The homeless were always there. On subway grates. In doorways. Heloise Gold grew up with the homeless hovering on the edges of her landscape in Queens and New York City.
“We didn’t call them ‘the homeless’ then,” recalls Gold. “They were tramps. And the message from adults was to ignore them and pretend they weren’t there. That’s the way so many people in New York dealt with what was going on around them. They’d talk about being compassionate and then they’d pretend not to see.”
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It wasn’t until high school that Gold stopped pretending. “That’s when I started giving them money,” explains Gold. “I couldn’t figure out anything else to do. But I think, on some level, I was beginning my understanding of the human condition, how that person on the street is me. And I knew I had to do something.”
Fast forward 20 years, during which time Gold becomes a dancer, performance artist, and tai chi teacher and moves to Austin — not necessarily in that order. One of her very good friends is Beverly Bajema, also a performance artist. “We had read this really inspiring book about a woman named Sweet Alice, a secretary in Los Angeles. She had this office and people would come there and talk and she just listened and she made a difference in their lives. And we said, ‘Come on. We can do that. Let’s go get in there with people in a way that we never had.'”
So Gold and Bajema showed up at Helping Our Brothers Out (H.O.B.O.) when it was located at the corner of Fifth & Lavaca (the current Antone’s location) and started handing out sandwiches and performing office duties. “We chose the homeless because they are the most disenfranchised group in our society,” says Gold. “They are the most extreme example of our neglect. They embody all the parts of ourselves that we don’t want to deal with: mental instability, weakness, powerlessness, filth, pain.”
After a month, they had the idea to do an art class once a week. “Nourishing the creative spirit and soul in each of us is a vital part of being a human being,” says Gold. “I just don’t feel good when I am not creating. When I am, I feel alive.” Giving people who are homeless that same chance to feel that creative vitality had to be a good thing.
It makes sense intellectually, but walking around the lobby of H.O.B.O. and asking people into an art class the first time, Gold admits she thought what she was doing was a little frivolous. After all, these were people who were struggling with their next meal and where to sleep safely for a night. Drawing for an hour seemed outside the realm of necessity. “But that wasn’t a line of thinking I wanted to follow,” says Gold. “Art is important.” For everyone. Even and especially for people who are homeless.
That was in 1990. Gold has never flinched in her commitment or looked back.What has changed is the size of the project and the people who work with her. A few months after Gold and Bajema started their Tuesday noon class, Bill Jeffers joined them. A year later, Christy Pate came on board. About two years ago, Marilyn Yank joined the crew.
None of them actually teach art. They provide the space, the paper and different media, and the encouragement that anyone can draw or create. Anyone. It’s their right. Helping people claim that right instead of teaching them a technique is what makes this project unique. And what draws volunteers to it.
Yank had just come from California when she joined the group where she worked in expressive arts therapy. “I knew how powerful the combination of art and healing was,” says Yank. “Part of it is doing the art and seeing something you create fill a page. But another subtle part of the healing is the relationships you build with people.”
Pate couldn’t agree more. “You know, when I was a professional artist, one of the things I loved was the control I would feel in creating something. Everything on the canvas was the result of what I was doing. I know that’s had an effect on each of these artists.”
As the number of volunteers grew, so did the momentum of the class. More homeless people were coming to the class and more of their work was filling the walls and portfolios. Gold and her crew took the next natural step of putting on an art show and sale. They approached frame shops to donate framing, rounded up food from area restaurants, contacted the media, and in November 1992, the first Art From the Streets Art Show and Sale hit the streets.
Audience response was very gratifying. In all, about 200 folks came to the show and purchased $1,500 worth of art. Every cent went to the artists whose work was purchased.
Because Gold was familiar with city’s cultural contracts program, she decided to apply for funding for the next show as well as for art supplies for the class. The visual arts peer review panel has enthusiastically supported the project for five years.
Because of that support, both the classes and the shows have grown. The class now meets two days each week at noon. More and more artists stop in to draw. More and more artists are represented in the show. More and more people show up. More and more money is raised. This year, over 900 people came to the show and over $25,000 went to the artists.
“These shows make a big difference in the artists’ lives,” says Jeffers. “Of course the money makes a difference. But I really think that seeing your work on the wall and having people react positively to it has a big effect. Self esteem. Pride. But also the accomplishment of producing a body of work.”
“Also the artists have become more involved in producing the show,” says Pate. “Each year, they take a little more responsibility in getting the art ready, in pricing the work, in keeping track of their pieces. It’s exciting to watch.”
At the center of that growth is Gold’s commitment. But she would rewrite this profile to throw the focus on Pate, Jeffers, and Yank. “I couldn’t do any of this work without them,” says Gold. “No one should ever take on a volunteer project alone.” Gold is adamant about this advice. And correct. Anyone who decides to dedicate themselves to a cause can’t do it alone. On one level, friends, spouses, employers, and even clients all have to be supportive. But on a more practical level, one simply should not work alone with groups or individuals whose needs are greater than you can fulfill.
Taking her own advice, Gold is always looking for more volunteers because there is a natural attrition.(Bajema left the project in 1995 for a job. Jeffers only works on the art show. Yank is taking a leave of absence.) “A guy came to the show who’s coming to class,” says Gold. “It seems like he really gets what we’re doing. I don’t know. He might work. It’d be great to have another guy. We’ll see.”
Lindsey Lane is a writer living in Austin who volunteered at Art From the Streets for a number of years.
This article appears in December 25 • 1998 and December 25 • 1998 (Cover).