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The Cultured Pearl

by Maegan Prentice

172 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0405; ISBN 1-55369-592-5; US$18.00, C$22.95, EUR15.00, £10.40

An artistic vision helps eighteen students from around the Pacific Rim break through their cultural barriers to develop a community with deep personal ties.

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About the Book      About the Author      Reviews      Sample Excerpts      Catalogue Info

About the Book There are three Pacific Rim Parks strung around the Pacific. At the center of each park is a large "pearl" covered with white mosaic tiles. These pearls represent the beauty that can develop when two irritants are brought together. In the case of the pearl it is always a grain of sand and an oyster. In the case of Pacific Rim Park it was the cultures of Russia, China, Mexico, and the United States. In 1994 artist/architect James Hubbell and Milenko Matanovic brought American and Mexican architectural students to Vladivostok to work with Russian architectural students. They developed a design for a park on the grounds of Far Eastern State Technical University, then built the park by hand. When the project was complete James made a promise to the President of FESTU, Gennady Turmov, that a similar project would be developed in San Diego. It took four years to develop, but in June of 1998 architecture students from Russia, Mexico, and the United States met in San Diego to begin working on the second Pacific Rim Park. During the first week the students learned to how to listen to each other while they worked on ideas for the final designs. By the beginning of the second week they had become a team. The original arrangements called for four students from China to join the group, but the U.S. State Department refused to issue visas. After three weeks of appeals to the American Embassy in Beijing the Chinese students were finally granted their visas and left for San Diego. Their arrival meant that there were enough hands to complete the physical labor, but the real challenge lay in integrating the Chinese and their official Party chaperone into the creative community that had developed without them. Every participant experienced the discomfort of finding the cracks in their worldview as they confronted their own prejudices and clashed on issues of gender, race and class in order to successfully complete The Cultured Pearl.

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About the Author Maegan Prentice had a private practice as an Occupational Therapist and healer in New Jersey until she and her husband moved to San Diego, CA in 1990. Within weeks of her arrival in San Diego she met artist/architect James Hubbell and became involved with several of his projects. She had been an OT for over 15 years and had no experience in the world of art, or international exchanges, but she was intrigued by his art. More importantly, she enjoyed working with a man of vision. When James helped develop the San Diego-Vladivostok Sister City Society, Maegan became the volunteer coordinator for several visits of Russian businessmen and local officials from Vladivostok. She continued her personal career as an Occupational Therapist, but became increasingly involved in the process of communication, especially between cultures. In pursuit of this interest, she left her position with the San Diego schools in 1997 to explore mediation as a career. The following year she coordinated the volunteers for James Hubbell's new project, the Pacific Rim Park. The undertaking included students from four very different parts of the world, Russia, Mexico, China, and the United States. These students worked, ate and lived together throughout design and construction. Maegan observed the students as they developed their "deep listening" skills and appreciation for cultural differences. The impressions of their experience stayed with her long after they had left. Finally, in 2000, she committed herself to writing about this profound experience in The Cultured Pearl. Interviews with the volunteers in San Diego gave her a sketch to work from, but to fill in the full color and texture of the experience she felt she must understand where her students were coming from. She visited the students at home in Vladivostok, Yantai, Guadalajara, Tijuana.

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Reviews

This is not a mere oral history. Prentice rarely hides behind quotation marks. Where there is disagreement among witnesses, she neither takes sides, nor analyzes the witnesses' relative credibility, nor falls into postmodern relativism. She reports, rather, that there was disagreement, presenting the shared experience from several viewpoints. This book can be seen as a project report (at a rare level of honesty) or as a case study in cross-cultural interaction. But it's really a story of the people - all interesting, and some truly extraordinary - and the changes these five weeks brought in their lives. In some ways, reading it is like getting personal letters from many different participants.

Jerome Kirk
Retired Professor of Sociology
University of California Irvine

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Sample Excerpts

Nikolai Kasyanov and Alexei Parnyakov

In Russia Nikolai Kasyanov's friends had to cajole him to finish his visa application and send it in. He had been insulted by the requests for personal information that he believed should be private, and by the questions asking if he was a terrorist. Here he was offended by the ludicrous idea that, if he were a terrorist, he would be stupid enough to admit it. But eventually Nikolai's application was submitted with the rest. The visas were quickly approved and June 11, 1998 the party of nine left for the airport.

Alexei had been part of the original Soil and Soul project in Vladivostok. Now that he was invited to participate in the San Diego project he could hardly believe his good fortune. Hopefully he would get to see his old friends again. The process of getting passports and visas went smoothly, but not quickly enough to prevent Alexei from worrying that something might spoil his dream. While he stood in front of the official at the airport everything was in order. His exemption from the military was never in question, but he could not help worrying that somehow something would go wrong, that at the last minute someone would say "Alexei. Go to army! No America!"

The official went through his completed paperwork and handed it back while pointing towards the luggage conveyors.

Still being troubled by his imagination he moved quickly, without a word, past the official and the luggage conveyers, out the doors, into a small bus, across the tarmac, up the steps to the plane, and past the attendant who took his boarding pass.

No one stopped him.

Finally, strapped into his seat, he began to feel the reality of the trip ahead as he sighed deeply.

Two days later Alexei felt his heart bursting with excitement when the plane touched the ground in San Diego. He had watched the sunset as they flew in over the city. It had created a silhouette of the downtown architecture and he thought, "My heart will always remember this view of the city". Inside the terminal he saw the huge banner that greeted the students and saw his friend Vivian. He knew they were finally in San Diego as he headed toward the host committee with smiles and grins, while the remainder of the group followed closely behind.

The greetings and introductions were chaotic and confusing.

Now that their long trip and stopovers were over everyone was hoping to be settled into their rooms quickly. They had no idea of the weekend that had been planned for them as they were escorted down to the baggage claim area where they picked up their luggage and received their schedules for the next 5 weeks. Just outside the baggage area everyone faced a group of strangers who were preparing to host them for the next two days.

In the midst of all the activity going on there was something different about Alexei standing there in the middle of the group. He had a childlike spontaneity in his movements, even in the way he stood, the way he smiled. When people spoke to him he responded with a comfortable, interested, naivete that gave him a decidedly American appearance despite his limited English. Alexei's open ease was a sharp contrast to Nikolai, standing off to the side, isolated, not speaking to anyone during most of the chaos. Nikolai's pale blond hair was cut short and business like and the expression of his piercing blue eyes and solemn face were decidedly Russian.

Nikolai and Alexei were assigned to the same woman for the weekend. Her brother had come to pick them up. As the three left together Nikolai's friends were glad to know that he would be with Alexei who was always pleasantly gregarious and capable of making friends easily.

Outside the airport Alexei was wide-eyed when he saw the antique 50's Dodge waiting to take them to Mission Beach. As they headed past Sea World the evening fireworks burst in the sky above them and floated towards them in what seemed to be a greeting.

After a short drive they arrived at Petra Glenn's home where they would be spending their weekend. They were amazed to see that her little one story home sat right on the strand, a cement walkway which runs from north to south through Mission Beach separating the beach from the first tier of homes. Petra immediately made them feel welcome in her home, asking them questions about their homes and their families. With their very broken, unpracticed English Nikolai and Alexei found it a little difficult to answer all of her questions, but they enjoyed finding out about her. She was older, in her sixties and had been a teacher at one time. Now that she was retired she enjoyed opening up her home to young travelers, referring to them as "hippie young people, travelers from different countries."

Alexei felt right at home. He told her, "I was hippie too when I was young man. I grew my hair and listened to Russian and American rock and roll". Their conversation drifted in different directions until she finally asked her brother to show Alexei and Nikolai to their room in the building just behind her home. The room was upstairs, facing the ocean. The stairs were outside so when they opened the door they had a clear view of the ocean through the screen door of the room. Inside the room was just large enough to hold two beds, two bureaus, and a refrigerator. It reminded them both of a small dacha, a Russian summerhouse.

They placed their bags inside then walked down to the water's edge to put their hands into the Pacific and splash water into the air. They did this with a sense of wonder. They were in San Diego touching the same water that touched Vladivostok.

They stood there awhile longer, staring at the sky full of stars and the planes flying over their heads feeling as if there was "some sort of moving civilization all around them".

Nikolai thought about how he had explored the Pacific waters around the Primorski region. Now he was experiencing a very different part of the Pacific. His father had been here in San Diego to participate in an international conference at Scripps Oceanographic Institute. After he returned home he described San Diego to his wife and son. Now it was Nikolai's turn to see it for himself. The experience of his imagination was extinguished, replaced by the experience of his own body, mind, and soul.

Even though it was late evening on the beach there were still many people talking, walking, and jogging past in shorts and T-shirts. Nikolai and Alexei were still in their suits and realized that they must look strange. People stopped to talk to them and told them how unusual it was to see people dressed like that at the beach. It occurred to Nikolai that they might have just wanted to stop and talk, but he couldn't quite understand why.

They returned to their room to sleep with the sound of the waves outside.

Saturday morning Petra took them to eat at an all American diner with a jukebox playing the American popular music that Alexei loved. From there they went to Balboa Park in downtown San Diego where she left them free to roam. For an entire afternoon they explored the park and the San Diego Zoo, talked to a variety of people and felt very much at home.

They began their excursion by looking around for someone to take their picture. The first person who offered to help was an American woman who took the camera and turned it over several times with a puzzled look. Finally she handed it back saying, "What is this? It doesn't work." They did not realize that there was anything different about Russian cameras until an Arab asked if he could help. This man took the camera and asked, "is this Russian stuff?"

They looked at him incredulously. "How you know it's Russian?"

Curiosity turned to amazement when the man replied in perfect Russian. He explained how he and his family had come to America from Armenia. Their Russian conversation lasted for several minutes before the stranger's family began to pester him to continue walking. The Armenian man walked away leaving them standing at the gate to the San Diego Zoo.

Later that same afternoon, after they had spent several hours in the zoo, they encountered a taxi stopped in front of the gate near where they had left the Armenian man. The driver leaned out the window to see if they needed a ride and when they did not quite understand. The driver repeated his question in perfect Russian. As they thanked him for trying to help they became aware of a vague uncertainty. What city is this? What country is this?

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Catalogue Information

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