed, which so happen to have 3 dead mice on her bed as well. He entire bedroom started to look like a dumpster, a place where old food with fungus, pee stains in her bed and on the floors, food /garbage where she slept, and it all smelled so bad. She started to eat soap and had dirty underwear covering her entire face. The most disturbing bad habit was that shes refuse to talk to people, and would sing and laugh out loud. She would often talk to herself and get angry every time.
On a steamy hot summer of June 2007, my mom didn't arrive home at all. She was missing for an entire day. A day knocked on my door saying that she saw my mother on the last floor laying on the ground. I rushed to see her and it was true. I found her in my building on the 6th floor hallway area floor. She was incoherent, and was angry at me, and was sweating heavily. She was drinking alcohol and was wearing two sweaters, one coat and dirty underwear over her entire head. I tried to take that ugly underwear off her head; and as I yanked it out, I saw quickly that her eyes were shut close with some Vaseline and turpentine ointment. She smelled so bad and started to fight me physically. She couldn't event get up. Her skin of her face was so caked up, and dry. She was also wearing socks on both her hands for some days now and now they were torn and dirty. She was trembling as of being cold, but its June, the hottest day this week? Why is she wearing a coat? I called the ambulance as an emergency aid, to convince my mom to get some medical help. She didn't react to people in a normal way and was hurting herself very badly. The paramedics arrived shortly, and took my mother away. I went with her, and I noticed that they placed her in a phyiatric ward near where I lived. The Hospital was called, "Kings County Hospital"I was surprised this was the spot to evaluate her condition, and I follow what the doctors were telling me.
I stayed with my mom. She wouldn't let me go either, digging her sharpen nails into my arm's flesh as if clinging to me for dear life. And all the time she was calling me a "stupid son of a bitch!", for sending her there. I been telling her that eating soap and drinking liquor or even turpentine was not a natural thing to do, and she needed professional help. Eventually we got some doctors that evaluated her in front of me and asked me about her condition, and why I sent her there. They agreed with me and told me that shes is Schizophrenic and its something that she needed frequent medical attention, and the alcohol made it worse.
Below is a YouTube clip of the very same place I took my mother to. This event happened one month after her admittance to Kings County Hospital.
Late (hot and very humid) June 2007 passed and a few month later, my youngest brother Jorge was frustrated that my mom was held in a mental ward, requested that she should be taken out and that my family would take better care of her. The hospital didn't hesitate and respected Jorge's' request. He called me and told me to bring my mom home. And so I did. I took her out, filed some paper work, and everything was well. I wanted to took a taxi to her house, but she didn't want to go home at all. I convinced her, and on the arrival of our destination: "you stupid son of a bitch!!!! I told you I didn't want to go here! Why did you take me here?!" I was so surprised that she said that!. The entire day I was forcing my mom that she need to go back home, that it was getting cold on this late July afternoon. She refuse. She was waiting for an answer to see if she can move in with me. She was out side her home for one entire day. From 3 o'clock until 11:28 pm she was standing out side, refusing to eat and drink, and often peed on herself. My older brother Tomas decided to call the ambulance and take her back to the hospital. And so it happened. He went with her to re admit her to the Phyciatric ward. One day later, Jorge to the rescue. This time I took her home again.
One year later her habits continued where she was uncontrollable. More strange, more behaving as a captive and waiting to died in her room. 2008 April my mom felt it was time to leave. She left one morning. One day later I called the police for a missing older woman. days turned into weeks, until I got a phone call from Jorge. He called me that my mom just arrived and he needed to go to work, and wanted me to go to his house and convince her not to go out again. I took a taxi from where I was and ran up the stairs, keyed myself in, and opened her bedroom door and saw her. Laying on top of her bed, with glasses , shoes and everything she has taken with her.
Below is the report of my mom being missing:
Once again, one more time, I was face to do something to prevent me from losing my mother. I told my older brother Tomas to call the police to report her reappearance. he did and they arrived 30 minutes later. They questioned her and they asked me for my father who wasn't there at the time. I called my father and my sister for advice, and they suggested that I should re admit her again, and this time do not allow any one to take her out of the hospital. I told the police that I strongly suggest to place her once again to the hospital that she was in.
Teams of police officers arrived at the foot steps of my building, ambulance and medics were assessing my mother and persuaded her to get up from her bed and move towards the ambulance; and while that was happening, my family stood still. We were all surrounded by silence and flashing of red, blue and white lights, from the police cars, playfully dancing all around us. "One more time", I said to myself, and this time I went with her. (Once again she told me storied of where she was for the week she was missing, and what has happened to her: sleeping while it was raining in the parks, getting violated in Eastern Parkway and had a bunch of teenagers that picked her up from her sitting on the bench, and how all 7 other this guys punched her and kicked her. She also showed me her wrist which was badly swollen and black and blue. The pain ran out my eyes as tears and into my hands. I felt helpless.) We stayed together and got her re admitted. She cried out and cursed me out as usual. Sleeping on a chair until her name was called. She was waited in the waiting room for about one week, until there was a room her her sot sleep in; and then a month later she was relocated to a different hospital where seniors with mental stress were located at Kings Borough Phyciatric Hospital in Brooklyn off of Utica Avenue.
2008: The run down until present. She appears to be in great faith, and I saw her practically everyday. I sometimes took my son to see her, which she loved oh so much. We talked about my family's progress and disappointments, and I tried my very best to bring her spirits up as she once did when I was a little girl. "Mami, I miss you so much. I want to take you to the park as we once did, and take you to the movie theaters." but in do time is what she replied.
Now my mother is relocated as of November 24th 2008, her birthday, to upstate New York at a Seniors hospital called Hedge Wood in Beacon New York. I haven't yet seen her but have been calling her as frequent as I possibly can.
Thank you all for reading my story. ~Marthalicia Matarrita
This blog perhaps is the most stressful blog I ever have to write. Maybe this is therapeutic for me, who knows.
Imagine a little girl, stress free, walking along the dusty road walking with a pale of water on one hand and a bag of platanos on the other. No thought, just a simple routine walk on a hot humid afternoon in Santo Domingo,(Dominican Republic).
Imagine that this little girl is walking home with no shoes and a bit torn up dress and smiling on her way home, knowing that her mom is waiting for her with her eleven brothers and sisters. Yeah I said it, eleven siblings, all at home doing some sort of choirs around the house to keep it maintained and bug free. A life style like the one this girl had, can only project family pride, team work, and harmony. Dang eleven boys and girls combination, all under one roof, the mouth to feed, the cloth to put on each child and schooling, all must have been an after school program in her home. All seems great in the Manon - Melo family. Base on Christianity and hard work, the little girl grew up to be Ana Manon. A very social butterfly and a loved young lady both in her home and outside. To a degree, her personality was a magnetic one. Her personality blossomed more so when the idea of earning money to help her mother pay the bills since her dad was always drinking or beating her mom up at other times. This home also presented a stressful environment where pretty much everyone was affected by the father of the house.
Such a turn off to go home from school and keep a routine such as the one she used to have, she gathered up some strength at the age of 24, and decided to travel and explore a new world. A world where there shouldn't be so much struggle to feed oneself, nor a struggle to fight for a little bit of pride. So often she have heard of New York City, as a place where Money grew on trees. New York City was AMERICA to her, the land of prosperity and wealth.
Fast speed ahead to when Ana meets Martin. Both were alcoholics. My dad met my mom at a bar, and my mom was a bartender at this time. yada yada yada, my dad gets with my mom, and had my older brother Tomas in Massachusetts. Issues arose where they weren't together. My mom and dad meet again, yada yada yada, and pow, here I am born in New York City, Roosevelt Hospital. This time around my dad lives with my mom and, here it goes: yada yada yada, Jorge pops out, born in New York City, same place I was. How convenient.
"The life style as to how I remember it, went a little like this. I so feel for my mom and that's why she is my inspiration."
I remember living in a one bedroom of a 4 bedroom apartment that we were sharing with Mexicans in Manhattan close to Riverside Drive. I remember us, my brothers and my mom arriving to my dad's place (which was a one room situation, we all five of us in it), having a tiny window overlooking the street, and also a small hand sink on the wall. One twin size bed, and massive bowling trophies along the sides of the bed. I remember the smell of BRUTE colone and a radio blasting to the beat of Whitney Huston, " I wanna dance with some body, I want feel the heat with some body yeah!..." This was the begining of when my mother started to lose herself in small pieces fragments of hope.
Story there ends where we were evicted, because the Mexican lady Dona Juana didn't get along with my mother. So we were roaming the streets the night of the eviction, and misses fix it, mom to the rescue found a gentlemen which she befriended, and begged him to stay with him and all of us included. This new one bedroom of a 2 bedroom apartment was on 144 street in Broadway. We once again lived together all five of us on one tiny room. We slept on suitcases and on the tiny bed. Dad worked, as we went to school. The owner of the apartment agreed for us to stay, the man said yes, and so we staied. There weren't no contracts, nada. We stayed there for about one year and a half, until the owner, Mr. Maximo felt that we were using his kitchen alot and he felt that we needed to leave. He surprised us all, one afternoon, as we were returning from school, as my mom enters her key and couldn't get in. All our stuff was still inside. That dude, even placed an alarm if we was gonna get in. We were out side our apartment for at least 9hours. We called the cops, (long story) so we were lead in. He got a bit paranoid and was hustle towards us all. My mom to the rescue surf the city and that same night found another spot in Manhattan leading closer to Harlem.
187 Edgcome Ave, new york city; Harlem. What a neighborhood. during this time my mom's mental symptoms of deep depression started to erupt. After so many exhausting living situations and having no money for the children( us), no team work and the feeling of imposing on others, got her drinking. Our battle didn't end there. 187 provided for the first time a place of our very own. Of this three floor brownstone, we first were living on the second floor, the bathroom we shared since we all were living in a studio apartment. Yes again, all five of us, teenagers with mom and dad in a studio apartment with a built in closet size kitchen. My mom couldn't bare it, but she tried. She sometimes will get the food and return drunk? How was that?
Crack Head Mr.and Miss H,(can not disclose of their names), often shoot up. We were frequent awaken by their violent fights at night over a rock, and or alcohol. These folks were so heavy with the drugs that they often set their house on fire accidental, as they were cooking and they fell asleep. We were the ones that saved the building by calling the fire department, lets say more then 7 times. My mom kept her cool. She even kept her cool when she found out my dad was laid off. No money was running. Starvation. This wasn't her dream at all. The promise land of hopes and dreams all washed away by a stubborn husband. ( more to this story, too much to include. If you have questions, ask.) We all witness shooting, by foot or drive by. We all witness gang related muggings and were victims of them as well. This let to what made my mom worse; for one year mom started to talk about " El Hombre Malo" the bad man. the mad that "killed her mom"( all in her mind, she died of natural causes). The cascades of events got worse. The Landlord, in which my dad was paying his rent too, didn't pay the eclectic bill for the entire building and ran off with the rent money. This meant that we were without electricity for one year and a half.(started during the fall of one year and ended towards we the next year in the spring with no electricity). We couldn't cook food, take a shower, there was no heat, we couldn't read our homework's, nothing. Candle light was the way to go. My mom couldn't take it. So she once again wanted to rescue us by looking for clothing from the streets for us, collecting cans of food to sell to get some type of income. She bought trinkets in whole sale and resell them to the public around the schools we were going. There wasn't any shame of getting money for her family. She did that in Dominican Republic, what was the difference?
Living in 187 I notice my mom's behavior to be more and more obscured and very very unfamiliar. I remember one night she didn't return home at her usual time, 7pm. She instead return home, humming, carrying a one gallon of milk on one hand and the other a pound of uncooked white rice. At this cool winter night, I asked my mom if I could her her unload some of her stuff. She nodded, with her hat covering half her salty face. I thought it was kinda weird. After unpacking the food, my mom ran away from me quickly. I chased her and cornered her and asked her about her face. She ran passed me and into the other room, where she laid down and sat down in the most strange way. I asked to see her face. To my horror, my mom had a very swollen black and blue eye. It was so swollen that the dry blood that was crusting over it made it look like a peperoni roll. It was so shocking. She said that a car backed up on her and pushed her, she fell and broke her left wrist. I rushed to access the wound, and once again, to my shocking surprise, my mother's bone was sticking out of her wrist. I ran and got a wooden chair and got straight piece to help her from not tearing her flesh even further. I called the ambulance and she was alright from there. Alcohol got the best of her.
After being evicted from 187, a letter on our main entrance door stated a place in which we all need to attend, and it was a near by homeless and family relocate Shelter that was on 137th street between 6th and 7th ave. The YWCA.(Lenox and Adam Clayton Power Boulevard.)
This was the Turing point of where I totally lost my mother. In the shelter we each were given a separate room. One for each of us, all in the same floor, sharing a local/public bathroom with 14 other rooms. These people didn't cared about themselves, I can say this because of the way they did things. Taking a dump on the sinks, throwing food in the shower, condoms with blood all over the floors both in side the bathrooms, and in the hall ways. I saw perhaps the most drug needles in my life time by me living there. The most dirtiest place , mud and scum on the doors and in side the bathrooms. Warms crawling on the side of these rooms, no light and broken window were a hash condition to live in. This is when my mom died inside. At times I return from school and I run to look for her. She was either shitting on the floor of the room we both shared or walked the street with out socks nor shoes. Her behavior worsen, to an out of control state. I even saw her in the streets, and I force her to come home with me because I know she will either get killed by someone of she will hurt herself. She has spat on me in public, rubbed it on my face. She has cursed me out in from of strangers, and wanting to fight me. Was a difficult time.
One sad afternoon, after returning from Aikido, I noticed that her room was a bit different. Emptier. It appeared as if some was ran sacked her room and wiped it clean of goods, leaving behind dirty paper and some tooth past. I started to clean up, and hours turned into 24 hours. As the night fell, my dad and I called the police and called for a missing person. Those hours turned into days, then weeks and month. A year pass. Silence in my family. We didn't know if she was dead or alive. Another year pass, and my dad calls me from his job and asked me to hurry to see him there.
I saw a ghost. It was my mother. over two years, my mom returns, looking totally different. Older, sunken in, she looked like she was on some medical drugs. I cried and hugged her oh so tightly. I couldn't believe it, it was her, I was holding my mother, I was holding her as to make sure she will not leave me again. My mother came back.
My older brother Tomas, also known as Atomic, has always been a great inspiration to be and still is.
Art, music, the street culture and everything that entails expression, I learn alot by him. He was the one that helped me understand art in a manner where I can comprehend.
There was a time in my life that all I was, was his shadow. I notice this in elementary school and future school that I was with him. "Why can't you read faster like Tomas?", or "Tomas is so much better in the math and vocabulary department, why not follow his lead?" All of those comments that were coming from either family members and or teachers and friends, made me feel a bit insecure about how I was communicating to people in general. I looked up to him and always will. He was my artistic muse, my art rebel and art inspiration.
We did everything together. Funny, it felt like we were living like twins. He would say a sentence and or an idea and I would finish it, in a unison of thought. We are battle baddies and close friend as much as we are siblings. Growing up is such a hard settings all our lives, with the many obstacles, he was there to keep thinking forward with his art as a balance our escape. Art was everything we talked about, from "yo let art cypher on this black book" or "what your doing today Martha, nothing...so lets paint!" Even the music section in our lives, Tomas the pioneer! He influence my ear taste buds, if that was such a thing. From underground music, hip hop, classical, house, trance, and anything that makes the body move, we was there to expose it to me. Oh Tomas I do thank you, I wouldn't have learn to appreciate it in the way that I do now.
The Break Dance. He again was the one that lured me into the b-boy/b-girl dance off starting from our High school era. Such a rebel.. Tomas danced, painted, and on his very own used his writing and lyrical skills to uplift his dreams to one day be an awesome MC.
Today my older brother is forced to live in a shelter in Manhattan. His goals and dreams are placed in a pause, in order for him to see better what will his role be in the future. If anything this blog is to educate others what life can be.
Thanks to the belief of a dynamic art coordinator and art establish er Sean Bono, I was able to be compensated by my art labor and given so much encouragement via his organization; Art Battles : http://www.artbattles.com
You too can do this! Just believe in your abilities what ever it is.... Just Do It!
Not many people know this, but there is a story that explains why I chose art. Place in mind, that I believe in a higher power, and that there something so much greater then I, is out there. People call it GOD, or the Universe, and any other deity or worshiped figure.
I am writing this because there were a lot of people asking me the same questions, and maybe this will explain my art reasoning better. Thank you for your time and also patience in understanding me and of what I do.~Marthalicia
One Sunday morning, I went to church. I was twelve or thirteen years old at this time, and I remember listening to the priest. I remember the priest discuss a story (a parable) and towards the end of the parable, he explains the lesson of the story.
"Jesus walked through the shore line and he encountered 3 fishermen at different locations. He wanted to give each fisherman a life lesson, in doing so, he gave each fisherman a "gift" ( worth).
*This "gift" worth, was something that represented money at that particular time in history, it could have been sea shells.
Jesus told these man that he will return, and upon his return he will ask what they have done with the "gift" worth and for those that UNDERSTOOD his meaning will join him to the kingdom of Heaven.
Days turned into months. Then one day, Jesus returned. Then he asked the first fisherman "What have you done with what I gave you (The gift that GOD gave you)?, and he said", Nothing, absolutely nothing, I figured you would return and would want it back, so I stayed at home and didn't spend nothing.
To the second fisherman: What have you done with the gift that GOD gave you? The second fisherman said he spend it all. He thought that GOD wanted him happy.
To the third fisherman: the same question. And the fisherman said: I divided the money into two equal portions. One portion I purchased some cows, some chickens, and some food for the animals, the other portion was to purchased grains of rice and seeds for plants to harvest. With this, I was able to mate my cows, to get more calves, and milk for me and my family and also sell them to my neighbors. The vegetable the same, I ate and sold to my neighbors, and as well the chicken for their eggs and meat and sold them. I lived happily in my community and everyone gets what they needed in harmony. "
The priest goes on by saying: God gives everyone a special gift. To others there is more then one gift. It is up to you to figure what your gift is, and it is up to you to understand it and help others along the way. Some gifts are simpler while others are sophisticated. Don't fright or sadden if what your heart isn't content with what you don't have. Figure out what you can do with what you already have. Harness it ( Harvest) so that you can make the best out of your existence here on Earth.
I found purpose to my being that day: The best gift I knew oh so well was and still is ART. Creating. But my question was, how can I Harness and help myself and my community? I took it so personal and so passionately that I refocus my intentions in school and in my furthering my art experience.
I was determined to make art my destiny: That I joined the Army National Guard because I couldn't afford college. Bachelor of Fine Arts. Many people still didn't understand why military. Well folks that is going to be another blog.
Stay tuned for your next episode of the Marthalicia Chronicles, 2008. mm
I remember my father taking me to the movies when I was 10 years old. I remember looking up to him and seeing his expressions while he talked. I remember him being a very strong man, one that always stressed the righteous path of living, but contradict it by drinking alcohol and always had a bad temper.
As I got older, I noticed that he was different, as well I was different. Different in the way we talked and express ourselves. It was my first time I found out that I wasn't 100% Dominican, but also something else. ( another blog to discuss social issues). 14 years old and drawing as usual, I remember asking him about his past. He shared with me unique experiences about his life in Costa Rica, and of his tough up bringing (way too much to tell but I guarantee you will know about it.). This sharing of stories really got me feeling some pride for him and of what I was made of. Cool stuff I thought. What was really "cool" was when he accidental blurted out that he was in the Marines.
Wow, was I taken by surprise. Marines? What made you to join papo? He said he wanted to get out of his country and have a brand new life of adventure and also establish his independence in the North American, New York. What better way to say that he was proud to be a US citizen was to join a military branch. He asked a stranger what was the toughest military brand, and Marines was the reply.
Years passed, and I grew older. My art got better and unique, but those stories of his youth that my dad often told me, always lingered in my imagination. Around this time, I was also dating a friend from high school who eventually enlisted to the Army. I was invited to see his graduation ceremony, and it was my very first time that I actually saw military people. I have to say I was so drawn to the way of life style and rough training, that I found myself memorized. The unity and the tough sounding of communication between soldier and drill sergeants was so powerful and impressionable, that I caught myself so engaged at their every move. My eyes couldn't blink. I was fixated on the beat of the troops, that I too felt so much pride in being the daughter of a soldier. In my mind, I told myself I can do this. I already had martial arts training, how easy it could be for me to just train my body and mind in a totally different way.
I was very naive at first in the realism of life of a soldier and their purpose of their training. All the stories were fantasies and so thrilling, that life and death didn't appear real, but fictional as in TV or stories in books and comics. Although my dad did express some discomfort in telling some rare but never to be repeated stories, it still didn't appear real. I disguise it with the non so important stuff, like the physical training, the excitement of doing something that your mind and body hasn't been placed before, the forced feeling of placing your entire body to its limits. That kind of stuff filled my head. Politics appeared like issues that only "grown- ups " should handle. So I didn't stress it especially during the WAR times, and why is the real purpose of a soldier was. It simply didn't matter to me at that particular time. When returning home, I was impressed visually and emotionally by the ceremony that it stayed in my mind for some weeks. Then again it died out.
School, and Art. And how the military join the two well in my path in life.
Once I reach a time where I had to decide what High school to enroll, I went to a period of hibernation, mentally and as well physically. I was really stressed because I really wanted to do good in school. It was all that my dad talked about. Weeks passed and I had a time limit as to select the school I wanted to go. I pondered a lot. I then retreated to a church on Sunday morning, and I left there feeling totally different. I felt like a new girl. I knew in my heart where and what I wanted to do in life. Art. I was blessed to have had the experience of been given a scholarship. I thought I had this scholarship for the 4 years of school, but I sadly found out that the scholarship was for one semester. I was surprise and so sad. I didn't want to quit because I couldn't afford it. What could I do? Before I had the chance to make a drastic decision, I "accidental" bumped into a friend that enlisted into the military. She told me all about G.I. Bill and how the military gave her money back for just enrolling for 3 years plus. She looked great and appeared so strong. That impressed me tremendously that I decided to go to a Marines recruiter, and make my dad proud. Another week past and that same friend expressed how she really wanted to join the Army National Guard because a soldier under war time, will remain in the States and also work part time as a weekend warrior. I was happy, finally something that I liked to do, something that made my father happy, something that can help me in school. All for the name of ART.
