https://www.callinghome.org/contact-location daily 0.75 2022-06-09 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/3e8dd8c9-6f4d-49f4-bc22-79a3bb1f10ea/Urbano_Phone_website_icon.png Contact/Location https://www.callinghome.org/andre-weiss daily 0.75 2022-06-27 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/823bed2c-122a-411e-942f-72ea57f854ca/93FDC70A-C7F6-4855-A87D-D10C7F1C57BB.jpeg Andre Weiss - Andre Weiss New buildings rise everywhere. People pause to look up in awe at their massive size or eccentric sense of architecture, but that's all they do. They then look back down and continue walking, continuing their everyday lives. But they don't pause to look down—to take a moment to acknowledge that this most likely used to be a space that housed people, maybe others just like them. People who needed a place to stay—a shelter—to develop their lives independently or with others. A space that was torn down, given to those who didn't need it as much as those who built their lives on what doesn't exist anymore. I used to be that type of person. As I grew up, I would be the one who would only look up, unaware of what was happening in front of me. I'd admire these marvelous buildings in Allston that would boast their eco-friendliness, their access to commute, their modernity, and sometimes even their proximity to culture. As time progressed, I learned more about what was really happening. These were "developments," buildings made by rich people who spent a lot of money attempting to obtain the land. I still didn't know what gentrification was, but a definition was forming. Next to the apartment I grew up in, I watched two buildings get absolutely demolished in the early 2010s. One was a residential building, and one was what I remember as a car mechanic shop. Erected in their places were two eco-friendly apartments. Eco-friendly, though? Feels like an ironic description. The ecosystem includes people. Shouldn’t that include communities? But it doesn’t focus on the community. It destabilizes the community in a myriad of ways—it displaces residents that had established a life there, it increases the rent and brings people from outside the community—it changes the community. The community eventually ceases to be a community. Nobody knows each other, supports each other, shares common experiences with each other—it never existed. But all I understood at the time was that they were just pretty buildings. Looking up their prices when I was young, I was naïve to believe that $3200 for a single bedroom was affordable. I was only ten years old. My understanding of money was limited, so I thought it was possible. I ran to my mom, pleading to her that we should move, as it would be so much better. I thought that living in a newer, furnished building with a variety of amenities would be an amazing opportunity. She calmly replied with a no, that it’s a nice idea, but we couldn’t. I didn’t understand why at the time. I knew she was hard working and could do it, but I just went on with my fantasy of living there. Fast forward to high school. I became more cognizant of race as an issue, with disparities between communities and so much more. What opened my perspective was tenth grade, reading a book by Matthew Desmond called Evicted. One quote that always stuck with me was: “The rent eats first.” As I came to learn more about gentrification, I simultaneously began to understand issues with racism and their intersectionality. It was a harrowingly revolting experience. The cognition was there, and I felt like I had to do something. Anything. And so, I started with a video project I made in 10th grade. I teach youth in Boston about gentrification through organizations like Teen Empowerment or One Bead. Now I’m here, making art as well, to keep pushing that narrative, one that may finally bring change to Boston’s housing. So that my mom and others like her get housing that suits her and what she can afford. www.instagram.com/axdreweiss https://www.callinghome.org/flaviadesousa daily 0.75 2022-06-27 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/7823b7d0-adde-43b9-b911-1714196bb7a8/CALLINGHOMEpic.png Flavia DeSousa - Flavia DeSousa After a long, exhausting, and traumatizing trip from Brasil, we made it to Somerville, Massachusetts. Growing up here was like a dream come true to me as a child. Just me and my 25 year old mom living on Jacques street in her friend's basement trying to make do. Walking down busy Broadway to the Star Market to get some cold brownies they kept in the fridge. Riding my bike to Foss to get some fresh air and maybe even a swim if I was feeling brave—Foss pool was gross. I’d get home to some street I could never remember the name of, tired from the long day we had cleaning wealthy people's homes and I’d plop on our queen-sized bed to watch endless hours of PBS kids. We’d go to Sultana on Broadway and get all our food and household items from our country. They always had fresh meat, Portuguese speakers, and all the Brasilian goodies we left behind for a life of Stop & Shop and housing insecurity. We’d get home to Walnut street and get straight to cooking! Arroz, feijão e carne, our usual! We would go to that tiny little cramped shop every few days to re-up. Just the essentials, or at least the ones not covered by food stamps. Soon my baby brother was born and going up the 3 flights of stairs on Gilman street with strollers, diaper bags, and the weight of knowing we’d be moving again soon was exhausting, but we made it work. Raising my brother was a job I took very seriously. After all, as the first-born daughter of a Black Latine immigrant household, it was my birthright to raise those who came after me in order for my family to continue having an unstable roof over our heads. Mom gets home from work to Nashua street and I finally get some time alone–that is, besides the bugs. I loved that house because I never felt alone. From the snail sanctuary I made in the backyard, to my best friend living across the street, to the bed bugs our cop landlord refused to get taken care of, life was never dull. Turning 12 on Pinckney street was a blast! I had a puppy-themed party and it was only interrupted by my landlord banging his keys into our window at 10pm once! He would do that a few times a week with ridiculous requests or to collect rent on random nights. This was the house I went through puberty in and where I pulled all-nighters with my best friends. The last time our landlord banged on that window was to collect rent that was hundreds of dollars more than he had asked for a few months ago, so it really felt like home. Riding over the footbridge or past Louie’s just to sit in the sun at Foss and learn the cup song with my best friends. Getting home with scraped knees and an empty stomach to Pearl street was familiar. I had my own room, shared only with the rats our landlord told us were not actually there. Coming into middle school, becoming a teenager, being allowed to take the bus alone to hang with friends—could it get any better? Of course it can! With the super community-centered build of Assembly Row, stores, and a movie theater oh man life was gonna get so cool! Our landlord agreed, raising the rent as soon as she could. Turns out the rats were just trying to warn me about our impending move, but I knew. The only constants in my life growing up were the fears of deportation and the knowledge I’d be moving. My body had no home. I could never rest. At any given moment, I had to live somewhere else. From leaving my home and beautiful life with my mom in Conceicao for the sake of my future, to moving every year for the sake of our survival, nothing was ever as solid as I had to be for my family. All I have ever wanted was a home. All I ever wanted was to be able to rest but had we earned it? Did we not work hard enough? Why is my family not deserving of rest? https://www.callinghome.org/jillrosati daily 0.75 2022-06-27 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/906f3b66-5977-41b9-a44a-0cfb1504f957/Imagine+a+Place%2C+2021+-+Jill+Rosati.jpg Jill Rosati - Jill Rosati The Creation of Arts District Boston Boston shaped me. I grew up, made friends, and became myself in Boston. It's where the people and memories I love exist. But in 2019, I was priced out of my home. I was never able to be an artist in Boston. Even with the skills, resume, and work ethic, there just aren't opportunities for art. I took odd jobs. I was a union laborer, security guard, fruit seller, and art teacher. I always had four jobs at a time, many roommates, and worked nonstop for causes I didn't care about. Every cent I made still went to rent. Arts District Boston was created to elevate the arts in Boston. It is an online gallery dedicated to serving the local art community. We connect artists to each other and to opportunities and we provide a platform for independent artists. ADB features a local artist every week. We host local art shows, community crits, sketchbook meetups, free online art classes, artist interviews, and public art initiatives. There needs to be more of this in Boston. I started Arts District Boston during the pandemic to reignite discussions about art. Art is everywhere and yet artists remain undervalued. Boston would be nothing like it is today without artists, but Boston continues to underserve and push out the community that built it. Artists move to other cities and Boston prefers to import its artists from elsewhere. Somewhere along the lines, creating public art and art spaces became something the city seems to push back against. Arts District Boston is a scream into the void, "Let us have art!" www.jillrosati.com www.instagram.com/artsdistrictboston https://www.callinghome.org/krystlebrown daily 0.75 2022-06-27 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/b1e56276-db50-4efe-b4a4-feb03d83c7d4/Screen+Shot+2022-05-23+at+5.27.14+PM.png Krystle Brown - Krystle Brown Telephone My Mom had a hard time remembering the names of all the streets she grew up in; everything she could remember about her childhood was fragmented, like shattered glass on the pavement. As a child, I asked her where she grew up the same number of times she moved. She would always say, “I don’t know, I don’t remember anymore.” She and her parents moved every time they ran out of money and would go to the next apartment in Dorchester, Mattapan, or Roslindale, I think. It’s hard for me to remember the details too. Here is what I do remember about Kathleen’s childhood: She lived at Olney Street in Four Corners, Dorchester, for a time. I always thought it was “Only” street until I looked it up. At four years old, she saw the last man of the Brinks Robbery get arrested across the street from her apartment. She would say this fact with residual excitement as if it happened a few months ago. My Mom and her parents would go to Tenean Beach, where she almost drowned three times. From her near-death experiences, all of my mother’s abled-bodied children learned how to swim at a young age. Her hands bore railroad track scars that stitched skin together. When she was six, she fell over a fence while playing with her friend, June, and lacerated her hands. She sustained smaller injuries while helping my grandfather pick metal scraps for money. Those scars were cataloged on her hands too. Twice, a man in a Buick followed her around the neighborhood. She had to run through backyards to escape him. Because of her, I have a heightened sense of my surroundings. Each time my mother moved to a new apartment, she left something behind. A doll, maybe a photograph, sometimes a memory. I guess, in some ways, it was part of a family tradition. Her mother left behind a whole country, an ocean away. My mother died unexpectedly seven weeks after my father’s sudden death in 2017. Now, all of her memories live in me, though they have become harder to access since her passing. Re-telling them feels like a game of Telephone, blurring what is remembered and what has been created by my brain to fill in missing pieces. You, too, live on in the memories of where you reside. Maybe my mother left behind pieces of herself everywhere she called home. So that, in every place that you or I live, we are imbuing each space with small fragments of ourselves. https://www.instagram.com/krystlebrown_art/ www.KrystleBrownArt.com My mother is the child pictured on the far left in the photograph, shared by her childhood friend, June. https://www.callinghome.org/kylehart daily 0.75 2022-06-27 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/cb4f2af1-b316-4ecc-838c-5ce2fabb5f64/KYLE+HART+IMAGE.jpg Kyle Hart Kyle Hart It Can Happen to Anyone Imagine you have a home with your family. A place where you are all safe, warm, and protected from danger. You have a job that’s stable enough to pay the bills, put food on the table, and set aside a little bit each month for the future. Maybe you want to spend it on a down payment for another place, or take a vacation to see your cousin in Florida. Maybe you want a little nest egg just in case. It doesn’t matter, the point is that you have the opportunity to save disposable income. Now imagine that it’s time to sign a new lease. Your landlord and you have a friendly relationship. You’ve been great tenants for years and, for the most part, your landlord is kind. They haven’t raised the rent in the last five years, maintenance is taken care of fairly quickly, and any concerns you have are heard and addressed. …but your landlord tells you that, due to higher housing demand in the neighborhood, including changes to local establishments, he has to raise the rent to the average rent of a 2 bedroom + the 4-6% standard year-over-year increase, which in 2023 is predicted to be around $2.682. This creates a situation of intense stress, having to scramble to either scrounge up money you don’t have or find a new place to move. You begin to look at apartments around your neighborhood only to find they are the same price, or higher, than the new price offered. The most affordable place you can find is now three towns away. You worry about uprooting your own life and the lives of your loved ones. It would be a drastic change for all of you. But sadly, you have no choice. This can happen to anyone. It’s an experience that impacts far too many people in this country. I’m deeply empathetic to the housing inequality crisis that faces innumerable families and people every year. It mainly impacts poor people and people of color by design, but at the rate we’re going it can happen to anyone who isn’t ultra-rich. Generally, the practice of wealthier people moving in, “improving” housing and new businesses, and displacing the poor current inhabitants in a process is called gentrification. It’s a phrase we’ve all heard but is not easy to identify the root causes. There are many historical factors that led us to the place we are today, but think about how it impacts all of our neighborhoods on a larger scale. This practice removes any semblance of the melting pot mentality that our country was founded on, but diverse pockets in other parts of the city prove we can coexist. In our very own Roxbury, Puerto Rican, Haitian, Dominican Republic, Jamaican residents bring traditionally African cultures to an area also shared by historically large immigrant populations of Jewish, Irish, and Latvian. Now imagine if every neighborhood could boast those same bragging rights? How great would it be to celebrate all of these cultures equally? Gentrification removes the opportunity for true diversity in culture, eating establishments, and neighbors. Sure, some people might want every neighborhood to look and sound and feel the same, but I think the majority doesn’t. We all benefit from sharing experiences and ways of life that are not similar to our own. That’s a textbook example of how we learn, grow, and understand that we are all a part of a much larger oneness called humanity. I’m grateful for the ability to work hard and afford a place to live, but I’m also empathetic to situations outside of my experience and understanding that cause fellow humans a great sense of stress, discomfort, and sadness related to housing. It seems like this empathy may be lost on some politicians, landlords, and the never-ceasing system we’re all a part of. Imagine if there was not only federal and state legislation, but monetary incentives for landlords to create affordable, rent-capped housing in ALL parts of the city. Imagine if these structures were set up with the same care and consideration as high-end high rises, with the hope to provide people with some breathing room to rent comfortably and save up to achieve their other life goals. Imagine if each block of the city housed a rainbow coalition of people with different skin tones, life experiences, and ways of looking at the world. Imagine if our cities were geared towards keeping people out of poverty and reinstating some much-needed empathy that sometimes people fall on hard times and need help, that there is no such thing as unskilled labor, and that our neighborhoods deserve to be diverse. Logic and observation tell me that if we continue to live in cookie-cutter bubbles, without having the opportunity to experience new things and provide opportunities for all walks of life to thrive, we all lose. In that model, where gentrification runs rampant and uncontrolled, people will continue to suffer and we cannot idly standby without recognizing and confronting the deep injustice this causes to our fellow humans. www.kylebhart.com https://www.callinghome.org/landesmith daily 0.75 2022-06-27 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/09ee3be3-b362-4509-8339-73fe3789444e/C2FCF47E-4417-43C0-9348-9922FE3C2FDC_1_105_c.jpeg L Ande Smith L Ande Smith Calling Home - The Right to Saftey Life rarely goes as planned; mine certainly hasn’t. Despite growing up in the Baptist church, which is very big on “works,” my father ran a mission growing up. I spent many afternoons after school and on weekends bagging beans and rice for the family bundles, restocking the food pantry, or sorting clothes in the thrift store. I shared many hot meals at the mission with local homeless and transient people and later participated in our town's version of Habitat for Humanity in high school. My family was still surprised when I turned toward socialism. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how far “to the left” I am. I have rarely heard an argument for socialist reforms that I think isn’t more ideal than what we have now. My concern is about how we get there. In Christianity, I was taught that we work towards being as Christ was. It took me a long time to read the gospels again in any kind of positive way and not be flooded with religious trauma. Christ had little interest in material possessions. Christ cherished the poor and chose poverty. He worked with his hands as a carpenter. Christ valued friendship as highly, if not more highly, than romantic relationships. Though queer readings of the gospels would infuriate and blush the cheeks of my folks, I can’t help but see [Christ’s relationships as so many queer friendships], now). Home. A word made for comfort but wrought with pain. When we are not allowed to be seen as worthy because of our differences from our family, be it (dis)/ability, queerness, or neurodiversity. When trauma has made us difficult, the word “home” feels less familiar and more like a place that exists only in movies. “Home” is supposed to be safe, but the reality is too many people are unsafe in their own homes. We all deserve the ability to rest, to truly rest, without the anxiety of whether or not we’ll be able to have a place to take that rest. Housing, then, is a fundamental human right. Housing here refers not just to a physical place but also to the ability to live one’s life safely– to be left the hell alone, save by those we choose and by our neighbors. As an agoraphobe, I feel this acutely. That’s part of the problem for me: feeling things acutely. Acute PTSD is the technical diagnosis I was given for insurance purposes: “acute” as in active, daily; it is still difficult for me, on my worst days, not to see myself as more than my trauma. My physical ability to plan long-term has been damaged by this trauma [and by ADHD and other health issues]. Repeated trauma has left me struggling to function in society. I don’t come from money, but from the aspirant middle class [Marx called “petit-bourgeois”]. In my adult life, I have lived primarily paycheck to paycheck. My agoraphobia makes my home (mainly my studio) a haven and prison. My studio is full of plants and everything I need to make almost anything I can imagine, and most importantly: it’s a sanctuary for me as an artist and a place of healing. Anxiety, panic, tension headaches and, migraines, hypervigilance –are my frequent companions. Outside, these symptoms follow me, whether it is fear of harassment on public transport, an odor that triggers a flashback, or migraine on a regular enough basis (despite treatment) to make it hard for me to leave the house even when I want or need to. The days when I have a panic attack at the thought of leaving the house are the hardest. Neighborhoods and neighbors have little overlap these days. I love my neighborhood but don’t know any of my neighbors. Why bother getting to know one another when the expectation of people moving in the next rent cycle because they could just barely afford it to begin with? Rent control could potentially give us the stability to cultivate relationships. This is why parks are so important; green spaces, safe spaces for creative collaboration amongst neighbors. A place to cook together, to grow together. How are we supposed to know and support one another without knowing each other's stories? www.instagram.com/seafoamispretty https://www.callinghome.org/michalshilo daily 0.75 2022-06-27 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/46b35406-d1bd-4905-94b9-ce2b6d5a0ea1/Leaving+Bishop_MichalShilo+%281%29.PNG Michal Shilo Michal Shilo I Opened the Door After their home was foreclosed, my mother recounts the experience of the constable knocking at her door and handing her a court summons. [Knocking on the door] My heart was beating faster…and I opened the door and, and he said you know you didn’t pay..you had to pay, I don’t know, five days the..the rent. And uh, you didn’t. I was sent…So I said, yes I know. So he says, I well (he saw that) I’m not very cheerful, so he said, you know, he said... I said, I know. So um well, he said to me, I was sent by your… the one that bought this place, so I’m doing what I was told to do. And then you said.. Okay, thank you. That’s all, yeah. He saw that I am..irritated, not very happy about the situation. So um, he didn’t say much he just in a way, you know, I’m doing what I was told to say and I was sent by the one that bought the place and that’s it. (So I said okay. And that’s all. Yes, and he left, and that’s all.) And then he went, yeah. Then I said yeah, oh my god why, why.. I just heard the..and I was in a different world with my head, and I went right away to open the door. (Because many times..) Oh, many times that there was a knock on the door I did not always go and open the door, so this time you know I just were deep in my thoughts, and I went and opened the door. And then I said, oh my god, why did I open the door? I said..to you. And uh you said, oh no..that’s good. But it’s very unpleasant to know something like this, that (and that’s all.) My husband was in ICU and uh, yeah..it was you know after major surgery and uh.. Yeah so, my head was somewhere else and you know, I subconsciously went to answer the door, and uh that’s what I had there, and uh..yeah, yeah so.. We were there like thirty years, or so? (I think something like that) Yeah, like thirty years we, we paid the mortgage there, and uh yeah..we, we left. https://www.callinghome.org/nabila-anandira daily 0.75 2022-06-27 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/3e8dd8c9-6f4d-49f4-bc22-79a3bb1f10ea/Urbano_Phone_website_icon.png Nabila Anandira - Make it stand out Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference. https://www.callinghome.org/sanjanaprudhvi daily 0.75 2022-06-27 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/da0b8ae8-52aa-4b78-a2c2-d3e66d0efead/Sanjana+drawing.jpg Sanjana Prudhvi - Sanjana Prudhvi NEW Report: Gentrification and the Housing Crisis of Boston: How does Homelessness affect accessibility to healthcare? While many Bostonians continue struggling to find housing, the city is trying to help some of those priced out. “The community has been disinvested over time, and that has deteriorated the population's social, economic, and political conditions. When wealthier people move in, money is reinvested into the neighborhood, but the original inhabitants are economically locked out of wealth creation. In a sense, this becomes another form of colonialism in the United States.” However, gentrification is a nationwide issue, affecting individuals from across the country, not just in Boston. For example, it is estimated that over 2,000 people experience homelessness on a given night on the streets of Boston, without electricity, running water, or even a place to put their trash. In 2019, Los Angeles had over 50,000 individuals experiencing homelessness, over 60% of which have experienced physical disabilities, serious mental illness, and substance abuse disorders. In other words, healthcare is also crucial for helping to uproot the homeless epidemic. However, hope is not lost: Humanitarian organizations like Boston Health Care for Homeless Program and Westminster Free Clinic in Thousand Oaks, CA, aim to improve the health of individuals affected by poverty. Such programs ensure uninsured individuals have access to comprehensive care. https://www.callinghome.org/resources daily 0.75 2022-05-14 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/1652556727413-DVOUX7JVTIA9TEUYX64G/Screen+Shot+2022-05-14+at+3.31.57+PM.png Resources https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/1652557102188-ED9O1IKVW85QFUQEAXS8/Screen+Shot+2022-05-14+at+3.38.10+PM.png Resources https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/1652557388775-7W64LC94DOHQGPQK806R/MAHALogo.jpg Resources https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/f2b57f6b-1e64-4121-a4b0-f0c2711735b0/Screen+Shot+2022-05-08+at+9.04.03+PM.png Resources - Finding help in the Greater Boston area https://www.callinghome.org/about daily 0.75 2022-05-29 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/6c6cf337-303d-466b-b711-13a117fbaada/Screen+Shot+2022-05-09+at+9.20.49+PM.png About - How can democracy exist when people cannot afford housing? Boston is one of the most economically unequal cities in the United States, placing at number 7 in the country with a 14:1 ratio between the top 5 percent and the bottom 20 percent. The Greater Boston area is also the 16th highest cost of living of 383 metro areas defined by the Census Bureau. The housing crisis is combined with rising inequality, which has locked out many middle-class and low-income Bostonians from owning a home - a pathway to financial stability. Democracy cannot exist where inequality festers. Calling Home is a response to this emergency. Organized and facilitated by Boston/Salem-based artist Krystle Brown, Calling Home is made with direct support from the Urbano Project. The participants in this project range in age, race, ethnicities, gender identities, sexual orientations, and live throughout the Greater Boston area. Some are recent newcomers to Boston, some immigrated here when they were young, and others can trace their roots back to this area for generations. Throughout our ten weeks together, we have faced illness, school deadlines, family support issues, work commitments, and unexpected death. Together, we have observed Egleston Square’s psychogeography, beautiful murals, inaccessible “public” parks, and a very friendly black cat. We have shared personal stories of mental health in isolation, leaving home and family, and building community in a time where community is hard to find. Central to our workshops and meetings have been: “How much longer can I afford to live here?”, “How can I help my new community?”, “What is a solution here?” This multi-faceted problem requires multi-faceted solutions, starting from the federal government all the way down to you. The solution is more housing. It is more affordable housing. It is more public housing. It is better and expanded public transportation. It is some form of rent control. Not just here in Boston but across the Commonwealth. And across the United States. What is offered through Calling Home is a chance to listen. Through these nine stories, you may hear some parts of our own life repeated in others' voices and words. We are not alone; our struggles are common. Together, through community, we are stronger than any force than can pull us apart. This project is dedicated to my late mother, Kathleen Ann Bowen Brown, who grew up poor in Dorchester, Mattapan, and Roslindale. And to the late Danielle J. Abrams, who told me, “you always shoot from the hip, and that’s a good thing.” My deepest thanks to: Andre Weiss, Flavia DeSousa, Jill Rosati, Kyle Hart, L Ande Smith, Michal Shilo, Nabila Anandira, Sanjana Prudhvi, Sarah Xu, Aisha Donna, María Fernanda Mancera Pérez, Gina Lindner, Stella Aguirre McGregor, Guy Harris and the Egleston Square Library, Cara Solomon and Everyday Boston, Denise Delgado, Darin Murphy, and my husband Andrew Goldman. “Urbano Phone” logo by Kyle Hart. Spanish translations by Gabriel Sosa. https://www.callinghome.org/community-response daily 0.75 2022-06-27 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/1656363786945-NFAWT7JA18OQ6A8TQDPF/Screenshot_20220627-165954_Instagram.jpg Community Response https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/1656364275556-5GVN3YMSRXMBV26YW3VS/Screenshot_20220627-170548_Instagram.jpg Community Response https://www.callinghome.org/callinghome daily 1.0 2024-06-01 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/625cad2f5d245d76930bea59/d73bad10-1e9e-4093-9043-d8ac1509bed1/Phonebooth_rightside_withsign.jpg Calling Home - Calling Home A collaborative, digitally interactive public art installation at 1951 Columbus Ave, Egleston Square, Boston. From 2022-2023. By Urbano Project Artist-in-Residence 2022: Krystle Brown Collaborators and Participants: Andre Weiss, Flavia DeSousa, Jill Rosati, Kyle Hart, L Ande Smith, Michal Shilo, Nabila Anandira, and Sanjana Prudhvi.