the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
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sometimes katsuki gets really dramatic (but let’s be fr when isn’t he) and acts like you ghosted him when you don’t respond to his texts in thirty minutes. not in a creepy way, just in a dramatic, needy way.
he’s not worried or anything, he checks his phone every few minutes to see if any texts from you have come in. it’s a force of habit, because you usually respond pretty quickly but after a while it gets a little weird. and then he sends you a text and another one and unconsciously he starts spamming you a bit. again, not in a creepy way. just an annoying needy whiny dramatic baby, way.
“what’s up, bakubro ? you keep checking your phone.” katsuki doesn’t look at kirishima, eyes glued to his phone when he just grunts out an “‘m fine.”
and then kaminari just has to open his big mouth. his voice playful as he speaks “uh oh, trouble in paradiseee~?” katsuki scoffs, telling the blonde to fuck off.
and he isn’t worried..not at all. until he thinks about it and maybe there was trouble in paradise ?? were you maybe ignoring him ? what’d he do ?
you look up from your notebook at the sound of your phone vibrating. oh, it’s katsuki ! you smile just seeing his contact pop up.
“hi, katsu !”
silence, no response. you try again.
“…hello ?”
you hear a scoff from the other end, and some shuffling before your boyfriend graces you with an answer. “look at your phone, you idiot.”
“hello, katsu.” you snort. “yeah, yeah. hi.” you can practically hear the roll of his eyes through the phone, you giggle and your boyfriend huffs through the speaker.
it’s then that you see the wall of texts from him “oh, did you text me ? my bad i was studying.”
there’s a faint sigh of relief “‘s fine.”
“were you worried ?” you tease.
“fuck no. just—“ a sudden pause then katsuki grumbles “answer my texts next time, moron. bye. don’t overdo it while studying or i’ll kill you.”
“meanie !” you giggle, and when he hangs up you send him a text.
we can study together next time, just so you don’t flip out again 💗😚
katsuki scoffs a mean laugh, then sends you a middle finger.
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aha i'm seeing it around again so let's please remember that the "there are two wolves inside you, one is evil, one is good" (and every single variation thereupon created for funny internet meme fandom reference purposes, thank you) is a textbook example of native fetishism and half-assed appropriation - it is a false "inuit legend" created by billy graham. yes, that billy graham. originally he said the story was inuit, then upon being called out in the canadian press, he changed it to a "cherokee legend" because he knew the cherokee wouldn't be able to do anything about it due to censorship of native americans in american media.
"so what?? i'm not even using it in a way that references the original! it's just a funny phrase / a tiktok audio / etc!" - the reason i personally hate this fake legend so much is because it was invented to support christian beliefs - the idea of inner darkness and original sin versus inner goodness and morality is a christian one entirely, and not a part of inuit or cherokee beliefs. if you know any damn thing about native history both on and off turtle island you should be able to figure out why exactly it's fucking shitty to compare christian ideals to native legend in any way shape or form, or imply that the two are related somehow, or that natives have always believed in christian ideals pre-colonization, even. and by repeating it as a funny phrase it doesn't really actually take any power away from it like so many well meaning non natives seem to think it does. all it does is keep circulating a myth that further pushes real native cultures (cultures!!! never a monolith) out of society's view!!!
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