The Public Arena

Part of the difficulty I've faced when discussing my art are the sideways questions that amount to, “Don’t you think you’re being naive?” The talk of statistics, how so few artists “make it.” And how the term “making it” is used when what they really mean is “making a living from it.”

I've been wondering lately…

Who decided the purpose of making art was to make a living?

Making money from our art can be fulfilling and even add a level of joy to our work. But it isn't the point of going to the page, the canvass, the piano, the stage. The point of showing up is to make art, not money.

Demanding that all artwork be backed monetarily means demanding that all artists put themselves under the scrutiny of the public eye. And that eye can be toxic.

The world is full of blocked creatives whose fear of embracing their own art causes them to denounce the fledgling muse of an individual new to the craft. Making a leap of faith takes courage, and it is easier to belittle another's attempt than it is to make the jump for oneself.

“Trend” and “tradition” are tossed about as if the only good art belongs to the past and those who follow in its rigid footsteps. Being creative involves leaving tradition behind, which is a frightening prospect to some.

The public eye is quite fond of measuring the baby steps of a creative toddler to the great strides of an artistic pro. We don't test kindergartners on advanced algebra, yet somehow a young artist is required to know how to navigate a project while adhering to ever-changing whims and staying true to their unique voice.

All of these things feed a beginner’s dark inner dialogue. We hear individuals claim that “they don’t make music like they used to.” Fans of realism sneer at the wobbling lines of a modern sculpture, meant to say more than stark edges ever could. Critics tell us the firewalls of business are meant to keep the riff raff out.

We doubt ourselves. We doubt our art. And we stagnate.

It doesn't have to be this way.

If we truly seek to have better art (as opposed to rigidly hunting more of the same), we must nurture the gawky seedlings. We must learn the difference between criticism and shaming (the former asks, “How can this be made better?” while the latter claims there’s nothing worth saving).

If we want to have more variety, we have to embrace the idea of different paths. We cannot continue to hold one method of delivery as more sacred than another (i.e…the ridiculous declaration that indie artists are ruining their respective genres).

To grow art, we must be willing to grow artists. And growth is a painful and sometimes ugly process. But if the desired outcome is flow, it won’t be achieved by standing still.

Retreating

Over the last few months, I've been absent from my desk. I stepped away from my (personally assigned) responsibility to put words to page. I gave myself some distance from my social media accounts.

In essence, I retreated from the world outside myself.

I imagine some of you are now expecting me to wax poetic about stress or depression.

I'm not going to do that. Neither of those are the cause for my retreat. The reason I took a step back is much more productive.

For several reasons (some of them self-esteem), I decided to make another effort to lose weight. I've tried before with varying degrees of success, but I wanted to do this the effective way. I wanted to make it stick this time. Doing so meant I had to devote time and energy to the endeavor. Time and energy I usually reserved for writing projects.

Because, for me (and so many like me), losing weight isn't about "calories in, calories out," which is nonsense pseudoscience to begin with. (But that's not the topic at hand.)

For me, weight loss had to begin with understanding why I'd gained it in the first place. What habits had I developed over the years that contributed to my current weight? Why had I developed those habits in the first place? And what could I do to change them?

The first and third questions were easy enough to answer.

It took digging to understand why, and that digging required emotional energy.

I had to crawl down inside myself and chip away at the walls to understand that I'd developed a fear of being small. Small things were treated as weak. And weak things were to be exploited and bullied. Large things were treated as strong. And strong things were respected and allowed freedom.

I had to wrap myself up in my own being to understand that I'd conflated eating with abundance. The more abundant your food supply, the higher up on the hierarchy you were. And the higher your place in the hierarchy, the less likely you were to be bullied.

I had to sit with my past to understand that I associated largeness with masculinity. The more masculine you were, the more revered and complimented you were. The more feminine you were, the more shunning and verbal attacks you received.

The worst part of it all, isn't knowing I took these toxic messages to heart.

The worst part is knowing I learned these messages at home. But I've grown to a point where I can only feel sadness for this knowledge. This sadness has led to a certain amount of determination.

I will rise above the toxicity of my past, and move toward a future of my own making, a future in which being myself is enough.

This is Not a Void

[Content note: this post contains examples of topics that may be triggering (fat bias, rape, rape culture, misogynistic slurs, gun violence)]

We do not live in a void. The things we do and say have consequences larger than the immediate ramifications that are apparent to us. This goes especially for marginalizing tropes and “jokes” that feature mendacious stereotypes as the punch line.

“But it’s just a joke,” you may say. Except that it isn’t just a joke.

“Jokes” that feature marginalizing tropes (like “dumb blonde” jokes or “put down the cheeseburger fattie” jokes) aren’t just an attempt at poking fun. They entrench and normalize ideas that make living difficult for individuals who aren’t thin enough, white enough, male enough, heterosexual enough (etc...) for society at large. They present a falsehood as fact and pretend an entire population of people can be described by a single adjective.

“What about free speech? I shouldn’t have to police my words to save someone’s feelings,” you may say. Except that it isn’t about feelings.

It’s about medical professionals whose fat bias is entrenched to the point they ignore a fat person’s symptoms, resulting in further injury or death. Talking about obesity as if it has only one cause and pretending it causes disease allows such individuals the comfort of their hatred. It’s about white men shooting young black boys for using a sidewalk. Narratives that paint all black men as violent gave this shooter his mental ammunition. It’s about teenage girls being raped by their boyfriends because those boyfriends are taught that women “don’t say what they mean” and have no right to refuse because they’re no better than dogs (i.e. calling women who don’t act like you want “bitches”).

“That’s not what I meant,” you may say. Then say what you mean. If someone who is a member of the group you’re marginalizing can see the bias in your words, then so, too, can someone who believes that group IS lesser.

“You’re being too sensitive,” you may say. How do you know? Have you lived in the shoes of the person you’re hurting? Have you been forced to listen to those same tropes day after day, sometimes from people who claim to love you? Have you ever been denied a job, healthcare, or marriage rights because someone believes those tropes?

I could go on.

These are all silencing tactics. Ways to prevent yourself from hearing that your attempt at humor was harmful to another person. Ways to prevent yourself from learning something new and being expected to change because of that learning. Ways to prevent yourself from having to examine those you’ve put down and realize they’re people.

And I believe you’re better than that. I believe you can grow past mendacious tropes and see the beauty in diversity.

I believe this, and I expect it.

Toxic Signage

Over the past week, I've had to read a sign every day as I drive home from the night job. It reads, "Love is free. Approval is earned." And it's been bothering me...because it isn't true.

For two main reasons:

1) Love isn't free. It takes work. Love requires a certain level of intimacy combined with understanding. A certain kind of acceptance and support that allows the other person to be who he or she is without judgement, but with the willingness to help if said person wants to change for the better. Love requires you to pay attention to where a person is in his/ her life.

Compassion, on the other hand, IS free. All you have to do to be compassionate is to acknowledge that everyone has unique stresses and struggles and accept that your views and experiences are not the entirety of the human experience.

2) Approval isn't earned. We give approval to things every day simply by choosing not to speak out against them. Bias, hatred, marginalization. By offering no dissent against slurs and "casual" bigotry, we tell the one offering those things that it is acceptable behavior to do so. And while those truly harmful things are accepted, we show dissent for things no one can change:  height, appearance, race, gender, sexual orientation, mental illness, illness, etc... We decry behaviors that are actually healthy: removing oneself from a toxic home environment, family planning, establishing personal boundaries, expressing emotion or affection, being our unique selves, defending those who are marginalized, etc... If approval was actually earned, these things wouldn't happen.

Plus, approval is a basic human need. We all find ourselves in situations where we need someone to appreciate the place we are at as individuals. We all DESERVE to have our intrinsic worth validated. Because we are all different, coming from different experiences. We all have different ideas of prosperity, love, honor, faith, intimacy, etc...and that's fine. We deserve a place where those around us accept and acknowledge that fact. And we deserve that without ever having to do a thing.

So a healthy sign would read: "Approval and compassion are free. Respect is earned."