by Neal Flynn
When Chip Thomas, artist and healthcare provider, virtually visited our class in NYC from Arizona he introduced us to his family. He was alone on the call, but he started off with stories about his heritage and shared pictures of his grandparents and his childhood in North Carolina. Thomas left the east coast in the 1980s and worked as a physician in a Navajo Nation clinic from 1987 to 2023. He began the the Painted Desert Project in 2009, a public art initiative rooted in sharing by connecting “public artists with communities through mural opportunities on the Navajo Nation”. On the call he told us about his lack of artistic training, his passion for DIY interventions, and his interests far outside of medicine in the NYC punk, hip hop, and graffiti scenes.
I was struck by many aspects of his virtual visit. I admired his strategic use of limited time with us. I was inspired by his candor despite knowing very little about us. He asked questions about who we were and what we already knew (what we had gleaned from his website and from information shared by our classmate, Meghan), and assembled a presentation accordingly, on the spot. He was calm, organized, and responsive, modeling the qualities of an expert in patient care. I was surprised that someone with such an aptitude for the fast-paced nature and creative economy of urban life would choose to apply their skills in a way and place that was in many ways the opposite of NYC or another major city.
Chip’s generosity was a reminder that my comfort zone is a limitation. As someone eager to build a more community-oriented practice, hearing from Chip made me aware of how my tendency towards the familiar could be hindering the possibilities of what my community work can be. I thought about how my ‘comfort zone’ limits my work in the community, and could be making my work less meaningful and impactful for others. The more connected my practice is to my own wants and needs the less likely it is to satisfy the wants and needs of folks whose positionality differs from my own. Chip was drawn far away from the places he knew and grew up in, far away from where he studied medicine and experienced his favorite art. In this far away place he built an even more interdisciplinary, more vital practice (and saved lives at the same time). I am grateful for this reminder to prioritize learning and recognize that discomfort might be a norm in that learning.
