Enlarge Flora Snow and artist Luis Enrique Alvarez talk about their creations.

Posted: September 23rd, 2009 Rhiannon Fionn-Bowman

Amazing things happen when you bring seemingly different people together. For instance, it's likely you'll find they are much more alike than they are different.
On Sept. 19, Urban Ministries held it 8th annual art show and silent auction, hosted by its ArtWorks 945 program. Proceeds from the sale are split with the artist and the program.

The center, founded in 1994, is an interfaith organization serving poor and homeless people with, as they put it, "love, compassion and tangible help that comes in countless forms."

"It's great for both the community and our neighbors," says Penny Mann, ArtWorks 945's director. "The community gets to see what we're up to and our neighbors receive validation."

By neighbors, Mann means the homeless who tuck themselves away in plain sight all across the Queen City.

The event showcases talented artists, who also are homeless, while drawing people who might not otherwise cross paths.

My grandmother, Flora Snow, was in town, so I thought I'd take her with me. She was raised during the Great Depression on a ranch in Nebraska where the minority race was Black Elk's fading Lakota Sioux tribe, who, according to grandma, was full of troublemakers and alcoholics.

Today, she lives in Montgomery, Ala., where, as she puts it, "The city's all black now."

I'm not sure she hears herself when she says things like that and I don't think she would consider herself a bigot. In fact, I don't think she'd consider herself anything below completely pious. She and my grandfather dutifully donate to charity and volunteer at a soup kitchen. They pay attention the news and bear witness to today's troubles.

Despite that, she remains somewhat removed and uninformed about many of the issues facing today's urban poor. And, frankly, so do I. And I believe, so do most of us.

I'd never been to the Urban Ministries Center and didn't know what to expect, but I wanted to expose both my grandmother and myself to their good work.
I was happy to see the crowd necessitated overflow parking.

It tickled grandma when Charlotte's favorite urban biker popped a wheelie for her, his decorative CDs sparkling behind his seat.

My heart ached as we walked past a dozen, or more, homeless hanging out outside of the center's gate.

We waved. They waved back. We smiled. They smiled back.

As we walked down the hill to the center's entrance, we admired the colorfully painted wall that lines the parking lot and the sunflowers towering over their community garden. Folk musicians played, their songs occasionally punctuated by a train's whistle.

The art was, as grandma put it, "Full of inspiration and color."

She followed me around as I gathered quotes and took photographs, content to observe me as I worked.

Liz Clasen-Kelly, also with ArtWorks 945, described one of the artists, Sylvia Thomas, to a crowd of interested art buyers. "Her dream is to be an art teacher," she said of the homeless full-time Central Piedmont Community College student. "She's a woman of great courage."

Once outside, I began to seek out the artists. I wanted to know what this event felt like for them.

Luis Enrique Alvarez, an artist whose work was on display, says selling a piece of art would be great, but mostly he wants to share. "I'm happy I'm able to express myself on paper and have people see it and take it in."
Grandma stood by, listening.

"To me," says Alvarez, "Urban Ministries is a place where I can come and practice self expression." He credits them with keeping negative street influences at a distance.

As we continued our chat, I introduced him to my grandmother, "Luis, this is my grandmother, Flora."

I explained that my mother is an artist, but the message got confused and he thought I meant grandma. As I started to correct myself, she corrected me: She is an artist. She makes quilts.

That's when she pulled a battered photograph of her latest work out of her pocketbook and handed it to Alvarez.

The two of them talked for several minutes, both admiringly complimenting each other on their artistic accomplishments.

I stood there, amazed, watching a multitude of invisible boundaries vanish, realizing that's what Urban Ministries is all about.

The night was a fiscal success as well. Mann says more than 250 people attended and 31 artists, together, sold approximately $8,000 worth of art.

For more information on what they're up to and how you can help, visit Urban Ministrie.s

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