CONSCIOUS ACTS OF ART

 

 

“What they call you is one thing. What you answer to is something else.”

– Lucille Clifton

 

*

This month’s post is my response to a jumble of phrases in my brain.

The social trajectory I’ve lived through feels like this:

random acts of kindness –> random acts of violence –> organized violence

But that’s only the trajectory of my awareness.

 

A logic puzzle would look like this:

random acts of kindness –> random acts of violence –> organized violence –> ________________

You aced the test if you filled in “organized kindness.”

I think we need all the organized kindness we can get.

Ditto for conscious acts of art.

 

With that I plug my friend Anthony’s gorgeous site and online radio show.

dialoguesofjazz.com  –>  tune in and share!

Instagram @dialoguesofjazz

(Collage by Miami artist Jose Mertz

Logo and flyer by San Diego graphic designer Ian Cuevas)

 

P.S. I hear a podcast’s in the works!

 

*

 

 

GROUNDS FOR CHANGE

It’s the time of year here when trees look picked over, gardens seem bereft and bedraggled, and skies are frequently gray. So as I was walking along recently, I found this color arresting. It promptly landed on my list of things to be thankful for, a list that has been especially abundant this year and includes family, friends, mentors old and new, and, still, the excellent consultation I had last September at Mass General, which gave me hope and ongoing reason to reinvest in my life. If you’ve ever wanted to hug a neurosurgeon while crying dazed and ecstatic tears, you might be vibing to my frequency. I’m thankful for the friend who drove me there and the receptionist who was kind and even the elevators, the hallways, the glass doors, the parking garage. I hate parking garages! But that one helped deliver me from hell back to life on earth. I’m grateful for a screenshot of my parents on Zoom, hugging while wearing the scarves that I made them, my father’s a decade old or so, lingonberry-red, my mother’s new and pinky-purple like a type of orchid. I’m thankful they’ve been untouched by COVID. I’m thankful for your reading this, which is why it’s short—time is valuable! I’m thankful for Nick Hornby, whose novels got me through the worst of election season. I’m thankful for income and inspiration—also for coffee on the daily, and my new favorite source: Grounds for Change. Take a moment and click that link to find out how truly wonderful they are. I have zero financial interest in the company; my only interest is in wanting to see them and every high-quality, deeply principled business continue their good work in the world—work that benefits the people (who, in this case, produce the beans) as well as the ecosystems they live and labor in. Sustainability for all—it doesn’t get better than that.

GRAFFITI

 

Growing up in a city I saw lots of graffiti, but one message sank into me. Words full of social despair, a betrayal so big, its reach seemed to stretch in all directions.

FUCK ALL Y’ALL

That spray-painted scrawl, reduced here to orderly type, was phrased as defiance but felt like naked pain writ large. If this was the message of a young black man, what became of him after? Did he somehow meet with a balm for his wounds?

This country is full of cities and towns and suburbs, shelters and tents and alleys, resounding with betrayal both voiced and unvoiced. Prisons and cemeteries. Desecration of human rights. Families broken, hearts riven with loss.

At a peaceful protest last week, we were asked collectively to take a knee, a gesture now haunted for me. A timer was set, 8 minutes and 46 seconds, so that we might understand more viscerally what a long time that is. Our breath filtered through masks. For an unimperiled crowd, 8 minutes and 46 seconds is restless. For cruelty, for terror, for torture, for murder, 8 minutes and 46 seconds is remorseless.

I haven’t watched that important video—for a number of reasons having to do with my personal feelings about privacy, dignity, media, and desensitization—but I saw a still of the man, an officer of the law, kneeling on George Floyd’s neck. That hand in that uniform pocket. Please, vote for sweeping change, and do all the good you can.

+

Text and image copyrights held by me. I value your time and appreciate your reading. There are many things to do in a day, and I’m often ambivalent about posting my monthly contribution to this overwhelming world of content; for a little more on that, see my updated About. Meanwhile, feel free to share this post. Take care, and give care. EA