Hiding Race

I recently read and article in Artworks magazine about American painter, Richard Mayhew.  He is a landscape painter who arose out of the Monet tradition to pave the way for a new "Improvisational" Landscape.  Though I'm not a Monet fan or that particular genre of art, I recognize the powerful place it holds in art history. It was revolutionary and evolutionary.  Mayhew's work takes impressionistic landscape and travels in his own direction.  He is described in the article as critical of other African-American artists who use Afrocentric imagery in their work.  Since the article is not available for online viewing I'll have to quote the section myself.

"...he feels strongly that the emotionally-charged iconography of Aunt Jemina and slave images only serve to perpetuate racial stereotypes."  An example noted in the article was the work of Kara Walker. 

"Even today, he takes pride in the fact that an uninformed viewer of his work would not be able to discern his race."

These statements struck me at the time of my reading and I've been mulling them over for a few days.  I don't know if the example of Kara Walker was provided by Richard Mayhew or by the author, Sheryl Nonnenberg. I understand the desire of an artist to have their work stand in isolation, to be independent of the artist.  In part, I think that may be what Mayhew's intent was in his statement.  I also understand that he rose in the art world during a time when his race would have been seen as negative.  The problem comes in that when the race of the artist is not known, it is assumed to be white.  So, in fact, art is not devoid of race it simply falls to the default of Euro-centrist white.

I had some sadness for Mayhew, who after many years of needing to conceal his race to get his work shown, began to embrace the ideal that an expression of race was negative. I object to the idea that artists of color should hide their race, that they are somehow reinforcing negative stereotypes by revealing race within their work.  Art can be the best venue to expose stereotypes about race, to express the anger behind racist images and the harm they cause.  A piece of art can still stand independent of the artist while containing visible non-white images.  The viewer might make assumptions about the artist's race, but these assumptions about race, gender, nationality, and age occur anyway. The viewer experience is what brings power to art.  We all respond differently and we all have different tastes.  The desire to hide race within artistic context is the desire to present a single story of art.  We need more than one story of art.

©2009 Cindy K. Shaw All rights reserved.

Day 49 - Final Day of Left Handed Series

 

I think this will be the last of the work done in my left-handed series.  I have enough use of my right arm to return to using it creatively.  The best part of this exercise in working with my left hand, my non-dominant hand is doing regular work.  Having a steady creative flow has been rewarding in of itself.  I've been pleasantly surprised in that I have several pieces I actually like as well.  I also don't think my left hand will be an idle bystander any longer.

I think the painting endeavor will continue.  I committed to a larger than normal canvas today.  A benefit of my NYC trip and all the art museum time.  I realized one of my frustrations with painting is that I may not be working in large enough dimensions.  There is a physicality to my art, which is why I'm so attracted to metal work. Add the extension of a paint brush to my arm and I simply need ample space for things to flow.  A small epiphany for me. 

Speaking of metal work...I have my next metal piece worked out.  I just have to wait until my arm is strong enough to start building.  A couple of months at least.  I'll credit the creative flow from my left handed work for allowing the composition to come together over the last few days. 

More art to come...either hand may apply. 

Day 27 - Activity Done

This is one of those days that I wanted to do something with my left-handed series, but didn't have any real thought in mind.  Sometimes this works for me, sometimes it doesn't.  I don't think it worked today...at least not for me.  I temper my own criticism since I often have people who respond strongly to pieces I don't really like.

I'm getting ready for a little getaway to New York and look forward to a lot of art museum time in addition to hanging with an old friend.  JuWanda and I have known each other since college.  We played basketball together and have managed to stay in contact through the years. She's the kind of friend that offered to come stay with me after my surgery if I needed help.  No doubt, Alton, her husband didn't hear that since it would mean he was alone with two little ones under the age of 3.  Regardless she is family.  Robert Frost defined home as the place that when you go there they have to take you in.  JuWanda and I are home to one another.

Day 19 - Untitled

There was no day 18 art work. I was in a funk after driving to the gym...someone came into my lane...I made a reflexive jerk to honk my horn...with my right arm...major throbbing...sore arm all day...still sore today. Everything's okay, but the inflammation is pretty high.

So here's day 19, which I like, which I wish I had done on better paper. This is a scrap pad that I think I need to throw away...or save for Muyang's visits and her crayola doodles. That sounds better.

My thoughts go out to the Philippines where they are dealing with the aftermath of severe flooding. If you can, please send your donation. Here's a link to get you started: http://www.ondoyrelief.org/

Day 14 & 15

You know that metal piece I was "working" on? Let's just say that for the moment it is an abject failure.

I was experimenting with attaching multiple long rod pieces together by bending them about one another. Doing this one handed proved challenging at best. The attempts to control the piece seemed to take control of watching the form develop. The end result was a mess. I will decide today if I can salvage it.

Maybe I need to remind myself that this Left-Handed Series is an exercise. Right?

Day 11 - True Family

I've given props to my friends that carted me about after my surgery. One person not included in that was my neighbor, Linda. I use "neighbor" but the truth is that Linda is family and she deserves a special prop dedicated to just her.

I spend most holidays with her and her clan...often enough that they ask if I'm coming. Linda gives Moseby treats in the morning...he goes nuts when he sees her. He bounds up and down and bark/cries until she comes outside. Linda is the true Big Sis I never had. I know that Linda will be there whenever I need. She'll take me in a feed me and let me cry on her shoulder. She loves me for who I am and I am beyond blessed to have her next door.

Linda filled in the gaps after my surgery and was just there for me in a dozen little ways. Thank you Linda for being a great friend and my Big Sis. Love you!

Happy Accidents

I make comment here and there regarding my Buddhist practice/religion. Well...It all started here. I stumbled across an acquaintance in the mall one day, and he was reading this book. Being a reader myself I asked about the book and he explained that the author described the principles of Taoism from the perspective of Winnie the Pooh. You see, Pooh just is. Sometime over the the next year I picked up a copy for myself. I was intrigued. Then I bought my first copy of The Tao Te Ching...which led to more Taoist writings...which led to books on Buddhism...which led to books on Zen/Chan Buddhism...which led to AHA!

I wish I could say there was a particular day that I woke and said, "I am a Buddhist." That would make answering the question of "How long have you been a Buddhist?" much easier. The best I can do these days is 16 or 17 years. I know many would describe this as a conversion. For me, however, the experience was very different. It was finding something that defined my beliefs not changed them. I was raised a Christian and was a studious little Bible scholar in my own right, but my true spiritual nature didn't awaken until I became a Buddhist. For the first time, who I was matched what I believed.

I approach the world, my daily existence...good and bad...as a Buddhist. All things are best when I meditate consistently and after many years of practice I can say I think I "get" it now. I understood before, but there's a different level now. A simple example is that I used to have a lot of rules when I meditated about my breathing, what was good and bad focus, what was successful or not, etc. Now...I just sit. I understand why Shunryu Suzuki kept yelling in his book to, "Zazen!" He was telling me to just sit. Approaching life without construct, without boundaries, being present to how life comes is part of what being a Buddhist is for me.

There it is. Winnie the Pooh made me a Buddhist.

Do the Right Thing?

Yesterday I had a co-worker call because he needed help with something. I use co-worker loosely since we are all scattered around the country and only see one another once a year.

...anyway

He starts talking about the property he inspected and starts his description with, "It's in a nice neighborhood, a mostly white neighborhood. I think."

I was a stunned with this superlative irrelevant descriptor. My internal voice said, "What the f... does that have to do with anything?" "Why would you think that is okay to say to me?" My external voice, the one that really counts said nothing. I made that quick decision that this is not the time and the place.

Afterwords, I was left with, when exactly is the time and the place? I don't want to turn my work world into a socio-political platform, but by being silent I believe I did just that. My silence let him believe that I was in his ignorant racist camp. I felt shame. I still feel shame. I feel like I'm big blow hard bag of righteous indignation, but no true action.

I made a quick and probably cowardly split second decision not to say anything. Like anyone, I have some regrets here and there in my life, but the ones that cause me the continual stabs of pain are moments like these when I failed to do the right thing.

It's Official

My doctor called on Friday to inform me that not only have I torn my rotator cuff, but that the tendon has torn completely from the bone. Bonus!! I do such a good job of imagining the worst case scenario that it is a special prize when things are actually worse than I thought. The surgery is scheduled and, frankly, my shoulder is so bad (I wish I were exaggerating here) that I'm actually looking forward to the surgery. Looking forward to the day (many months from now) when I can get dressed without pain.

As an aside...I'm giving serious consideration to doing a left-handed art series during my 4-6 weeks in a sling. For this to succeed, I have to let go of any perceived limitation that forces my left hand do/see what my right hand would ordinarily do/see.

What do ya think?

What will We DO when No One HATES Us?

When no one hates us anymore, we GAYS will walk down the street holding OUR partner's hand without the hyper-vigilant look over OUR shoulder. OUR families won't bat an eye at the revelation. Strangers and family alike won't feel they need to "protect" their children from US. OUR lives won't be used as a political fodder. Soldiers in the armed forces will serve openly without being dishonorably discharged and will be publicly greeted with the loving arms of their partners when they return home.

OUR lives will seem mundane and normal. NO ONE comes out at work because WE just are. The stories of a sweet young man beaten and left to die on a fence in the wilderness will be a horror of a long distant past. WE will marry and adopt children if WE desire. WE will look back with nostalgia at the days when WE held Pride Parades to celebrate who WE are and combat OUR own internal hatred.

As I wake today, I am assured that events like Saturday's Kiss off which was organized in response to my fellow GAYs being harrassed and arrested in Utah and Texas for a little innocent PDA will continue. WE will need to stand in protest to fight for marriage rights, and protect OUR GAY soldiers and their invisible partners. I know that come next summer I'll attend the PRIDE events and stand with my community in all OUR collective glory and celebrate who WE are. Because today I wake to the truth that far too many still hate US.

Disability?

As I prepare for my upcoming surgery, I first want to recognize the wonderful friends who have made sincere offers to assist in the aftermath. I truly feel the love and concern from them all.

I do find it interesting how aghast many are at what my "handicap" will be following surgery. I will have essentially no use of my right arm for at least three weeks. There are questions of how will you drive? cook dinner? get dressed? etc. I can only say that one-armed people all over the world do these tasks among many others every day. Let's keep things in perspective. Okay?

Yes, I will have to make adjustments. The biggest is the fact that my arm will be STRAPPED to my side in addition to being useless. The binding creates additional challenges especially when getting dressed. Regardless, this is not a permanent condition. A blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things. I will be released for full activity in less time than Laura Ling and Euna Lee spent in a North Korean prison eating rice with rocks in it, in less than half the time of a normal pregnancy, and it only represents 4 one-thousandths of my life span. Nothing.

I think people are trying to be sympathetic and I'll credit my Buddhist practice in helping me keep things in perspective. My meditation helps me release my mind's grip on the possible suffering (real or imagined) and focus on the step in front of me. The injury is here. I can't change that. The surgery hasn't happened yet. I can't worry about that. Today, I exercise the uninjured parts of my body, ice the shoulder and go about my day.

No. 9

It's Official. My special talent of finding new ways to injury myself continues. Surgery on my right shoulder is forthcoming. It will be my ninth orthopedic surgery and because of the degenerative condition of my right knee I have a guarantee of more to come.

...and yes, I do mark many life events as to whether they were before or after a surgery.

I don't know what it is in my psyche or my body that makes me prone to so many injuries. My athletes mind and heart don't allow me to relent...not ever. I played almost three years of college basketball without an ACL in my right knee. Each day of practice during that time I donned a t-shirt with the phrase "Never Give Up" on it. I never did. My right knee did. It could no longer bear weight in some ranges because of a huge bone chip off the end of my femur.

Some have been mundane little incidences and others have been rather spectacular. Flying over the handlebars of my mountain bike ranks at the top.

I've been extraordinarily fortunate in that I have always had health insurance when I needed surgery. Given the large gaps during my 30's when I had little or no coverage, the timing of my injuries has been pretty good. I also have had access to some of the best doctors in the US. A long-standing team physician to many Dallas pro teams, a doctor for the Women's Olympic Team, and now the Doc who does the shoulder surgeries for the Florida Marlins.

I finally typed a list to take with me to the doctor because it just takes too long to write it all down and the dates have become muddled over the years.

Latin Buddhism

I came to the end of my day on Saturday feeling exhausted. I opted for an early bedtime (for a Saturday) of about 10:30. As I lay down I could hear the neighbor's party several houses away. They had a live band playing some really good traditional Latin music. I quickly became annoyed. How dare they?!!

This is a residential area. It's past 10:30. The people next to them must be beside themselves. I lay there in this tizzy of mine for about 5 minutes.

And then I thought...

Why am I upset? It's Saturday night after all. The music wasn't loud enough to keep me awake. How do I know their neighbors are annoyed? They might be at the party too. As I examined my own emotion, I realized there was no reason to be annoyed. I created the reason not my neighbor. I became attached to what I decided was a justifiable negative reaction. What's wrong with a bit of good music in the distance to "sing" me to sleep? I let go.

Honestly I couldn't tell you how late they continued to play.

I fell asleep within seconds of letting go.

Long Time

After a two plus year moratorium, I'm making another run at this. Too much pain and turmoil during that time to participate in such public forum. Maybe Facebook and Twitter have helped get me back in the swing of things.

As a salute to Moseby for bringing laughter back to my life here we go...