When I began creating my website in 2001, I decided it would only be about art, and exclude "issues" such as politics, religion, etc. I wanted only the pure subject of art - not earthbound, temporal issues, but eternal, universal ones. I didn't want to take away from art's ability to elevate us, free us, not tie us down in semantics, politics, fanaticism, intolerance. To paraphrase Bob Dylan, art doesn't wait for succeeding kings. I didn't want to attract professional polemicists, start a virtual argument, dirty up the space with the limitations of words and people - especially those who think we should all believe the same things. When I was younger, I wanted everyone to agree with me, but now I think it's good that there are so many differences in thinking. For reasons described below, I have changed my mind about voicing my opinion. I don't want to start a fight though, and won't respond to those who are looking for one.
In early 2001, we were at peace in America. After 9/11, we weren't. As an American, even seeing or hearing the numbers 911 still brings the feeling of visceral horror back. Those in the twin towers; those in the planes, the firemen and policemen, the hijackers. Not being given to patriotic feelings generally, it aroused in me an instinct of group identity; once attacked, I think we all feel the same. We go through a collective psychological process of coping and digesting the new reality. At the time, my TV was in the repair shop, so I couldn't see any of the images - I just heard about the events. Being a visual person, this made the adjustment even harder - I just couldn't comprehend it without actually seeing it. When I finally did see the images, I still couldn't comprehend it. I don't presume to say that some in this world don't have just complaints; however when I think of 9/11, I picture some giving their lives to kill strangers, and others giving their lives to save strangers.
Still, when the President announced that we would invade Iraq, it was a disorienting jolt. What? We're going to invade who? Still confused after 9/11, it was hard to decipher this. Some were discussing it in tactical terms. Not being one who followed the news regularly (no news is good news), I wondered if there were things I didn't know about - probably. We have our jobs to go to, our chores, our lives. The economy wasn't great - we Americans were/are working harder for less money. Who has time for global issues?
The effect of the war was for me cumulative. A toppled statue here, some PR jargon there, and the imagined few days turned into months, months into years. And the number of dead increased steadily. It was like watching a silent movie - a little jerky, no words, quaint like a war at this late date. I could even hear the tinny piano synchronizing to the action. Where is Charlie Chaplin when we need him?
I came of age in the 1960's, marched twice with many in Washington, DC against the Vietnam War. Some of us hated the soldiers, but the best of us didn't - we hated that the soldiers were dying, that anyone was dying. We hated the machine behind it all - the one that still is. The Vietnam War dragged on for many years, and the number of dead can be seen at the Memorial Wall in Washington. Walking by all those names really affected me - especially since we tried so hard to stop it. The magnitude of the waste is overwhelming, just like now. Each death represents a life ended, someone with significant others, someone who had necessities to contribute to the world. I found the name of a friend from high school who died in 1967 - not the brightest guy in the world, just a simple person, here now and then gone. Just when it seemed that we finally healed the Vietnam wounds in this country, and had learned our lesson, we went to war with Iraq. I still don't know why.
As the months passed, and the death count in Iraq got higher and higher, it became more and more bizarre and unacceptable. Some of us tried not to elect Bush - but now that he's here, there isn't much we can do except wait. But the last straw for me came with Hurricane Katrina, watching the mostly black faces pleading for help, and little came for days. With all the needs we have in this country, we shouldn't be killing strangers halfway around the world. That's when I decided to write this essay. It is a very small thing, probably won't do much, but we need to speak up, the silent ones, the "good" people. I think many are in stunned disbelief - lately the news from Iraq has been so outrageous and horrible, we don't know where to begin or what to do. I don't like to personalize, but this man at the top seems to have no sense whatsoever - a dangerous fool from an ancient king's court, a gunslinger from the Wild West with his six-gun flashing in the noon sun.
What does all this have to do with art? In a climate such as this, art has little place. It means having an attractive picture over the sofa, chosen to harmonize with the furnishings. There is nothing wrong with this, but it is not what real art is. Art is truth - not always attractive or pleasant, not chosen to harmonize but to give meaning to life, and to reveal life's meanings. To quote Sister Mary Corita, war is not good for children and other living things. In this atmosphere, art is even more marginalized than usual, and even more commercialized. It is a society which doesn't value art, or even recognize it. As an artist, it makes the world seem even less benevolent than usual.
It is also related to the sculpture we will need for the soldiers who die in Iraq. Do you want to visit yet another memorial to the self-destructive waste of human life? War is outdated. Histories will be written - the government officials and generals will be listed, the same as before. But what brings the crowds in the long run are the people who have created rather than destroyed - the van Gogh's, Gorky's, Michelangelo's - the vulnerable ones who reflected us like mirrors. Cezanne, Monet, Rembrandt - the workers who constructed perfect worlds. Rauschenberg, Cornell, Morisot - the visual poets. Puryear, Bourgeois, Martin - elegant masters. Bearden, Davis and Mondrian - the architects of cool geometry and jazz. Miro, Klee, and Masson - wisdom from the childlike. Braque, Fonseca, Morandi - lyrical metaphysics. Irwin, Christo/Jeanne-Claude, Goldsworthy - alchemists with nature. African carvers, Chinese ink painters, Navajo sandpainters - profound simplicity. The ones who enrich life, not casually spit it out.
