Six stitches and many lessons gained.

I feel very lucky to have been able to see him perform, and even luckier to live in world where his music exists.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the problems with professionalization or the problems that institutionalization brings to professions.

I think the main issue of the divide between professionals and, for lack of a better word, outsiders, is privilege.

Some voices, ideas, hell, some people are valued more than others and that is the nature of the beast. We know that in our society, there are just some things that are given more value than others. African, Asian, or any traditional folk medicine (including those here in America. I have two deeply Southern parents; ask me about the much-derided “old wives tales” style of healing.) won’t be considered legitimate until someone else says so.

The insitutionalization of art frequently makes it inaccessible and irrelevant to people outside of the academy. Why should art, any art, be contained within an elitist system? What good is it? And if someone protests that someone needs to protect art from being dumbed down, well–such comments echo/smack of the idea that the “unwashed masses” have such plebian tastes, they can’t be trusted to know what is good.

Ah, the art world, as much as we’d like to believe that artists could create a more egalitarian society, they just don’t. I learned that at Burning Man. A place full of artists still relied on the most basic, the most hurtful, and frankly, the most stupid stratifications. And also by its essential structure, Burning Man sets itself up as a playground for the privileged. Honestly, who else can afford those tickets but people whose first concerns aren’t basic necessities. (Not that Burning Man is some indication of the art world as a whole, and I don’t mean it to be a stand-in for the “art world”, just an example.) I think this attitude is why we see so many stories being appropriated. Think of the recent scandal with Margaret Seltzer. This is the story of many people of color, and somehow it’s not seen as worthy of telling until told by a white woman. It’s an experience that has been validated just by who’s telling it.

In my own life, I’ve seen my words stolen and passed along as someone else’s. It hurts. But, I knew where I stood in that equation; young, black, uneducated, working class < middle-aged, white, highly educated/credentialed, professional class. What could I have said? What could I have done? And, would I have even been believed? This is the life for those without privilege. We watch our ideas, our stories, and our voices be appropriated and validated by someone else. In my case, I think my silence had more to do with the fact that I was working for a cause I believed in deeply. Do I still? Well, obviously, less so now. But, as a pattern, it’s more than just me, and more than just one cause, or one idea, or one history. As an outsider, it’s knowing your point of view doesn’t matter.

I guess I don’t have any real conclusion to this–only that I think it’s a tragedy to see art corralled into the academy. History lost touch with the people a long time ago; I hope art doesn’t do the same.

I agree, it is a tragedy but what to do about it? In my  job at a fancy pants college, I’ve seen people of color and/or outsider voices being paid lip service. It’s wonderful for the students to read books by and about people who aren’t like them. I applaud that, and I’d hate for it to stop. But it almost seems like it’s done just to say they’ve done it. So that later, when someone calls them on their privilege, they can say, “I can’t be racist/sexist/classist, I’ve read James Baldwin/bell hooks/Barbara Ehrenreich”(for lack of a better example, my brain’s about to shut off, this is most the most thinking I’ve done in a long time).  They’ve studied the words without ever asking the questions, or having the simple interactions, or as Jess points out, finding the connection between art and real people.

I’m not particularly hopeful, although I try to be, that the academy will ever be willing to look past credentials (or lack thereof), and start valuing stories and experiences.  I want that to be true because I know there are voices out there that aren’t being heard, and stories that won’t get told.  I think we all make the steps forward by calling it out when we see people being marginalized. 

Dick Cheney says: “I don’t give a fuck what you think.”

Aja says: “Not much longer now. . .”

That is a truly depressing thought. Living each day, knowing that the things you do will never, could never be appreciated. What would be the motivation for continuing to do the work you feel like you’re meant to do?  Especially when you’re convinced it’s all for a future that you won’t belong to.

In my own life (though I make no claims that the things I’m doing will ever make a difference, now, or long after I’m gone), there’s work I want to do, and it all feels hopeless. How then, do the truly gifted, how do they keep going? How has this world not swallowed them, engulfed them in all the “can’t”s, “won’t”s, “impossible”s. Carried them away to wherever it is that dreamers are forced to go when everything around them tells them that dreamers aren’t welcome here.  I want them to teach me how to survive.

I have a book called “The Beautiful Ones Are Not Yet Born”, and I used to believe that the title was a truism;  that somewhere there was a future waiting, and the ones who were going to figure it all out just hadn’t arrived yet.  But lately, I just don’t think it’s true. The beautiful ones are here, among us, and somehow they have figured out how to navigate this hostile world. They have figured out how to keep doing work that enriches, complicates, challenges, all of us.  Sometimes the world just doesn’t know what to do with all that beauty.

-George W Bush

“It’s nice to be nice, to the nice.”

-Major Frank Burns

I can’t believe that it took me so long, or that this was the stimulus needed, but I finally figured it out. We elected Frank Burns president.

You can’t. Please, for your sake, and the sake of every person you’ll ever meet ever, don’t even try. Everyone won’t like you, and if you attempt to be the type of person who wants to make everyone like him/her, you’ll just end up being the kind of person that no one likes.

You’ll be the person with no definable personality. The person whose ideas and beliefs change on a whim. You’ll be the person without a opinion (unless, of course, someone else shares an opinion you can co-sign first). You’ll be the person without a voice, and why in the hell would you want to be that person?

Now, there’s a chance that this person is looking for advice on how to make everyone like him/her in the “how can I make every person the same as me” vein. If that’s the case, well, what can I say, you probably won’t be liked much then either, only this time it will be because you’re an insufferable ass.

Every year my plan is to give more that I take. To create more than I destroy. To bring joy into the world, my life, and the lives of others. I failed miserably this year. I’m having trouble creating a meaningful life when I’m not entirely convinced that life has any particular meaning. I look at all I have; a roof over my head, a job (actually, two jobs), but somehow it’s not enough. I want to know how to create a life that’s more than just existing. I want I life that is creative, and giving, and fulfilling. People have music, art, writing, literature, kids, science, whatever- a thing that makes them open their eyes each morning, renewed and confident that their “thing”, whatever it is, is why they’re here. What does that feel like? What does it feel like to have a purpose?

So, to our tens of readers, (most of whom don’t comment, but I know you’re reading. I am all knowing, like a god, but cuter . . .) what’s your thing? And can I borrow it?