Art helps bring a divided Chicago neighborhood together
The sixth-graders, from opposite sides of the street, sat in pairs, a list of questions before them: “What do you dream about?” “Do you think about dying?” “Are you scared?”
Their task was to learn about one another — and differences surfaced quickly. An African American boy from a public school pulled up a pant leg to show where a bullet had pierced his calf. His partner, a white boy who attends a private school and lives three blocks away, was shocked and saddened.
The 40 or so kids who had gathered found common ground, too: a love of family, sports, animals and video games; a wish to succeed.
“I dream about having a big dog and a big, giant house.”
“... that I’ll get into college and get good grades.”
“... that I’ll always have my friends.”
Charlie Branda walked around and listened. This is what she had had in mind when she opened a small art studio on Chicago’s Sedgwick Street, a street in the Old Town neighborhood that unofficially separates black and white, people who have money and people who do not.
The area had mostly white residents until the 1950s and ’60s. Then African Americans and Puerto Ricans moved in. Today, on the west side of Sedgwick, it’s mostly black families. On the east side, mostly white families. Both sides are lined with metal fences and gates.
Branda is not an artist. The 53-year-old simply wanted to get to know her neighbors and connect the two sides of Sedgwick. She had moved with her family to a two-story house on the east side of Sedgwick in 2008.
At first, she joined with neighbors to demand that the city and landlords do something about drug-dealing and occasional gunfire. But she also spent time walking around, greeting strangers from Marshall Field Garden Apartments, where 3,000 families, mostly black, live.
In 2013, a young African American father from Marshall Field was shot and killed while on his way to get diapers. It happened just steps from Branda’s home. She couldn’t shake the idea that she didn’t know the family.
Branda had been reading a book that mentioned how art had helped someone find his way in life. She began telling people that she wanted to open a neighborhood art studio and later presented the idea at community meetings. She inspired Adell Thomas, a longtime resident of Marshall Field, who quickly decided, “I want to be part of that.”
A few others joined them, and in October 2015 the Art on Sedgwick studio opened across the street from the apartments.
The first classes, including cartoon drawing and embroidery, were small but consistently attended. Last year, an effort known as “the kite project” brought together sixth-graders from two schools in the area, the private Catherine Cook and the public Manierre Elementary. The kids were paired off and instructed to interview one another, asking questions such as “What do you dream about?” Then came a portrait session; the photos were later made into kites.
Share this articleShareThere were some tense moments, but eventually, the kids began to mix, chatting or teaching one another hand-clapping games.
“A group of white kids and black kids playing together — you really don’t see that nowadays,” said Eric Evans, an eighth-grader at Manierre.
With each community event, more people have trickled into the studio.
“In some ways, I feel like we’ve accomplished so much in terms of building community and maybe changing the discussion,” Branda says. “On the other hand, I feel like we’ve just barely scratched the surface.”
There are people on both sides of Sedgwick who aren’t so sure the neighborhood’s divide can be bridged. Eric Evans’s mother, Sherise McDaniel, still sees separate worlds.
“I would consider Charlie the exception. Charlie is like a vein connecting those people to us and us to them,” says McDaniel, who is African American. “I love this neighborhood. ... I love this city. I wish it loved me back.”
Branda still walks the neighborhood and greets residents. Outside the studio, a few kids from Marshall Field run to hug her, as they often do.
“Hi, art teacher! Hi, art teacher!” they shout. Branda wraps her arms around all of them, closing her eyes as she squeezes tightly. She still doesn’t consider herself an art teacher. But she is their neighbor.
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