The Art of Building Community

Originally published in Noteworthy – The Journal Blog

I say hi, I smile and speak. But I’m not accessing the heart of it, still.

I mean to ask if we really know our neighbors. Mine are steps away and farther than I had imagined.

Over the course of two years, the cost of LA living has circulated three families in the unit behind me and whisked away two, leaving me with pleasant interactions but a sense of community that’s fleeting and disjointed. The rainbow macaw that used to sit perched on the balcony next door has since left. The sun is high here, and sometimes we forget, so is the turnover rate.

What becomes of connections is discouraging. People come and go quickly and conversations even more so. Large, metropolitan, LA is a fast-paced, ever-changing matrix. We become so used to people leaving, or simply moving, that we refrain from interaction. Fear takes hold, like habit.

I admit I’ve felt guilty for falling into this habit myself. My job in PR requires an ability to network and mitigate fear. Every time I’m at an event, in a conference room, and every time my hand reaches for the ringing phone, my job is to be reassuring — to spread awareness, build trust, and most importantly, develop community.

But if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that public relations begins intimately. Your ability to create community on the job is reflective of the one you’ve built in your own neighborhood.

On my way to the office, there is a digital screen plastered on the back of a small sign shop; it glows several pounding animations of the word “SIGNS,” in a rainbow of colors and neon circles, transient effects and all. In many ways, it’s hardly noticeable, but once spotted, the sight of it is magnetic and strangely alluring. And sometimes, mapping the road back to community requires such things — signs.

Little, extraordinary reminders.

When Fairfax resident Rita Tateel transformed her neighborhood carob tree into a fairy garden, the response was overwhelming. Random strangers began adding to the whimsy, supplementing the garden with figurines and messages that uplifted everyday passerby. Neighbors who would otherwise walk on stopped to share their appreciation. A network of community suddenly sprouted like gargantuan carob tree roots.

Camera in hand, I catalog the same movement happening in my South Bay neighborhood. There’s a pink castle and bed of heart gems by Catalina with a sign that says, “take one.” A few blocks down, a cute wicker neighborhood connects by a popsicle stick bridge. Its sister town is a few feet away, where the rainbow windmill blows. Laced with tea lights, fairies, gem trails and hidden castles, the largest one flanks the ocean.

In the 15 minutes that I take pictures, three people approach me to say this was their first time ever noticing such gardens and how much they loved the discovery. We talk and get to know each other. They all leave giddy. An older couple sits by the largest one, smiling like the valentine figurine nearby.

There were no cold calls, no emails — just an organic rush of people, conversation and self-assurance.

While seemingly trivial, the impact of these gardens can be thoroughly measured. And I realize that the positive reaction shouldn’t surprise me. What’s made possible in art can be mimicked in life — so it goes with these fairy gardens. Like the bonsai trees that inspired them over a 100 years ago, the gardens serve as manifestations, emphasizing the possibility and power to change the surrounding world. The resulting creations, however small, translate — in this case, into something as large as community.

The point, however, transcends gardening. For PR, these small undertakings create an active practice of storytelling, filling in vital gaps in person-to-person interaction and community. Above all, they bring back the friendly neighbor mentality that remains forever necessary.

And to the colossal world outside of PR, small uplifting projects can be the bridge to building a truly connected neighborhood. These projects take many forms that go beyond fairy gardens, like local bookshelves, lemonade stands, food banks, co-op farms and more. Choose your cause and make your mark. The options are limitless, so start small, build slowly and create artfully.

No submission to fear.

You’ll be surprised at how quickly you get to know your neighbors when you throw seeds of inspiration into the surround.