Spoken Word Artist: Gabriela Garcia Medina

At first glance it may not be obvious that this small framed girl has the orating power and self confidence of a seasoned artist in tune with her life’s purpose. In reality she is a 26-year-old woman who captures the imagination of her audience, has them laughing and rooting as she maneuvers through a rhythmic incantation about a mother’s magical powers or a feminist’s view on love. Her voice pierces the walls of engaged venues and she leaves them wanting more.

In this week’s MD Spotlight, meet Gabriela Garcia Medina, a spoken word artist mixing stories, poetry and emotion to convey messages of hope, revolution, identity, love and so much more.

How did you get into poetry and spoken word and what attracted you to it?

There have been a few stages in my life that were detrimental. [First], my family left Cuba in 1989, and went to London. One of my school field trips was to a soup kitchen [to] help homeless people. I didn’t understand that there were people who didn’t have food or homes [at the age if ten]. I cried at home and the only way I stopped crying was by writing a poem. My family started nurturing me to keep [writing].

When I was 15, there was an event at Columbia University in New York where children from around the world applied for a summer program: I got chosen. I spent my 16th birthday in New York City - spent it in development workshops. [One] field trip was to the Nuyorican Cafe and I saw people older than myself doing spoken word - not poetry but not hip hop [either]. I said, “Wow, I totally want to do what they’re doing.”

When I graduated high school in Europe, I came to UCLA for college in 2001. My first and second boyfriends were poets and one was a Def Poet- he was getting paid. I realized then that I could make a living out of my poetry.

What is the typical process of getting a poem from your mind onto the stage?

There are two different ways I write a poem. One is the structured way - I’ll get commissioned by an organization. They give me a theme, time and money. I have freedom as to how I write the poem but the idea and theme is [provided].

[Then with] every interaction I have with people, in the back of my mind I know that I have to write this poem. Everything that I do, I try to relate to my poem. I might be having a rough day, [and] writing is a way I heal. Maybe I [will] have a conversation with you today about something that changes my views then I go home and write a poem about it.

[My poems are] usually 6 minutes [in length] like the “Magician.” I memorize them by reading them over and over again on stage. When I’m getting on stage, I tell myself that everything I have to say is valuable and positive. That kind of affirmation helps me memorize what I wrote. Not everybody has the opportunity to get up on stage and share their thoughts. I tell myself to honor that opportunity–it’s almost a prayer.

What do you call your style of spoken word?

I’ve seen in poetry [that] people are influenced by each other. The artist amalgamates and I try to grow and expand the style in which I write. I never want to be one style. I don’t want to be the angry revolutionist. I’m tired of the poems that get people angry and riled up but not inspired to do something. I want to inspire people to feel great about who they are and feel empowered about who they are and do something. Now I’m thinking: how do I tell stories?

Slam is competitive poetry and I don’t believe that people should judge your art. [In slam competitions] you write for the audience because you want to get that perfect 10. You stop writing for what your spirit wants to say and for yourself. That style is very dynamic, which is good and very performative, but you’re not writing for yourself anymore. [Your poetry] stops being genuine.

How do you remember your lengthy poems?

I meditate for a minute before getting on stage. I get nervous when I do shows in front of thousands of people. So I tell myself: “You have this amazing opportunity to get out there and touch these people. You can get scared or you can really do the best you can.” I pep talk myself and it really works.

What are you working on right now?

I’m working on two poems and editing one. It’s called ‘At least I’m a good poet,’ [and] it’s about not knowing how to cook. The underlying story is really deep. In life, you can be good at as many things as you want, but you have to commit and try and know that you will get better (that inspires people). [It's also about] identity. Just because I’m Cuban, I don’t have to eat pork fat, love Fidel and smoke cigars. Your identity doesn’t have to be applied [onto you] by outside factors - you define it yourself. I’m talking about being a Cuban vegan and cooking Cuban vegan food [but also about how] it wasn’t working out. That one is almost done. I’m working on memorizing it now.

[Also] soap operas, like Stella Novela, [are a] part of our culture [and] I grew up listening to [them]. My grandparents, aunts and the whole neighborhood in Cuba listened to them. They shapes our identities as women and machismo as men. It’s a sad perpetuation of how the media want our people to look – light skinned, light haired. Now I’m using humor more – people listen to it more than anger. [The poem is] about how this has shaped our identities as women and Latinas.

The next poem I’m working on is about the declaration of hope - about revolution, social justice and spirituality. How I moved from anger, going to anti-war rallies to a more proactive and creative place, but it’s just as reactionary. You can affect more change if you can be proactive and creative about what you want to build, not destroy. People say what they’re against when you ask them about their politics - but what are you for? What will you create and do when war is over? I’m struggling right now because I don’t want to get preachy - I’ve written it four times and it’s not ready to be born yet, which is okay.

What sets you apart from other poets?

I have my own unique voice and style that I continually try to grow out of and into something else. A woman, person, activist and spiritual person - that’s hopefully reflecting on the subjects I choose to write about. I’m always changing and evolving. There are a lot of good poets, but they fall into one style; that’s good but it has an expiration date. I continually try to go outside and try something different. [I] always try to expand my style and voice – I want to redefine that rhythm that I use in my poetry while I’m trying to continually grow.

Biggest challenges up to date?

Right now with my writing, my poetry career has taken off really fast. I’m very lucky to be living off my poetry right now – it’s a big deal. I wasn’t prepared for so much success so quickly - it threw me off balance. I haven’t had time to write because I was in production and performance mode. I haven’t been able to edit a poem for 5-6 months. I’m booked until Sept. 2010 - so if you want to bring me out to your school, you have to talk to my agency.

It’s great. I don’t want to complain but it’s important for me, knowing I’m in my next stage as a performer, to know that I have to write. I have to write in a safe place, where my mind is open. Two hours in a hotel room in Memphis, Tennessee is no the place to write about the woman you met at the sweat shop in downtown L.A. Now my challenge is to move forward in this stage – I see my challenge as an opportunity to grow.

What do you like most about what you do?

I get to meet incredible young people all over the country - they’re like sponges absorbing ideas. I get to present ideas [of] alternative forms of culture and empower them – give them ideas that are bigger than them. Hopefully they will go out and do something ground breaking. Everyday I’m around people with different beliefs - it’s not easy. I like to push the envelope.

At social justice events, I don’t want to write only what they want to hear. And I love that I can do this full time – 4-5 months a year I’m performing at schools. The rest of the year, I can do what I want. [I can] teach at a girls’ school in Monrovia, California, take a class or do things that I’m passionate about.

What do you like least about what you do?

What I like least is that I spend very little time with the kids I speak to.

I wake up at 5 a.m., take a plane at 6:30 a.m., and get into a city by early afternoon. In 3 or 4 hours, I get to a hotel, drop off my stuff, and get ready. Then I do a performance, do a Q&A show, get back to the hotel, drive over to the airport, and then fly to another city the next day.

I don’t like that; it doesn’t give me time to connect with friends in a community, and I can’t root myself. I’m not always on - I’m always genuine and 100 percent myself, but I’m not always on. Sometimes I’m going through something, and I want to be in my room, meditating [while] burning incense. Lately I’ve felt inauthentic because of it. But now I realize this has become a job. I have to be a performer, and I have to be that performer when I’m on stage.

What are your most notable milestones?

I’ve had a very interesting life: I’ve seen the world which has made me compassionate about all people. I graduated college in ‘06 – I almost didn’t want to graduate. I was very political. I had to go through that phase to get to the next phase – [I was] developing as a writer.

I don’t like the idea of milestones – that means that there are certain stages in life that make a big impact and others don’t. I view my life as very fluid, changing and evolving, letting me move forward.

My family is completely displaced. I grew up in Cuba. I visited Tehran, Iran in 1995. It was very life-changing – I was visiting my dad who was working there. I loved the country; it was different from what I was used to.

This last summer I cycled across the country – from Oregon to Virginia. It was very humbling physically and emotionally. It was a very empowering experience. I got to meet a lot of interesting people on the road – I was humbled by there compassion.

We’re influenced by the people we come in contact with in life – I’m excited for the AIDS life cycle this summer. I’m cycling from San Francisco to L.A. to raise money for AIDS from May 31 to June 6.

This is not like [before]; it’ll kick ass but it serves a different purpose. It’ll bring awareness to my family and friends that even if there are hard times right now – as much as we’re struggling – there’s always someone struggling more.

My agency is based out of Minneapolis; we communicate via email and a shared calendar. I block off dates I don’t want to work. [So] I’ve blocked off April 29 – Sept. 15. My dad’s coming over from Argentina, and I’m flying him out to spend a month with me. I’m [also] going to Thailand and Cuba.

Any particular moments from a show worth mentioning?

I have a pet peeve: when people have phones on during a show; it totally throws me off. Sometimes the audience doesn’t realize how affected we are by their energy. While we’re there, we’re exposed to them; it throws us off if they’re texting or checking their phones.

Best practical advice to pass along?

[Because my family is composed of ] first generation immigrants, they prioritized my education. They were disappointed when they saw I wanted to be a creative person [and] not an engineer, doctor or lawyer. I didn’t have their support and had to fight for it.

I get to do [spoken word] for a living and full time. The interesting thing is that my aunt is an engineer, and she’s worried that she’ll be out of a job. Here I am writing and I’m not worried for the next two years. People will try to use fear to make you not do what you want in life, and as long as you don’t succumb to that fear and really believe in your work, you’ll make it. People will pick up on your genuine work, support [it], and be a part of your life.

What did you do before you got into poetry?

[I did] theater in UCLA, and I double minored in Chicano and African American studies. I started a clothing line, sewed myself, toured and set up booths with a friend. I worked as a tour guide and project director for an art outreach program. I always worked with youth and have been committed to them.

Favorite pastime outside of work?

I love to cycle and salsa dance (the Cuban style not L.A. style. It’s not as showy). I do it full time with friends at a Culver City Brazilian bar. Poetry used to be my hobby during college – now that it’s my life and career, I found I need to do something else [as a hobby]. Dancing is like praying, meditating and [expression].

During a tour, I Google vegan restaurants, Bikram yoga studios and look for a place to go dancing after shows. You can’t put me in a box.

Do you have any mentors?

Not that she knows me, but I love Alice Walker – she wrote Temple of my Familiar, my favorite book.

My favorite author is Octavia Butler – I’ve read all 20 of her novels, because she too can’t be put in a box. She was a 6 foot tall black woman and a science fiction writer. She was a pioneer – she was brave enough to write about something she was passionate about.

Favorite book?

Temple of My Familiar and So Far From God

Passions in life?

Creativity and art and using them to heal, empower and make a proactive difference.

What inspires you to stay in this field every day?

I realize I’m doing the right thing, and I sleep like a baby. That’s a good thing. Every morning, I’m excited to live my life and fulfill my purpose. My goals will always change and grow but that’s my goal. Every morning it’s reaffirmed.

Who would you like to meet one day?

[I would like to meet:] Muhammad Yunus [who won the Nobel Prize for establishing a microcredit movement in the developing world]; Michael Pollan, who wrote the Omnivore’s Dilemma; and Lila Down, who is the Mexican Billy Holiday and sings old Mexican mixed with political music. I’d also like to meet President Obama, the whole Obama family, as well as Paulo Coelho, who wrote The Alchemist.

Who would you like to be contacted by?

I want to go into different proactive organizations, empowering women’s organizations, group homes, social entrepreneurship and micro-lending organizations. As much I love doing college shows, I [also] like to do venues that have less funding but are doing social justice work.