Thursday, August 27, 2020

Civil

Had a friend post on Facebook this morning about how we just can’t seem to do anything but yell in each other’s faces, right now.  We can’t seem to compromise.  Listening is out the window because we are just trying to win whatever argument we are in, just looking to make points. 

He asked when it will end.  And I don’t know.  I’m trying to see things in terms of, collectively, where this movement will take us.  Will our emotional exhaustions force us to take breaks from social media and see its power decline?  Or are we too addicted?  It’s an unprecedented level of connection which allows us to share personal feelings and day-to-day struggles at a level we’ve never experienced before.  It feeds into our instant gratification and (literally) gives us little dopamine hits throughout our day.  I vaguely remember the same sort of uproar when TV went cable.  Kids addicted!  Moral outrage! Maybe they weren’t wrong then.  Maybe we aren’t wrong now.  But I have to believe it will level out.  People will learn how to manage this new beast. 

But if they don’t, I think we will see a reactive surge of agrarian life: more connection with nature, more space between people (social distancing?), and an emphasis on self-reliance.  Americans have been moving to cities, becoming a more urban community consistently since the Civil War.  This might be the time to turn back.  With pandemics ongoing (and in the pipeline) and food-borne illnesses happening due to long food storage and travel times, I see more small farms popping up. It’s a kind of reaction, a swing toward balance.

And that’s where I’m hoping we are heading, back.  Not back like MAGA back.  I feel like that is foolish, solipsistic nostalgia that completely ignores our problems in the past and the damage they caused others.  However, I am talking politics.  Correct me if I’m wrong, but I remember that a candidate used to be pretty moderate to get the most votes, but since Newt Gingrich got nasty to get his Speaker position and the Democratic party saw the writing on the wall and ousted moderates like Zell Miller, the middle has gotten smaller and smaller.  There used to be more room for common ground.  The middle used to be big enough for both parties.  I’m hoping we can get back there.  Or start a third or fourth party.  But I feel like we’ve almost gotten as far to the right or left as we can without breaking our representative system.  I want to keep the system, but let it do its thing.  (I’m looking at you, Mitch.)

To me, that’s the real question: can we keep the system?  The system is inherently flawed.  It was made by men a long time ago, after all.  However, it was built to be flexible, to change.  We can vote new representatives in.  We can appoint new judges.  We can amend the Constitution.  Our government is a reflection of ourselves.  Right now, we are pretty darn ugly.  Our government represents our personal inability to get past making our own point.

This is where I want to talk about civility, things like civil obedience and civil discourse.  I do not think civility outweighs justice.  Justice ensures civility.  Civility does not ensure justice.  Some of the memes and comments I see online start with something like “If they would just…” follow instructions or not commit crimes or not burn things or be quiet or … behave.  There are a couple of things that get my back up about this kind of comment.

First, who is “they”?  It automatically tells me that the speaker sees the context as us vs them.  “They” is some sort of unnamed, differentiated group that makes decisions, not as individuals, but as a group.  One person is automatically seen as representing an entire group.  I don’t want my decisions to be attributed to every person who is like me.  I don’t represent all women.  I don’t represent all whites.  I don’t represent all Americans.  I don’t represent all former Republicans who are going to vote Democrat.  My actions and words belong to me.  I am responsible for them.  I can and should be held responsible for them.

Second, those comments seem to suggest that following the rules will bring about change for the people who need it.  Historically, that’s just not the case.  American history especially proves that to be true.  We are a nation of misfits and weirdos who didn’t fit in anywhere else in the world.  We literally created our own country because we didn’t like how everyone else was running theirs.  We did that by causing endless problems for England.  King George wasn’t listening to us, so we got increasingly violent.  Eventually, they sent troops to keep us in our place.  The troops roughed us up, threatened us, imprisoned us.  Eventually, they killed one of ours and that did it.  America doesn’t have the moral high ground on this one.  Our history is one of rebellion and in-fighting.  Change came from raised voices and bloodshed. 

People like to point to MLK Jr. and The Freedom Riders as peaceful agents of change.  Yes. From a marketing perspective, then (even more than now) black and brown Americans had to actively combat their image as less smart, more primal, and unequivocally dangerous.  They literally had to make white people see them as human, rather than animal.  Now, the letter of the law acknowledges everyone’s shared rights.  Some laws do this better than others.  However, the actions of the law are still carried out by (not just white) people who suffer from bits and pieces of those long-held beliefs that some of us are more dangerous than others, even when we do our best to really think about these ideas.

But after laws were changed and people of all colors kind of settled back into what felt comfortable, even when groups who clamored for the rights they deserve began to enjoy some freedoms, when black and brown people “behaved,” they still got hassled, beat up, arrested, kept out of management, told they couldn’t live in certain parts of town, set up for predatory lending.  Good behavior did not equal more opportunity.  In some cases it meant less, because some folks just want to keep everyone in their place. 

That feeling, of wanting to keep someone in their place, is not confined to race relations.  I do it with my kids when I don’t feel like I’m getting the respect I deserve.  Josh does it with me when don’t take his word on a “fact” without documentation.  I see it between moms when one mom dares to encroach on the greatness of her kid vs. another kid.  It’s a very human thing to protect our status, our safety, what we are used to having.  I don’t think it is wrong, necessarily, but I do think it needs to be explored.  Underneath it is fear.  It is a symptom of loss of control.  Just like when I do this with the kids, my first (and often explored – sorry kids) impulse is to get louder and exert my authority.  I punish. 

In creating a scenario where I compare my own discomfort with my teenagers pushing back on my authority with our nation discomfort with protests and violence, I have inadvertently made the protesters little teenage punks.  I don’t want to say that.  Their rage (yes, rage) is totally understandable.  I think about my own Karen-y rage that creeps up when things don’t go my way.  Silly things.  Stupid things.  Stuff like not getting served in a timely manner or someone not behaving in traffic.  It is the SAME RAGE I feel toward my kids when I am not getting the respect I deserve.  I cannot imagine the rage I would feel those stupid, silly things were actually big life-changing, life-threatening things.

What I am trying to say is that I understand the discomfort, the pushback.  I’m trying to be honest about how the news affects me, what it does to my blood pressure and my feeling for my fellow Americans.  What I also want to say is this: I think my feelings of wanting safety and security matter less than doing the right thing.

Strangely, that’s kind of hard to write.  I’m pretty protective of my feelings --and, let’s be honest, my stuff.  I’m assuming that most of the folks reading this feel the same way.  I’m allowed to feel the way I feel!  Don’t mess with me and mine!  Totally true.  But I still will put doing the right thing above that.  Maybe we essentially disagree about what is the right thing.  Maybe that’s the problem.  I don’t know, though.  I feel like we all agree that people should be treated with understanding.  I think we all agree that wrong-doing should be investigated and punished, the same across the board.  Maybe even we can all agree that our current behavior really isn’t working for us. 

So, while I don’t agree that civility should outweigh justice, I hope that we do not give up our ability to improve our justice system by civil discourse, even if that temporarily results in civil discord.  I want to believe in the America where we engage in improving our system even when it goes against the grain, rather than protecting it because it feels comfortable.  So I’m working on listening and directing my rants into blogs no one will read.  I’m reading more and stepping back from screens.  I’m looking out the window and reaching out to friends.  I’m reminding myself that change is the natural order of things, not staying the same.  I’m looking for the good in all of us.  Please don’t let us down.

Sunday, January 5, 2020

Small Time


I am a small-time artist.  I don’t say that to insult myself.  Actually, it has only been in the last year or so that I’ve been able to own up to calling myself an “artist.”  I used to call myself a painter or just say I was artsy.  I say that because it is an honest assessment of where I am.  I will never be a Banksy, Jean-Michel Basquiat, or Yayoi Kusama.  I'm not tearing up the art scene in SoHo or London.  I'm a suburban housewife who can't seem to not create stuff.  I think that stuff is pretty good.  However, I really struggle with how much to expect from myself.  Am I good enough to put myself out there?  If I think I am, I risk a certain level of delusion and possibly alienating a future resource.  If I don’t believe in myself enough, I risk losing an opportunity. 

I’m proud of where I am.  Please don’t get me wrong.  I am absolutely thrilled with the progression of this art life.  In several years, I have moved from being a mom of young kids who occasionally hacked out a couple of paintings in the lawnmower storage area (one lightbulb hanging from the ceiling) to being able to paint nearly every day in a “real” studio space, complete with doors, windows, and many (many!) light sources.  I sell through friends, friends of friends, friends of friends of friends, and complete strangers.  I'm in cute shops.  I'm in galleries.  I am no longer losing money (yay?) and though I couldn’t pay our mortgage, I might have been able to pay for our utilities this year, maybe our groceries.  Groceries are a big deal.  I do have a 14-yr-old boy, you know. 

And although I can acknowledge I’m small-time, small-time is bigger than amateur – or non-existent.  For the first time, I have expectations for myself.  When I didn’t have any expectations, every tiny success was a wonderful surprise.  Since I’ve started this path, each year I sell more, participate in more shows, buy more materials.  What happens when I have that inevitable down year?  I invite this trouble because I had a down December for the first time ever.  A great year!  A miserable December.  If you didn’t know, 4th quarter for artists is pretty much go-time.  Usually.  It’s like Prime Day, for a month.  I make small pieces, create ornaments, and print cards.  I have open houses and take new work to galleries.  And this year?  Crickets.  It’s tough. 

It’s tough – and it is discouraging.  I don’t do well with discouraging.  On top of that, I didn’t get into a show that I really wanted to join.  I’ve been working on this big series of mixed media pieces that I love and really have enjoyed making.  I was hoping they’d get to debut together at this show.  Now, I’m looking for a new place for them to go.  It’s a blow.

It’s a blow that I will absorb.  Why?  Because my kids were in the car when I got the email about not getting in the show.  They heard me talk about how disappointing it is, how much I was counting on it.  I want them to see me deal with it.  To pick up and go on and find the new path.  If this blog is about parenting, about me, about art, then this moment is also about those things.  I’ve been turned down for shows before.  I’ve not made the sale.  I’ve had commissions walk away.  Somehow this feels bigger. 

I think it feels bigger because I am at this turning point.  I’m invested.  Literally.  I’ve upgraded my studio.  I’ve created a little gallery space in the basement.  I’ve bought inventory software.  I’ve bought some IG ads.  I’m going all in. 

It’s scary.

What if I’m not good enough?  What if all this time and effort has brought me to a place where everyone is rolling their eyes behind my back: There she goes again: talking about her “art”?  She calls herself an artist.  Crazy Shelley.

I am crazy.  No question.  I’m not technically diagnosed with anything; I am mostly weird.  I wonder too much.  That makes me crazy, I think.  At least it makes me crazy in the world I live in. 

It also is part of what makes me a small-time artist.  I’m not examining a crazy world; I’m not living in NYC or some exotic location.  My art is not terribly outrageous.  I'm not making sense of a genocide that I witnessed first-hand or illustrating an obscure culture that I'm reviving.  My world is very, very uncrazy -- like Leave It To Beaver uncrazy.  I’m examining my uncrazy world and still seeing it as crazy. 

I need another word.  Unusual.  Jarring.  Beautiful.  Puzzling. 

I’m an observer and have spent my life trying to reconcile the discordance I feel between light and interest and growth vs. human self-destruction.  Everyday beauty constantly reminds me that life is bigger than we make it.  The contradictions and connections don't depend on glamour or grittiness. I write about it.  I paint about it. 

So this translation of how I see the world is what I make.  It is for sale.  And rejection of what I make sometimes feels like a rejection of me. This is why I had such a hard time sending my writing to literary magazines.  It is why I usually make safe choices.  It is why I “became an artist” later in life.  It is why I am quiet. 

I’m small-time because I am just now getting it together, just now being gentle enough with myself to introduce myself to others as an artist.  I'm small-time because my art might be saying things that people have already said – maybe they even said it better --but I'm saying it in my voice.  I’m small-time because I’m OK with just getting my foot in a few doors, because it is a business when I’m not quite a businessperson.  I’m small-time because it’s the bravest thing I’ve done for myself. 

So far.