#martesparalasartes – katherine stanley obando

Overwhelmed writers unite!

Posted on July 14, 2020November 6, 2020 by stanleyobando

Today’s Boost is an invitation.

If you struggle to carve out time to write – but the LAST thing you need is another thing people are expecting you to do, or to face another round of anxiety-inducing introductions on another Zoom call – then my Zero-Commitment Overwhelmed Writers’ League, starting this coming Saturday, might be right for you. Here’s how it will work:

1. Those interested should send me their email address in the comments or at kstan.cr@gmail.com.

2. I will send everyone a recurring GCal invite with a Zoom link for Saturdays at 11 am Costa Rica time (during Daylight Savings, that’s 12 pm EST).

3. I will then proceed to… NEVER CONTACT YOU ABOUT THIS AGAIN. No reminders or chats. No supportive Facebook group. Zero follow-through, guaranteed. (Unless you really, really, really want an occasional additional nudge, in which case you and I can work out a special exception.)

4. On any given week, if you pop in, we won’t all introduce ourselves or anything. We’ll just say “Hi!” and write – cameras and mics on or off as you please. My camera will be on to keep me honest (you are encouraged to cough disapprovingly if you see that I’ve been seized by a sudden desire to clean the office or sort my Post-Its by size). Maybe sometimes I’ll get a little crazy and put on some coffeehouse ambient noise in the background, or wear a tiara, or get a little creative with my Zoom wallpaper. But basically, I will just sit there and write, for God’s sake.

5. After precisely 30 minutes, anyone who doesn’t feel like chatting can just exit, and anyone who’d like to say something about what s/he’s writing or read a couple sentences can do so. At 40 minutes or so we’ll sign off (or get kicked off if there are 3+ people… one of the greatest things about Zoom, in my opinion).

If you sign up and never, ever come, you will STILL be doing me a big favor, because simply the expectation that someone might be waiting for me on the call will get me there to write every week. (I know, I’m weird, and a full-fledged Gretchen Rubin Obliger.) If you DO come when you can, that will of course be extra awesome. Or if the idea appeals but the selected time will never work for you, I’d love to stay in touch with you about what you’re up to with your writing, because the more writerly accountability and inspiration and prodding I can get, the better.

That’s all, folks!

The poet in Costa Rica

Posted on June 30, 2020 by stanleyobando

On this day in 1893, José Martí visited Costa Rica for the first time.

I went down the rabbit hole a bit on this one and discovered that his visit took place in the context of a very close Costa Rica-Cuba relationship. Costa Rica was actively providing support for the revolutionary movement in Cuba at the time, and even set aside government land in Nicoya to establish a colony, led by Antonio Maceo, where Cuban revolutionaries could refuge and raise tobacco and sugar cane. It was to bring news of the revolution to Maceo that Martí first came to Costa Rica, and he later expressed deep gratitude to Costa Rica for its support.

In honor of this anniversary, here’s a phrase of Martí’s that seems particularly fitting for our own revolutionary (we hope?) times: “Mientras más honda la herida, / Es mi canto más hermoso.” (“The deeper the wound, the more beautiful my song.”)

Feliz martes-para-las-artes.

Fearless Ticas: Mariana, who fights for access and curiosity

Posted on March 10, 2020March 10, 2020 by stanleyobando

As a mother, I hope I never forget the advice that Mariana Camacho Cordero, 29, offers to children in the book “Ticas sin Miedo” (“Fearless Ticas”). She encourages kids to ask away when they see a disabled person in the street:

Mariana was a premature baby, part of a multiple birth, and as a result had cerebral palsy that affected the mobility of her legs and her arms. However, this didn’t keep her from being an active child who crawled or moved any way she could and hated to say “I can’t.” She disliked being separated from other kids and went to mainstream school throughout her education, finding new freedom when she received her first wheelchair in her favorite color, purple.

She was the first-ever disabled student at the Colegio Claretiano in Heredia and went on to study International Relations at the Universidad Nacional, following that up with an additional degree in Politics and Diplomacy. Today, she’s an advocate for disabled women through groups such as the Movimiento Estamos Tod@s en Acción and the Latin American Alliance of Disabled Women. She’s presented at the United Nations in 2017 and continues to work on behalf of the full inclusion of all women in society.

Mariana: I thank you and salute you. And I promise you, the next time my daughter asks questions about people we encounter who are overcoming great odds, your words will be ringing in my ears.

Excerpted and translated from “Ticas sin Medio,” a Kickstarter-funded project published by Dina Rodríguez Montero and illustrated by Vicky Ramos Quesada. Learn more here.

Fearless Ticas: Mirna, the trailblazing doctor

Posted on March 3, 2020March 5, 2020 by stanleyobando

In my year of daily posting about Costa Rica (I’m nearly to the six-month mark!) I’ve often used Tuesdays to feature books, authors and bookstores. This month, in honor of International Women’s Day, I’ll focus all my Tuesdays on highlights from a single book: “Ticas sin Miedo” (“Fearless Ticas”), which I wrote about last week.

Today, meet Mirna Román Rodríguez, Costa Rica’s first Ngöbe doctor. Growing up in the small indigenous village of Altos de San Antonio near the Panamanian border, she says in “Ticas sin Medio” that somehow, “inside of me an idea was born. I thought: I have to study. I have to leave here. I have to show that an indigenous woman can do it.”

After graduating from a one-room elementary schoolhouse of only 10 students, she walked 15 kilometers along a lonely path to the nearest high school, a nearly three-hour journey each way. She would rise at 3 a.m. to get to school by 7. However, she says in the book that her cultural adaptation was much harder than the hours of walking: she suffered constant taunts and only made one friend, in tenth grade, whom she treasures to this day. She also had to significantly improve her Spanish, her second language.

University studies in San José and then Cuba followed, and she earned her medical degree in 2013. She hopes to become an OBGYN and, most importantly, serve the Ngöbe indigenous community.

“Doctor,” she says, “is a word that makes me feel complete.”

Excerpted and translated from “Ticas sin Medio,” a Kickstarter-funded project published by Dina Rodríguez Montero and illustrated by Vicky Ramos Quesada. Learn more here.

The world’s saddest and most beautiful Instagram account

Posted on February 18, 2020February 18, 2020 by stanleyobando

Today marks two years since my father’s death. These 24 months have convinced me more than ever that, if we loved well, we leave behind an almost physical presence when we die – an influence on the minds and memories of others that continues to affect the way they move through the world for years to come.

That’s why the No Estamos Todas project (Not All of Us Are Here) and its account on Instagram or Facebook is both heartbreaking and unmissable. It takes the faces of women whose lives were cut short and brings them into our day-to-day existence: the Mexico-based project invites artists from around the world to create illustrations of the victims of feminicides and transfeminicides. Yendry, from Limón, just 16 years old. Jessica, from Puntarenas, 36. Alejandra, from Cartago, 27. And on and on they go, from Costa Rica, from Mexico, from place after place and town after town.

Angelica and Karla, Mexico. No Estamos Todas via Instagram.

It’s brutal, and yet: scrolling through No Estamos Todas reminds you of the love that remains. The fact that so many talented artists, some who knew the women, some who didn’t, have pored over their stories and worked hard to capture their essence, is in itself an antidote to the feeling of helplessness that is so dangerous when it comes to this issue.

Yendry. Limón. 16 years old. No Estamos Todas via Instagram.

Some of the portraits are solemn, but not all. Look again at Nicole, from Argentina, just 21. She makes me want to cry, but she also makes me smile. She makes it impossible to wallow. She makes the viewer want to do something in her honor. Tramp through the streets in the next protest. Hike over mountains and see the world.

It is comforting, somehow, to know that these women left something behind. Inspiration. Gumption. Most of all, love. But these portraits also show us the power of the living, and the responsibility we bear every morning that we wake up, still breathing. Because if love can be this powerful after death, imagine what we can accomplish while we are still here to paint, draw, write, speak, shout, march and vote.

Jessica. Puntarenas, Costa Rica. No Estamos Todas via Instagram.

That’s what these artists are reminding us. They are building a sisterhood where none existed. They are choosing to show love to people most of them didn’t even know.

That’s what all of us can do when, with every day that passes, we choose the people we honor, even through as something as small as a pause in our scrolling, a smile, a little prayer. A vow to a woman holding flowers in the same valley where I live with my daughter. A promise to an Argentinean, barely more than a girl, charging forward into the world with a bravery we’ve seen in our own children’s faces. A scrambling, passionate resolve to make this stop. To remember them. To love on their behalf, knowing love’s our only legacy.

Natural beauty and sloth love to brighten cold February days

Posted on February 4, 2020February 3, 2020 by stanleyobando

I think that the gorgeous art of Vivan Víquez is perfect for February, whether you’re in the tropics or you’ve got icicles on your eyebrows.

Here in Costa Rica, the sun is out and kids are rushing back to school; traffic increases and the pace of life, so spare and light in January, starts to intensify. City-dwellers who escaped to the country during the holidays risk losing touch once more with the natural wonders we saw. This makes February the perfect time to find reminders of nature, flora and fauna to keep our mind on the outside world, even if we’re spending more time at our desks.

In the places where I grew up, of course, February is very different, and very cold. Part of me will always think of February as a bit of a slog. Winter is getting a bit old, night comes quickly and summer seems a long way off. At times like that, a bright spot of tropical color and Valentine’s Day red is always welcome.

So wherever you are, you should follow Vivian, a 25-year-old artist from San Carlos in northern Costa Rica. She told me that it was in San Carlos that “my enjoyment over nature started; most of my life has been spent in green spaces. I love animals. If I hadn’t studied art, I would probably be a biologist or veterinarian.”

That passion shows the artwork she showcases through her project Corteza Ilustración CR. The projected started when she challenged herself to paint 100 Costa Rican birds. By now she’s painted more than 200 birds, sometimes more than four watercolors per day, and she hopes to illustrate at least some members of every one of Costa Rica’s wildlife families.

Why? “I want Corteza to help make species more visible and educate the public,” she said.

I plan to acquire some of Víquez’s work in the near future, but until then, her posts nearly always bring a smile to my face or an “ooh” to my lips. Check her out on Instagram. You’ll be charmed and comforted, guaranteed.

From ‘Dirt’ to dignity: How to join the movement to promote Latinx voices

Posted on January 28, 2020January 27, 2020 by stanleyobando

Just like that, the conversation has moved from frustration to inspiration.

My post yesterday about the misguided bestseller “American Dirt” was not quite as constructive as I usually like the Daily Boost to be, but our fearless leaders were already miles ahead: the key voices of protest against the novel had already hatched a plan for positive action. The brand-new #DignidadLiteraria campaign aims to revolutionize publishing and get publishers to prioritize Latinx voices.

The founders are writers Roberto Lovato, David Bowles, and flat-out badass Myriam Gurba, whose scathing piece “Pendeja, You Ain’t Steinbeck: My Bronca with Fake-Ass Social Justice Literature” sparked a lot of the current conversation. (She deserves some sort of award simply for starting a headline with “Pendeja, You Ain’t Steinbeck.” You can listen to her starting at about 8:05 on this episode of the Latino Rebels Podcast, where, unsurprisingly, she continues to not pull any punches: as she introduces herself, she calls the book like “a narconovela written by a gringa who went to Acapulco for the weekend… It’s ghastly.”)

#DignidadLiteraria is showing the full power of a hashtag. People are using it to share books you should read instead of “American Dirt,” offer their services as publishers or editors to Latinx writers who have a manuscript that needs supporting, and more. If you are interested in this topic, or just in seeing how people can pull together in the face of something that could have been simply infuriating and exhausting, then follow #dignidadliteraria on Twitter or whatever social media you use.

If your main interest is checking out Latinx writers and journalists, here are the first four that have actually made it onto my Kindle or reading pile after following the hashtag. (I know, Amazon is bad, but one thing at a time.)

“Children of the Land,” by Marcelo Hernández Castillo, 2020 – This is a brand-new memoir about growing up undocumented in the United States. As #dignidad boosters are saying, let’s make this one a gargantuan bestseller! What’s more, a book about post-immigration life in the United States addresses a huge truth that “American Dirt” gets wrong: life after crossing that border is not a bed of roses.

2. “Enrique’s Journey,” Sonia Nazario, 2006 – As I wrote yesterday, this book really did change the way I understood migration. It’s based on a Pulitzer Prize-winning series in the LA Times and is absolutely extraordinary. Like “Children of the Land,” it also focuses extensively on the long-term impact of a migration journey after arrival in the U.S.

3. Um, all of these books in this photo from @booksonthepark! Although “The House of Broken Angels” by Luis Alberto Urrea is calling my name in particular, as is his “The Devil’s Highway.”

4. “Tell Me How It Ends,” by Valeria Luiselli, who was born in Mexico City and grew up in South Africa, recounts her experiences as a translator for child migrants in New York. It sounds like it needs to be read with a stiff drink in hand, but so do all of these books.

The Texas Observer published a list of many more books to read, and #dignidadliteraria will keep ’em coming in the days ahead. What are your favorite books on immigration or by Latinx writers in general? Do you subscribe to any media, magazines, ‘zines that help support writers of color in your community? I’d love to learn more, because it’s all hands on deck to turn this around.

(If you’d like to learn more about some amazing young Costa Rican writers, you can check this out.)

The art of food

Posted on January 7, 2020January 28, 2020 by stanleyobando

If you’ve driven into San José from the east or wandered the mean streets of Barrio California, you’ve definitely seen Quiero Más, the artesanal pasta shop with a portly man on the sign. We stopped in yesterday during a walk, and I was reminded of what it’s like to buy food from someone who is truly passionate about it. A food nerd, if you well. A food artist.

As I walked up to the counter in the tiny shop, my husband had asked for some fresh ravioli stuffed with spinach and ricotta cheese, and he was already deep into a conversation with the friendly don Luis, who was listening to my husband’s plans for the ravioli and offering additional ideas. “I’m just giving you alternatives,” he said, careful not to step on a customer’s culinary toes. “But if you put them in soup, ahhh, the flour in the ravioli thickens the broth and…” His smile finished his sentence for him. He happily showed us the empanada wrappers he sells – I learned a new word, tapas, the squares of pastry dough you can buy fresh and then just spoon in your filling – as well as the spinach lasagna noodles, the ribbons of tagliatelle. The list goes on.

Don Luis wrapped up the ravioli in paper, as carefully as if they were a Christmas present. Because of this, we received it reverently and carried it with great care through the rest of our day, even though normally pasta is something we would sling into a supermarket cart and then onto a pantry shelf. It was the same feeling you get when you leave a farmer’s market bearing tomorrow’s papaya like a treasure.

I’ll be back to Quiero Más, because, well, I want more. So should you, if you live around here and love pasta. But my visit also reminded me of something bigger: that while some of us are trying to go back to small, simple, homemade and local, there are people like the folks at Quiero Más who never left. Here’s to all the people who were on the train of small family businesses, artisanal food processes, organic ingredients and exquisite specificity, long before the rest of us emerged from globalized superstores craving exactly those things. Here’s to shops like this one that have somehow kept their doors open through decades of change, recessions and crises, and the crime spoken to by the barbed wire above the door. Here’s to the don Luises of the world who transform our dinner into an experience that shapes our whole day – conoisseurs of the art of food.

Which books moved you most in the 20-teens?

Posted on December 31, 2019January 28, 2020 by stanleyobando

I know. It’s a tough one.

Costa Rican: I’ve never been able to forget “Única mirando al mar,” the poignant tale of a lonely old man who literally puts himself into the trash and ends up living among the inhabitants of the Rio Azul trash dump not far from my home. It’s since been covered with unnaturally green grass, but the inequality Fernando Contreras Castro portrayed has grown fiercer and fiercer since the book was published.

Other: So, so many. I mean, this was the decade in which I finally read “El Quijote,” finishing it over a solo dinner in San Pedro, crying over the final chapter, eight months pregnant. Things trended much lighter and less challenging after my daughter’s birth; there have been a lot of mystery series, albeit very good ones. I hope to wade back into bigger waves in the 20s.

On this New Year’s Eve, as firecrackers pop all over the Central Valley, I’ll be vowing to read much more in the year ahead. May the coming decade be full of quiet page-turning, luscious browsing, and recommendations swapped among friends.

Day 67: Artistry in the home

Posted on December 17, 2019 by stanleyobando

Today’s Boost is a little ode to the Costa Rican portal. Growing up, we would have a small manger scene, or crèche, on a shelf: a tiny Jesus, kings, sheep, parents. Isn’t it nuts when Mary is standing, by the way, or kneeling ramrod straight? If I just gave birth in a barn after riding on a donkey all day – to a baby who, in a nativity scene, is inevitably the size of a two-year-old – I am LYING on that straw, thank you very much. And probably muttering at the ceiling, because I’d have a few comments for God at that point.

But I digress.

The point is, I’ll never forget the first time I walked into my mother-in-law’s living room in Costa Rica and saw her Christmas portal, or pasito, taking up almost half of the space. Make room in your heart for Jesus? In Costa Rica they see our trite saying and raise us by making room in their houses. Lots of room. Sometimes it’s enough room for an actual woman to have an actual divine baby in there.

The creativity is fun to watch. Markets and stores sell straw and other materials for their construction, along with, of course, the figures, which are supposed to be handed down on the mother’s side. An article in La Nación explained that one reason the portales are usually built on the floor is that traditionally, local fruits and cypress and other natural elements were used. Events that happened during the past year would sometimes be represented. Truly, the sky is the limit.

Here’s hoping that no matter what your religion or end-of-year traditions, this season provides a chance for you to make something – serious or silly, something that will last or something that will be gone tomorrow. Just something to get our creative juices flowing and take our minds off the day-to-day. Something like a portal, that fleeting, yearly chance to build something all your own on the living room floor.