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interact-if · 3 years

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Day 5 of the interviews! let’s give it up for Ligia! :chinhands:

Ligia, author of Love the Guard, Be the King

Latino Heritage Month Featured Author

Mathias' heart has been bleeding since his father, the former King, decided to punish you for his mistakes. As the youngest child of a lesser bourgeois, you were raised in the castle, between the King’s cruelty, the Queen’s friendship, and Mathias’s kindness (or supposed kindness?).

Now, more than twenty Carnivals since your arrival, the King is dead and the Queen’s sickness worsens each day. As the azure taint spreads in the kingdom and the Opalean Wars come to an end, it’s Mathias’s time to sit on the throne.

Will the docile Prince become a kind King, a violent Monarch, or a ruthless Tyrant? Will you have any say in it? And how much will your relationship change?

Love the Guard, Be the King Demo | Author’s Kofi | Read more [here]

Tags: historical, romance

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT)

Q1: So, tell us a little bit about the projects you’re working on!

With pleasure! Right now, I’m working on three main projects. My personal Visual Novel project, “Love the Guard, Be the King,” a second Visual Novel I’ve been secretly working on with a good friend for the past 10 months or so, and I also have an ongoing book series about hot, quirky supervillains—but I’ll focus only on the first two cause that’s what we’re here for, right? Hahaha.

LtGBtK is a really intimist experience, focused more on the MC’s and RO’s character arcs and how we can change depending on our experiences and how we feel about them. The entire plot happens in only four days, but it takes into account almost 30 years of history—basically Mathias’s (the only RO) entire life!

“Crystal Library” has mystery, romance, magic, 6 ROs, and a ton of memorable scenes already. I’m working on the graphics and the programming for this one, while Coco Nichole (@dreamybard), one of my favorite writers ever, is the brilliant mind behind the plot and all of CL’s characters! I can’t wait to share this one with you all. Romance is optional in both. :)

Q2: What excites you most about using interactive fiction? What are some of the biggest challenges?

What I LOVE and FEAR about all types of interactive fiction is how it invites players to, on a much deeper level, be part of the narrative. When reading books, we all work hard to translate beautiful sentences and scenes into images in your head. We interact with it, yes, but when playing IFs, we also explore the narrative in a different way; we have so much more agency over what happens! We sometimes have different paths to choose from, beautiful illustrations to unlock, or character traits that change depending on our choices… it’s amazing, and, IMO, it’s a very unique way to experience narratives.

But it’s also very complex, very demanding, and it can easily get out of hand if you give the players too many options/branches to follow, mainly when working with small teams or, in my case for LtGBtK, alone. *takes a deep breath* I just hope I’m doing a good job. .-.

Q3: What has been something in your project you’ve had to do a weird amount of research for?

Besides programming lol basically everything. For LtGBtK, I’m trying to create this weird fantasy with a modern-medieval society (?), so I’m constantly researching medieval customs, traditions, tools, and weirdly specific stuff like socks. Did people wear socks in the medieval era? What were their playing cards made of? When was ice cream invented? How did they shave? How did kids become knights? What were their perfumes made of? And soaps? What did they eat? How different was their wine? And what kind of materials or slang or fabrics can I use, and what can I change without completely breaking immersion?

And then I shove all that into a pot and adapt it to a world where Mathias can literally put the world on fire with a wave of his hands. ♥

Q4: Which of your characters is most like you? How?

I think I’m a mix of them all, but mainly Mandra and Rafa (one of my main characters in my supervillain books). They have wildly different personalities and stories, but those two have clear views of the kind of person they want to be, they’re not afraid of their soft sides, and they are ready to work hard to become good at what they love. Rafa has a specially strong connection to her brother, like my siblings and I, and Mand is often locked in an eternal state of wanting to be alone and wanting to be surrounded by family/loved ones, so I guess we meet there too!

Q5: Does your heritage influence your characters as you create them? (How? Why or why not?)

Yes! There are the very basic ways, like habits, names, food, family dynamics, settings (mainly in my books, which are all very Brazilian), and Holidays. And then there’s a more personal way that I’m not entirely sure I can explain because I lived in Brazil for 28 years, and I’m not sure I can put that into words. The classics of our literature are different, Art, architecture, and music developed differently, my country was violently colonized and still faces the results of that violence (including but not limited to structural racism, classism, misogyny etc), I learned some Capoeira in my physical education class at school, we call non-Brazilians “gringos,” and so on. This is my normal, and this is what my characters would see as normal too, because I don’t know any different.

At the very core, all my characters are influenced by my country’s history, by our relationship with other countries, and by the values my parents taught me, passed down to them by my Indigeous-Spanish-Portuguese-German foremothers/fathers. :P

The main, more palpable way my heritage influences my characters, though, is through humor and theme. I think Brazilians have a very specific, sharp, and often very smart kind of humor that, IMO, stems from the type of history our country has, and the way we look at life, sometimes translating pain into humor. As for themes, I usually write about what makes me angry... and there’s a lot in Brazil’s history and modern society that causes me that. :)

But all I know for sure is that I want to show the world Brazilians are much more than samba and soccer.

Q6: What is something you love to see in interactive fiction?

Other people! In the same way I add my history and worldview to my creations, I always approach stories thinking that there’s a whole, well, history behind them. And I love that! Also, I adore choices that feel impactful + good friendships and family relationships + soft romances with mutual respect. ♥

Q7: Any advice to give?

Hmm. Be proud and celebrate who you are and where you’re from. Learning and understanding the world inside us is a life-long process, so it’s always a victory to discover new pieces of ourselves. :) Also, if you can, talk to people that come from different cultures than yours to expand your worldview, don’t be afraid to be soft (the world needs more kindness), and please study personal finance. Seriously. XD

#if: events #latino heritage month #latino authors #cyoa #choose your own adventure #choose your story #interactive fiction

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littlemixnet · 3 years

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To me, a good ally is someone who is consistent in their efforts – there’s a difference between popping on a pride playlist or sprinkling yourself in rainbow glitter once a year and actually defending LGBT+ people against discrimination. It means showing my LGBT+ fans that I support them wholeheartedly and am making a conscious effort to educate myself, raise awareness and show up whenever they need me to. It would be wrong of me to benefit from the community as a musician without actually standing up and doing what I can to support. As someone in the public eye, it’s important to make sure your efforts are not performative or opportunistic. I’m always working on my allyship and am very much aware that I’ve still got a lot of unlearning and learning to do. There are too many what I call ‘dormant allies’, believing in equality but not really doing more than liking or reposting your LGBT+ mate’s content now and again. Imagine if that friend then saw you at the next march, or signing your name on the next petition fighting for their rights? Being an ally is also about making a conscious effort to use the right language and pronouns, and I recently read a book by Glennon Doyle who spoke of her annoyance and disappointment of those who come out and are met with ‘We love you…no matter what’. I’d never thought of that expression like that before and it really struck a chord with me. ‘No matter what’ suggests you are flawed. Being LGBT+ is not a flaw. Altering your language and being conscious of creating a more comfortable environment for your LGBT+ family and friends is a good start. Nobody is expecting you to suddenly know it all, I don’t think there’s such a thing as a perfect ally. I’m still very much learning. Even recently, after our Confetti music video I was confronted with the fact that although we made sure our video was incredibly inclusive, we hadn’t brought in any actual drag kings. Some were frustrated, and they had every right to be. You can have the right intentions and still fall short. As an open ally I should have thought about that, and I hadn’t, and for that I apologise. Since then I’ve been doing more research on drag king culture, because it’s definitely something I didn’t know enough about, whether that was because it isn’t as mainstream yet mixed with my own ignorance. But the point is we mess up, we apologise, we learn from it and we move forward with that knowledge. Don’t let the fear of f**king up scare you off. And make sure you are speaking alongside the community, not for the community. Growing up in a small Northern working-class town, some views were, and probably still are, quite ‘old fashioned’ and small-minded. I witnessed homophobia at an early age. It was a common thought particularly among men that it was wrong to be anything but heterosexual. I knew very early on I didn’t agree with this, but wasn’t educated or aware enough on how to combat it. I did a lot of performing arts growing up and within that space I had many LGBT+ (mainly gay) friends. I’ve been a beard many a time let me tell you! But it was infuriating to see friends not feel like they could truly be themselves. When I moved to London I felt incredibly lonely and like I didn’t fit in. It was my gay friends (mainly my friend and hairstylist, Aaron Carlo) who took me under their wing and into their world. Walking into those gay bars or events like Sink The Pink, it was probably the first time I felt like I was in a space where everyone in that room was celebrated exactly as they are. It was like walking into a magical wonderland. I got it. I clicked with everyone. My whole life I struggled with identity – being mixed race for me meant not feeling white enough, or black enough, or Arab enough. I was a ‘tomboy’ and very nerdy. I suppose on a personal level that maybe played a part in why I felt such a connection or understanding of why those spaces for the LGBT+ community are so important. One of the most obvious examples of first realising Little Mix was having an effect in the community was that I couldn’t enter a gay bar without hearing a Little Mix song and watching numerous people break out into full choreo from our videos! I spent the first few years of our career seeing this unfold and knowing the LGBT+ fan base were there, but it wasn’t until I got my own Instagram or started properly going through Twitter DMs that I realised a lot of our LGBT+ fans were reaching out to us on a daily basis saying how much our music meant to them. I received a message from a boy in the Middle East who hadn’t come out because in his country homosexuality is illegal. His partner tragically took their own life and he said our music not only helped him get through it, but gave him the courage to start a new life somewhere else where he could be out and proud. There are countless other stories like theirs, which kind of kickstarted me into being a better ally. Another standout moment would be when we performed in Dubai in 2019. We were told numerous times to ‘abide by the rules’, which meant not promoting anything LGBT+ or too female-empowering (cut to us serving a four-part harmony to Salute). In my mind, we either didn’t go or we’d go and make a point. When Secret Love Song came on, we performed it with the LGBT+ flag taking up the whole screen behind us. The crowd went wild, I could see fans crying and singing along in the audience and when we returned it was everywhere in the press. I saw so many positive tweets and messages from the community. It made laying in our hotel rooms s**tting ourselves that we’d get arrested that night more than worth it. It was through our fans and through my friends I realised I need to be doing more in my allyship. One of the first steps in this was meeting with the team at Stonewall to help with my ally education and discussing how I could be using my platform to help them and in turn the community. Right now, and during lockdown, I’d say my ally journey has been a lot of reading on LGBT+ history, donating to the right charities and raising awareness on current issues such as the conversion therapy ban and the fight for equality of trans lives. Stonewall is facing media attacks for its trans-inclusive strategies and there is an alarming amount of seemingly increasing transphobia in the UK today and we need to be doing more to stand with the trans community. Still, there is definitely a pressure I feel as someone in the public eye to constantly be saying and doing the right things, especially with cancel culture becoming more popular. I s**t myself before most interviews now, on edge that the interviewer might be waiting for me to ‘slip up’ or I might say something that can be misconstrued. Sometimes what can be well understood talking to a journalist or a friend doesn’t always translate as well written down, which has definitely happened to me before. There’ve been moments where I’ve (though well intentioned) said the wrong thing and had an army of Twitter warriors come at me. Don’t get me wrong, there are obviously more serious levels of f**king up that are worthy of a cancelling. But it was quite daunting to me to think that all of my previous allyship could be forgotten for not getting something right once. When that’s happened to me before I’ve scared myself into thinking I should STFU and not say anything, but I have to remember that I am human, I’m going to f**k up now and again and as long as I’m continuing to educate myself to do better next time then that’s OK. I’m never going to stop being an ally so I need to accept that there’ll be trickier moments along the way. I think that might be how some people may feel, like they’re scared to speak up as an ally in case they say the wrong thing and face backlash. Just apologise to the people who need to be apologised to, and show that you’re doing what you can to do better and continue the good fight. Don’t burden the community with your guilt. When it comes to the music industry, I’m definitely seeing a lot more LGBT+ artists come through and thrive, which is amazing. Labels, managements, distributors and so forth need to make sure they’re not just benefiting from LGBT+ artists but show they’re doing more to actually stand with them and create environments where those artists and their fans feel safe. A lot of feedback I see from the community when coming to our shows is that they’re in a space where they feel completely free and accepted, which I love. I get offered so many opportunities to do with LGBT+ based shows or deals and while it’s obviously flattering, I turn most of them down and suggest they give the gig to someone more worthy of that role. But really, I shouldn’t have to say that in the first place. The fee for any job I do take that feels right for me but has come in as part of the community goes to LGBT+ charities. That’s not me blowing smoke up my own arse, I just think the more of us and big companies that do that, the better. We need more artists, more visibility, more LGBT+ mainstream shows, more shows on LGBT+ history and more artists standing up as allies. We have huge platforms and such an influence on our fans – show them you’re standing by them. I’ve seen insanely talented LGBT+ artist friends in the industry who are only recently getting the credit they deserve. It’s amazing but it’s telling that it takes so long. It’s almost expected that it will be a tougher ride. We also need more understanding and action on the intersectionality between being LGBT+ and BAME. Racism exists in and out of the community and it would be great to see more and more companies in the industry doing more to combat that. The more we see these shows like Drag Race on our screens, the more we can celebrate difference. Ever since I was a little girl, my family would go to Benidorm and we’d watch these glamorous, hilarious Queens onstage; I was hooked. I grew up listening to and loving the big divas – Diana Ross (my fave), Cher, Shirley Bassey, and all the queens would emulate them. I was amazed at their big wigs, glittery overdrawn make-up and fabulous outfits. They were like big dolls. Most importantly, they were unapologetically whoever the f**k they wanted to be. As a shy girl who didn’t really understand why the world was telling me all the things I should be, I almost envied the queens but more than anything I adored them. Drag truly is an art form, and how incredible that every queen is different; there are so many different styles of drag and to me they symbolise courage and freedom of expression. Everything you envisioned your imaginary best friend to be, but it’s always been you. There’s a reason why the younger generation are loving shows like Drag Race. These kids can watch this show and not only be thoroughly entertained, but be inspired by these incredible people who are unapologetically themselves, sharing their touching stories and who create their own support systems and drag families around them. Now and again I think of when I’d see those Queens in Benidorm, and at the end they’d always sing I Am What I Am as they removed their wigs and smudged their make up off, and all the dads would be up on their feet cheering for them, some emotional, like they were proud. But that love would stop when they’d go back home, back to their conditioned life where toxic heteronormative behaviour is the status quo. Maybe if those same men saw drag culture on their screens they’d be more open to it becoming a part of their everyday life. I’ll never forget marching with Stonewall at Manchester Pride. I joined them as part of their young campaigners programme, and beforehand we sat and talked about allyship and all the young people there asked me questions while sharing some of their stories. We then began the march and I can’t explain the feeling and emotion watching these young people with so much passion, chanting and being cheered by the people they passed. All of these kids had their own personal struggles and stories but in this environment, they felt safe and completely proud to just be them. I knew the history of Pride and why we were marching, but it was something else seeing what Pride really means first hand. My advice for those who want to use their voice but aren’t sure how is, just do it hun. It’s really not a difficult task to stand up for communities that need you. Change can happen quicker with allyship.

Jade Thirlwall on the power, and pressures, of being an LGBT ally: ‘I’m gonna f**k up now and again’

#jade thirlwall #lgbt

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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

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Anonymous asked: As a beginner in Classics I love your Classicist themed posts. I find your caption perfect posts a lot to think upon. I suppose it’s been more than a few years since you read Classics at Cambridge but my question is do you still bother to read any Classic texts and if so what are you currently reading?

I don’t know whether to be flattered or get depressed by your (sincere) remarks. Thank you so much for reminding me how old I must come across as my youngish Millennial bones are already starting to creak from all my sins of past sport injuries and physical exertions. I’m reminded of what J.R.R Tolkien wrote, “I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.” I know the feeling (sigh).

But pay heed, dear follower, to what Menander said of old age, Τίμα το γήρας, ου γαρ έρχεται μόνον (respect old age, for it does not come alone). Presumably he means we all carry baggage. One hopes that will be wisdom which is often in the form of experience, suffering, and regret. So I’m not ready to trade in my high heels and hiking boots for a walking stick and granny glasses just yet.

To answer your question, yes, I still to read Classical literature and poetry in their original text alongside trustworthy translations. Every day in fact.

I learned Latin when I was around 8 or 9 years old and Greek came later - my father and grandfather are Classicists - and so it would be hard to shake it off even if I tried.

So why ‘bother’ to read Classics? There are several reasons. First, the Classics are the Swiss Army knife to unpick my understanding other European languages that I grew up with learning. Second, it increases my cultural literacy out of which you can form informed aesthetic judgements about any art form from art, music, and literature. Third, Classical history is our shared history which is so important to fathom one’s roots and traditions. Fourth, spending time with the Classics - poetry, myth, literature, history - inspires moral insight and virtue. Fifth, grappling with classical literature informs the mind by developing intellectual discipline, reason, and logic.

And finally, and perhaps one I find especially important, is that engaging with Classical literature, poetry, or history, is incredibly humbling; for the classical world first codified the great virtues of prudence, temperance, justice, loyalty, sacrifice, and courage. These are qualities that we all painfully fall short of in our every day lives and yet we still aspire to such heights.

I’m quite eclectic in my reading. I don’t really have a method other than what my mood happens to be. I have my trusty battered note book and pen and I sit my arse down to translate passages wherever I can carve out a place to think. It’s my answer to staving off premature dementia when I really get old because quite frankly I’m useless at Soduku. We spend so much time staring at screens and passively texting that we don’t allow ourselves to slow down and think that physically writing gives you that luxury of slow motion time and space. In writing things out you are taking the time to reflect on thoughts behind the written word.

I do make a point of reading Homer’s The Odyssey every year because it’s just one of my favourite stories of all time. Herodotus and Thucydides were authors I used to read almost every day when I was in the military and especially when I went out to war in Afghanistan. Not so much these days. Of the Greek poets, I still read Euripides for weighty stuff and Aristophanes for toilet humour. Aeschylus, Archilochus and Alcman, Sappho, Hesiod, and Mimnermus, Anacreon, Simonides, and others I read sporadically.

I read more Latin than Greek if I am honest. From Seneca, Caesar, Cicero, Sallust, Tacitus, Livy, Apuleius, Virgil, Ovid, the younger Pliny to Augustine (yes, that Saint Augustine of Hippo). Again, there is no method. I pull out a copy from my book shelves and put it in my tote bag when I know I’m going on a plane trip for work reasons.

At the moment I am spending time with Horace. More precisely, his famous odes.

Of all the Greek and Latin poets, I feel spiritually comfortable with Horace. He praises a simple life of moderation in a much gentler tone than other Roman writers. Although Horace’s odes were written in imitation of Greek writers like Sappho, I like his take on friendship, love, alcohol, Roman politics and poetry itself. With the arguable exception of Virgil, there is no more celebrated Roman poet than Horace. His Odes set a fashion among English speakers that come to bear on poets to this day. His Ars Poetica, a rumination on the art of poetry in the form of a letter, is one of the seminal works of literary criticism. Ben Jonson, Pope, Auden, and Frost are but a few of the major poets of the English language who owe a debt to the Roman.

We owe to Horace the phrases, “carpe diem” or “seize the day” and the “golden mean” for his beloved moderation. Victorian poet Alfred Lord Tennyson, of Ancient Mariner fame, praised the odes in verse and Wilfred Owen’s great World War I poem, Dulce et Decorum est, is a response to Horace’s oft-quoted belief that it is “sweet and fitting” to die for one’s country.

Unlike many poets, Horace lived a full life. And not always a happy one. Horace was born in Venusia, a small town in southern Italy, to a formerly enslaved mother. He was fortunate to have been the recipient of intense parental direction. His father spent a comparable fortune on his education, sending him to Rome to study. He later studied in Athens amidst the Stoics and Epicurean philosophers, immersing himself in Greek poetry. While led a life of scholarly idyll in Athens, a revolution came to Rome. Julius Caesar was murdered, and Horace fatefully lined up behind Brutus in the conflicts that would ensue. His learning enabled him to become a commander during the Battle of Philippi, but Horace saw his forces routed by those of Octavian and Mark Antony, another stop on the former’s road to becoming Emperor Augustus.

When he returned to Italy, Horace found that his family’s estate had been expropriated by Rome, and Horace was, according to his writings, left destitute. In 39 B.C., after Augustus granted amnesty, Horace became a secretary in the Roman treasury by buying the position of questor's scribe. In 38, Horace met and became the client of the artists' patron Maecenas, a close lieutenant to Augustus, who provided Horace with a villa in the Sabine Hills. From there he began to write his satires. Horace became the major lyric Latin poet of the era of the Augustus age. He is famed for his Odes as well as his caustic satires, and his book on writing, the Ars Poetica. His life and career were owed to Augustus, who was close to his patron, Maecenas. From this lofty, if tenuous, position, Horace became the voice of the new Roman Empire. When Horace died at age 59, he left his estate to Augustus and was buried near the tomb of his patron Maecenas.

Horace’s simple diction and exquisite arrangement give the odes an inevitable quality; the expression makes familiar thoughts new. While the language of the odes may be simple, their structure is complex. The odes can be seen as rhetorical arguments with a kind of logic that leads the reader to sometimes unexpected places. His odes speak of a love of the countryside that dedicates a farmer to his ancestral lands; exposes the ambition that drives one man to Olympic glory, another to political acclaim, and a third to wealth; the greed that compels the merchant to brave dangerous seas again and again rather than live modestly but safely; and even the tensions between the sexes that are at the root of the odes about relationships with women.

What I like then about Horace is his sense of moderation and he shows the gap between what we think we want and what we actually need. Horace has a preference for the small and simple over the grandiose. He’s all for independence and self-reliance.

If there is one thing I would nit pick Horace upon is his flippancy to the value of the religious and spiritual. The gods are often on his lips, but, in defiance of much contemporary feeling, he absolutely denied an afterlife - which as a Christian I would disagree with. So inevitably “gather ye rosebuds while ye may” is an ever recurrent theme, though Horace insists on a Golden Mean of moderation - deploring excess and always refusing, deprecating, dissuading.

All in all he champions the quiet life, a prayer I think many men and women pray to the gods to grant them when they are caught in the open Aegean, and a dark cloud has blotted out the moon, and the sailors no longer have the bright stars to guide them. A quiet life is the prayer of Thrace when madness leads to war. A quiet life is the prayer of the Medes when fighting with painted quivers: a commodity, Grosphus, that cannot be bought by jewels or purple or gold? For no riches, no consul’s lictor, can move on the disorders of an unhappy mind and the anxieties that flutter around coffered ceilings.

Caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt (they change their sky, not their soul, who rush across the sea.)

Part of Horace’s persona - lack of political ambition, satisfaction with his life, gratitude for his land, and pride in his craft and the recognition it wins him - is an expression of an intricate web of awareness of place. Reading Horace will centre you and get you to focus on what is most important in life. In Horace’s discussion of what people in his society value, and where they place their energy and time, we can find something familiar. Horace brings his reader to the question - what do we value?

Much like many of our own societies, Rome was bustling with trade and commerce, ambition, and an area of vast, diverse civilisation. People there faced similar decisions as we do today, in what we pursue and why. As many of us debate our place and purpose in our world, our poet reassures us all. We have been coursing through Mondays for thousands of years. Horace beckons us: take a brief moment from the day’s busy hours. Stretch a little, close your eyes while facing the warm sun, and hear the birds and the quiet stream. The mind that is happy for the present should refuse to worry about what is further ahead; it should dilute bitter things with a mild smile.

I would encourage anyone to read these treasures in translations. For you though, as a budding Classicist, read the texts in Latin and Greek if you can. Wrestle with the word. The struggle is its own reward. Whether one reads from the original or from a worthy translation, the moral virtue (one hopes) is wisdom and enlightenment.

Pulvis et umbra sumus

(We are but dust and shadow.)

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #classical #greek #latin #horace #poetry #literature #arts #cambridge #classics #personal #study #habits #reading #books #culture #personal growth

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ingek73 · 3 years

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Juneteenth

STORY by Team at Archewell

Jun. 16, 2021

YOUNG POETS OF GET LIT SHARE POWERFUL WORDS TO COMMEMORATE THE DAY

In honor of Juneteenth, we, at Archewell, connected with our friends at Get Lit and asked them to share poetry to honor this important day. We hope their poignant words allow you to reflect on the significance of this newly declared federal holiday in the United States and its impact across this country and around the world.

AND HOLD, AND HOLD

CORTUNAY MINOR AND TAMIA JACKSON

youtube

WHY THEY WROTE THIS POEM:

“When I wrote this poem, just a few weeks before June 15th, Juneteenth wasn’t yet a federal or national holiday. It wasn’t something I’d given much thought to, but when I had recognized that fact, it wasn’t information, it was confirmation. At first, I was upset about it. My immediate thoughts were along the lines of, ‘Where are our fireworks? Where’s our three-day weekend?’ But in reflection, I realized that this was demonstrating continued deference to a supposedly superior entity. Juneteenth isn’t the ‘Black Independence Day,’ it’s the only Independence Day. To have that nationally recognized feels amazing. But whether or not the date is printed in every calendar does not validate this holiday. We do.”

WHY SHE ANIMATED THIS PIECE:

“This poem, especially for Juneteenth, really inspired me. The color palette expresses the somber yet hopeful emotions that happen when black freedom is discussed, and what it means to be a Black individual in America. This poem as well as the visuals really emphasizes the impact that Black people have by simply existing, and the importance of our breath. We know that as long as we’re still breathing there can and will be change, and ultimately full freedom.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Cortunay Minor (she/they) is a performing artist who specializes in Stage Acting and Spoken Word Poetry. They are currently pursuing a bachelor’s degree in Theater from the UCLA School of Theater, Film, and Television. The theme and goal that Minor tries to hold in the heart of their artistry is liberation, be that emotional, intellectual, or otherwise. Expression and education are two of the most fruitful paths Minor has found that achieve that liberation, and she is immensely grateful to be able to participate in a craft that allows their simultaneous occurrence.

ABOUT THE ANIMATOR:

Tamia Jackson (animator) is a rising senior at the Rhode Island School of Design, receiving her BFA in Film/Animation/Video with a minor in Literary Arts and Studies. She has always been passionate in art, animation, and storytelling. She loves bringing stories of lesser voices, such as BIPOC, low income, female, etc., into a visual and cared-for light. Though not all of her stories or animations revolve around such identities, it is important that she shows diversity so that many people can relate and find comfort in the characters or art piece. Not only does Jackson enjoy spreading her own voice, but she also loves bringing others’ stories to life.

AND HOLD, AND HOLD

‘Holiday’ meaning ‘Holy Day’ meaning:

every second is sacred/every hour hibernates

within the spirit, huddled beneath the bosom.

To breathe is to commemorate:

inhale – exhale – cradle the thought – hold – and repeat.

When daybreak demotes breath to subconscious action,

the diaphragm still submits in reverence, still remembers that

This is Divine. This

is where jubilation begins:

in the suspension of

breathe in – breathe out – take maybe – and

forever hold the moment,

where the deferred dream stopped shriveling,

wavered in anticipation, remembered that expansion

can be soft,

recognized that it didn’t want soft

expansion.

Bodies were policied out of possession, but

the Black individual liberated their own being,

hollered themself out of state-sanctioned silence.

Words ignite, but presence sustains; this intake/expel maintains us

here

the dream explodes. The spirit absorbs the remnants and outpours,

‘holiday’ meaning ‘Holy Day’ meaning:

I hold this day as sovereign. Meaning:

I hope this day knows its home is in these lungs,

is in this breath, is in the repetition of:

inspire – expire – immortalize the memory – and hold – and hold – and release

POPLAR TREES

CYRUS ROBERTS

youtube

WHY HE WROTE AND DIRECTED THIS POEM:

“It’s easy to say “slavery was an atrocity and we need to do better” but it’s much more difficult to say “slave masters ripped babies from their mothers and used them as crocodile bait for sport.” In the average American lexicon, phrases like ‘Never Forget’ are commonplace but are rarely attributed to periods of fundamental, ongoing violence of a racial nature for the simple fact that our pain makes the people who benefitted from that pain uncomfortable. For me Juneteenth is a day of mourning; the Confederate holidays still celebrated today seem like a gruesome counterbalance. So this is my eulogy to both the country and my own being that could have been.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Cyrus Roberts (he/him) writes, acts, and directs across poetry, theater, and film. While his work has been commissioned by organizations like Toms Shoes, Adidas, and March For Our Lives, he also enjoys working on cool independent projects, whether he’s self-publishing poetry compilations, creating movies with friends, or acting in his own plays. Roberts is currently a senior in UC Santa Barbara’s BFA Acting program. Look for him in the upcoming film Summertime, directed by Carlos Lopez Estrada. His assistant director on the project was Mattie Kranz.

POPLAR TREES

Before you there was me. But before me there was (Nina Simone audio: “black bodies swinging”). And that was the gentler time period. Everything base within you, reflected in your actions. Please don’t censor me when I mention how you wrangled our teeth from our mouths and used them to seduce your own illnesses into submission. Or how you took an interest in the skin that had a monopoly on sunlight and then took what you wanted underneath the moon. Or how you used our babies as crocodile bait and our skin as shoe leather. Look right into the eyes of our demise and try to say those times are past, that I’m being rash, that I’m being bad and so full of woe and I should be glad I’m writing this on my MacBook Pro. Yeah? Who am I to complain about slavery? Because it ended, right? On June 19, 1865, Union Army general Gordon Granger made his way to Texas and proclaimed slavery’s supposed fall and us colored folk supposed to have a ball? I mean it was two and a half years after Lincoln already announced it, but we needed a white man to tell other white men what another white man already said. I mean that is until that white man found himself dead and Reconstruction found itself at a head and chain gangs, sharecropping, Jim Crow, private prison options, perc popping, bodies dropping, cops still stopping, guns cocking to ensure that (Nina Simone audio: “black bodies swinging”). Every 19th of June we celebrate the end of chattel slavery and every 20th we’re back to fighting its descendants. Private prisons / a cop’s knee is a modern lynching / it ain’t my decision to get busy dyin’ or busy living / I paid attention, to all the digitized depictions / all the people packing up pensions while we’re backed up by the system. Put your back into the system, this is wack how mother’s missing their babies kisses and I’m supposed to be celebrating? I’m sorry. Will you forgive me, I’m jaded. My grandmother looks at me and says confidently that I made it. That she can’t possibly imagine the life that I’m living, I owe a debt to her generation, and I hope that I pay it. I just get so angry, hazy laughter at the thought of thoughts and prayers ending enslavement. So after you hear me, I’ll forgive you if you’re jaded. But you still need to know the history to have an appreciation. It’s no mystery why it’s a mystery present in our education, presently the gatekeepers keep us from it and it’s heinous. On Juneteenth, Americans across the nation eat red foods in honor of the blood spilled before and during emancipation, we celebrate the secondary, pushed-to-the-side independence day, but you don’t have to know our proclamations of jubilation for us to be heard. We will be heard in our voices screaming thanks that we are not treated as herd. We dance and we sing hymns of freedom. Freedom: absence of subjection to foreign domination or despotic government. Are my brothers and sisters in jail cells free? When there’s a glaring loophole in the 13th amendment smiling from cheek to cheek I’d imagine there’d be some incentive to ensure our purity is never free. And how can I be free when I can’t sleep because my dreams keep whispering I can’t breathe. Regardless of that fact, progress is still being made. But I fear progress is just an exchange of chains for other chains. Same way they changed our names for other names, I rest a bouquet on the graves of enslaved, singing regardless this day. In the hopes that I never again have to see (Nina Simone audio: “black bodies swinging”).

UNTITLED

SIERRA LEONE ANDERSON

youtube

WHY SHE WROTE THIS POEM:

“When writing this poem, I really made an effort to think back to my ancestors. What was their impact? Who did they inspire? How did they carve the path for the road I now choose to take? This poem is about legacy. I am calling back to the ancestors before me to give me the strength and courage to be the ancestor I want to be to future generations.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Sierra Leone Anderson (poet) is a youth activist and professional spoken word artist from Los Angeles. Rooted in liberatory joy and armed with ancestral truth, Sierra Leone aims to bring light to the power of language, empowering Los Angeles youth of color to recognize the quantifiable influence of their voice. She has placed both second and first in Get Lit’s annual middle and high school Classic Slam respectively, co-wrote an article for the political column of USA Today, and has shared space with several influential changemakers including Dr. Melina Abdullah (co-founder of BLM-LA) and Cecily Myart-Cruz (president of UTLA). Her other organizing work includes collaborating with Students Deserve LA to make Black Lives Matter in and beyond schools. She is currently a ninth grade student at Girls Academic Leadership Academy and an avid lover of trashy teenage dramedies.

Her director and editor is Lukas Lane, an award-winning filmmaker and founding member of Literary Riot (started in his junior year of high school), and he is currently attending UC Berkeley.

UNTITLED

Every generation, the world gives birth to a new fleet of freedom fighters.

I am one of them.

I stand on the shoulders of tired women.

I dance in the footsteps of Pan-African poets, liberation fighters, and Black writers

who grew fires from a pit hungrier than a stomach. They call my name and I call theirs.

Malcolm X. Phyllis Wheatley. Maya Angelou. Sojourner Truth. Audre Lorde. Ida B. Wells.

Your resilience rivers through me. You are my founding fathers. The blueprint to a world we need to be brave enough to see, to seek.

Let us imagine a world in which we know each other’s palms

and never the fist. Not unless needed. Not unless united together.

Let us be the drum and not the war.

Let us know each other’s names and not the languages we cry in.

Let us be, let all us be more than a slave’s wildest dream

Let us beam past blueprints and what-ifs and start becoming the now we want to see, the now we want to be

Trees growing so far past the Earth, Allah would mistake our bodies for angels.

When I die, I want to ripple through lifetimes. I want my name to graffiti the mouths of the next 10 generations.

I don’t want to be forgotten. Or remembered for the way my feet wouldn’t stop running.

I wanna grow roots in this soil, in this American skin. Join the forest of my ancestors. Let my grandkids climb up my branches and tell stories of school.

And before the first pulse of morning, I want them to drip from their homes and gather at my roots.

I want to tell them my name before I forget it.

I want to tell them that morning is coming. And will always come. And will never wait for when you are ready.

I want to tell them that there is a point far beyond this tree, this forest, this temporary point in time, their bodies, their fears, their fathers, their memories. Where the sun is eternal and smiling. Where freedom rings and is never silent, never out of reach. It is called horizon. And it is right there.

#juneteenth #archewell #sierra leone anderson #cyrus roberts #cortunay minor #tamia jackson #get lit #poetry #poets #Youtube

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rockislandadultreads · 3 years

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Criticism & Literary Interpretations

A Swim in a Pond in the Rain: In Which Four Russians Give a Master Class on Writing, Reading, and Life by George Saunders

For the last twenty years, George Saunders has been teaching a class on the Russian short story to his MFA students at Syracuse University. In A Swim in a Pond in the Rain, he shares a version of that class with us, offering some of what he and his students have discovered together over the years. Paired with iconic short stories by Chekhov, Turgenev, Tolstoy, and Gogol, the seven essays in this book are intended for anyone interested in how fiction works and why it’s more relevant than ever in these turbulent times.

In his introduction, Saunders writes, “We’re going to enter seven fastidiously constructed scale models of the world, made for a specific purpose that our time maybe doesn’t fully endorse but that these writers accepted implicitly as the aim of art—namely, to ask the big questions, questions like, How are we supposed to be living down here? What were we put here to accomplish? What should we value? What is truth, anyway, and how might we recognize it?” He approaches the stories technically yet accessibly, and through them explains how narrative functions; why we stay immersed in a story and why we resist it; and the bedrock virtues a writer must foster. The process of writing, Saunders reminds us, is a technical craft, but also a way of training oneself to see the world with new openness and curiosity.

A Swim in a Pond in the Rain is a deep exploration not just of how great writing works but of how the mind itself works while reading, and of how the reading and writing of stories make genuine connection possible.

A Little Devil in America: Notes in Praise of Black Performance by Hanif Abdurraqib

A stirring meditation on Black performance in America from the New York Times bestselling author of Go Ahead in the Rain At the March on Washington in 1963, Josephine Baker was fifty-seven years old, well beyond her most prolific days. But in her speech she was in a mood to consider her life, her legacy, her departure from the country she was now triumphantly returning to. “I was a devil in other countries, and I was a little devil in America, too,” she told the crowd. Inspired by these few words, Hanif Abdurraqib has written a profound and lasting reflection on how Black performance is inextricably woven into the fabric of American culture. Each moment in every performance he examines—whether it’s the twenty-seven seconds in “Gimme Shelter” in which Merry Clayton wails the words “rape, murder,” a schoolyard fistfight, a dance marathon, or the instant in a game of spades right after the cards are dealt—has layers of resonance in Black and white cultures, the politics of American empire, and Abdurraqib’s own personal history of love, grief, and performance. Abdurraqib writes prose brimming with jubilation and pain, infused with the lyricism and rhythm of the musicians he loves. With care and generosity, he explains the poignancy of performances big and small, each one feeling intensely familiar and vital, both timeless and desperately urgent. Filled with sharp insight, humor, and heart, A Little Devil in America exalts the Black performance that unfolds in specific moments in time and space—from midcentury Paris to the moon, and back down again to a cramped living room in Columbus, Ohio.

The Dark Side of Alice in Wonderland by Angela Youngman

Although the children's story Alice in Wonderland has been in print for over 150 years, the mysteries and rumors surrounding the story and its creator Lewis Carroll have continued to grow. The Dark Side of Alice in Wonderland is the first time anyone has investigated the vast range of darker, more threatening aspects of this famous story and the way Alice has been transformed over the years. This is the Alice of horror films, Halloween, murder and mystery, spectral ghosts, political satire, mental illnesses, weird feasts, Lolita, Tarot, pornography and steampunk. The Beatles based famous songs such as Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds and I am the Walrus on Alice in Wonderland, while she has even attracted the attention of world-famous artists including Salvador Dali. Take a look at why the Japanese version of Lolita is so different to that of novelist Vladimir Nabokov - yet both are based on Alice. This is Alice in Wonderland as you have never seen her before: a dark, sometimes menacing, and threatening character. Was Carroll all that he seemed? The stories of his child friends, nude photographs and sketches affect the way modern audiences look at the writer. Was he just a lonely academic, closet pedophile, brilliant puzzle maker or even Jack the Ripper? For a book that began life as a simple children's story, it has resulted in a vast array of dark concepts, ideas and mysteries. So step inside the world of Alice in Wonderland and discover a dark side you never knew existed!

Huck Finn's America: Mark Twain and the Era That Shaped His Masterpiece by Andrew Levy

A provocative, exuberant, and deeply researched investigation into Mark Twain’s writing of Huckleberry Finn, which turns on its head everything we thought we knew about America’s favorite icon of childhood. In Huck Finn’s America, award-winning biographer Andrew Levy shows how modern readers have been misunderstanding Huckleberry Finn for decades. Twain’s masterpiece, which still sells tens of thousands of copies each year and is taught more than any other American classic, is often discussed either as a carefree adventure story for children or a serious novel about race relations, yet Levy argues convincingly it is neither. Instead, Huck Finn was written at a time when Americans were nervous about youth violence and “uncivilized” bad boys, and a debate was raging about education, popular culture, and responsible parenting — casting Huck’s now-celebrated “freedom” in a very different and very modern light. On issues of race, on the other hand, Twain’s lifelong fascination with minstrel shows and black culture inspired him to write a book not about civil rights, but about race’s role in entertainment and commerce, the same features upon which much of our own modern consumer culture is also grounded. In Levy’s vision, Huck Finn has more to say about contemporary children and race that we have ever imagined—if we are willing to hear it. An eye-opening, groundbreaking exploration of the character and psyche of Mark Twain as he was writing his most famous novel, Huck Finn’s America brings the past to vivid, surprising life, and offers a persuasive—and controversial—argument for why this American classic deserves to be understood anew.

#nonfiction #non-fiction #nonfiction books #literature #criticism #critical thinking #analysis #interpretation #classics #english literature #literary #reading recommendations #Book Recommendations #library #800s #history #literary criticism #russian literature

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heavyarethecrowns · 3 years

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Kate Middleton: Prince William’s Decade-Long Mistake - Oct 2010

Who is Kate Middleton? After nearly 10 years of seeing Kate’s recorded behavior, this is my impression: Kate Middleton doesn’t care about any causes, charities or anything outside of living for pleasure. I doubt her ability to handle royal responsibilities – beyond dealing with privileges and paparazzi – because in the ten years the world has watched her, she hasn’t demonstrated she can take on anything but a royal c*ck and a jolly good time. While true, she isn’t married to William and isn’t in fact a royal (and may never be, for all we know), her perseverance implies she’s in it for the long haul and plans to become the Princess of Wales. As such, she should have taken these years to demonstrate to the world that, although she’s a common-bred, middle-class girl, she’s an exceptional lady who rises above the rest. But Kate has failed profoundly in that respect. The last thing the women of the public should be thinking when they see William’s marital choice is, “What on earth makes her so special? I could have done that/been in her place – and done it better! -Maybe I should have gone to St. Andrews!” But that’s what women, including myself, are lead to think of her. Coming from her background, as a common, everyday girl, it shows her complete lack of humility, and is borderline arrogant, for her to assume she can live like a spoiled brat who doesn’t need to prove herself. She enjoys a privileged life that she wasn’t born into – and for the life of many, we can’t understand why. Why was she chosen? Why not someone else? Why not a woman the vast majority can respect and admire? Let’s be honest here: William can have nearly anyone he wants – and he’s settling for this average circus monkey?

At first glance, Kate seemed like a well kept, nicely mannered woman – and well-suited for a royal position. In the first few years of her royal relationship, she shone as an attractive, educated, beautifully fashioned, friendly, and conservatively-behaved young lady. But that was then. Now, upon looking back at Kate’s near-decade as an unofficial princess-in-waiting, her behavior reveals her as a underwhelming choice for the monarchy. She’s demonstrated that she’s far from exceptional, and that aside from her pursuit of a crown, she’s a disappointing, arrogant underachiever of little substance.

Ambitious In All The Wrong Ways:

Those who know Kate often describe her as ambitious; and in the beginning, that’s the side of her the public got to see. Kate worked hard on her academics so she could attend the prestigious St. Andrews University, where William was also set to attend. While there, she met William and completed the same degree as him, in Art History. Following their graduations, William began the demanding military career he still pursues today. However, surprisingly, the once ambitious-seeming Kate did nothing: She remained jobless for nearly two years, living off of her parents (and William, I’m sure). Kate finally got a part-time job as an accessories buyer at the fashion chain, Jigsaw, but quit after only 11 months. Notably, rumors suggest Kate only got the job to passify Her Majesty, The Queen, who took notice that her grandson’s significant-other was a lazy freeloader. After that, she worked for her parent’s internet business, Party Pieces (which to many read like an unemployment cover-up). Apparently, Kate made updates to their website and took photos for it. That sounds pathetic and hardly full-time. Not to mention, Kate’s monthly getaways to exotic locations with William attest that her parents gave her an overwhelming amount of time off whenever she wanted it. That’s hardly a real job. And if that’s not disappointing enough, Kate quit the job all together in October of 2009 and has officially been doing nothing but shacking up with William while he pursues his career ever since. I’m sorry Katie dear, but for any 28 year old – especially a potential Queen of England – that’s absolutely not good enough.

There are several obvious problems with the reality of Kate’s ambitions (or lack thereof). She was ambitious about her education, but clearly didn’t want or need it for a career – So, what was she even at St. Andrews for, and why was she ambitious about getting there? She graduated from a top notch university, only to settle for unemployment and a job her parents provided? Logically, it’s mismatching for someone to aggressively pursue a top-tier education only to fall flat as a lazy, career-underachiever immediately and permanently thereafter. The fact that Kate did just that leads me, and countless others to believe she was only academically driven so she could put herself in William’s way and try to form a relationship with him. Also telling are the numerous reports by those close to Kate’s mother that Mrs. Middleton pushed her daughter’s attendance to St. Andrews in hopes of her becoming royalty.

Kate: The Attention-Loving Wild Child

When Kate’s not working – and that’s most of the time – she goes shopping, attends leisurely sporting and social events, and parties ’till her heart’s content in Britain’s most luxurious night spots (Paris Hilton style – ick). The photos of her nightlife are less than flattering – actually, they’re flat out embarrassing – especially for the potential next Princess and Queen of Wales. She often looks extremely intoxicated, and her attire and car-exiting-techniques have granted the paparazzi dozens of “crotch shots”.

[picapp align=”none” wrap=”false” link=”term=kate+middleton&iid=756945″ src=”http://view3.picapp.com/pictures.photo/image/756945/kate-middleton-birthday/kate-middleton-birthday.jpg?size=500&imageId=756945″ width=”234″ height=”151″ /] Kate characteristically grinning as she’s hounded by the paparazzi

Any other 28 year old woman would be focused on a career or starting a family – or both; But Kate just parties like she’s some rich 19 year old without any responsibilities. In fact, she’s only too happy to show that side of herself to the paparazzi – and the world. Her parents and William (taxpayer dollars) have financially supported her throughout her twenties – extravagant vacations included – and Kate’s habitual ear-to-ear smile indicates she’s loved every minute of it. As long as she’s attached to William, she doesn’t have a care in the world that other (common) women like her have – aside from her image, and she’s let that fall to the wayside. From the bright red coat she wore to William’s military graduation to the never-failing smile she wears for the paparazzi, Kate’s self-presentation says she loves being a celebrity and all eyes being on her. Unfortunately, Britain needs a princess who naturally exudes a respectable image when she provokes the world to look.

William’s Mistake – William’s Responsibility

I understand William’s need to pick a lady who’ll roll with the punches, deal well with the crazy, public lifestyle (privacy invasion, etc.), and conform to suit the monarchy’s needs. Nevertheless, it’s his mistake in assuming those are the only criteria a future princess must meet. If there was a checklist for the “Qualities of the Most Ideal Future Princess of Wales”, Kate would scantily fulfill 20% of them:

Intelligence and Wit

Humility

Career ambition/self sufficiency

Physical beauty – (C’mon, princesses are supposed to be pretty! -Especially when the prince is popular enough to take his pick. Kate’s…just…okay…)

Noble/Aristocratic blood (if not this, then a woman who stands far above the crowd of other commoners)

Grace and Conservative femininity (that goes out the window when you’ve been banging the prince for a decade without a commitment – Oh, and the rumored accidental pregnancies (abortion fanatic if they’re true! *cough* TMI *cough*))

Charity and service for those in need (I volunteered like crazy in college, and I’m not anywhere near royal… Why didn’t Kate?! – And why hasn’t she since??)

Respectable and responsible image (yeah, umm, no)

Takes on royal responsibilities to earn royal privileges (Kate’s only got the acceptance of privileges part down…)

Aaaand the list goes on…

Of course, there’s the possibility that Kate’s the girl who’s a match for William’s heart. But I doubt it. Kate’s the girl with everything to lose if the relationship fails, and everything to gain if it succeeds – her greatest skill is that she’s willing/desperate enough to jump through all and any hoops, including waiting 10+ years for a proposal – and William knows it.

It may have been 10 years, but it’s not too late for William to turn around and make a better decision. Kate hasn’t been cheated – contrary to some’s beliefs. She’s lived a decade of fantasy and wonder beyond her wildest dreams, and has continually been treated to luxuries she doesn’t deserve. William owes it to himself, and his country to make a responsible choice about the future Princess of Wales. Yes, he needs to choose a woman he loves, but his privileges require sacrifices on his part, and that means choosing a bride that will be an honorable partner for the people’s sake too. If William was going to wait ’till his late 20s/early 30s to wed, he could have waited to meet a woman who’s getting a PhD, or who runs a charitable non-profit organization, for example. But no : Instead, he’s burdening his country with wishy-washy, Waity Katie.

It’s not about choosing a girl who loves being photographed or relishes living her fantasy of being a fashion icon – or even a real, live princess. It’s about choosing a self-sufficient woman who has something amazing to offer the country and the world: A role model, a charitable, caring person who views joining the monarchy as a responsibility, and an opportunity to serve the people – not just an entitlement to luxurious privileges. Right now, the latter is Kate Middleton; And I don’t foresee her entire irresponsible, pleasure-loving personality changing just because wedding vows are exchanged. What we’ve seen is what we’re going to get as Lady Di’s shoe-filler – if William decides to go through with it. One can only hope that won’t be the case.

#duke of cambridge #duchess of cambridge #prince william #kate middleton #proof #article

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therepublicofletters · 4 years

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Hey! I saw that you're studying art history and wondered if you'd be willing to talk a bit about it? I'd love to hear anything about your experience w classes, career aspirations, further education plans, etc. I would love to go back to school one day and study something that I could actually do for a living and love (hence my interest). Also if you've gotten this question a million times and are sick of it that's fine - no hard feelings :) Thank you so much xx

I’m always happy to talk about it! People will often ask “what do you plan on doing with a useless degree in art history/medieval studies?” and personally I intend on going into academia because I just love learning so much and it’s a way (despite all the red tape etc.) to do that and share it with other people, which is ultimately my goal. I’m not sure if that will mean working in a museum or at a university or in something like an archive; however I definitely don’t want to work at an auction house or for-profit gallery. I want to spend my time doing research and writing and teaching. I plan on getting a PhD, focusing on the Italian Renaissance.

As for classes, I’ve been really lucky to have great professors at my school. So far I’ve taken the survey intro course (which is considered a classic/must-take at Vassar; it’s taught by the entire department so each professor gives lectures on their specialty), 15th century Italian art, Medieval art, a class that was meant to focus on the ethics of collecting antiquities (but it became something rather different and more about the collection at our museum on campus, which was difficult considering that we weren’t even on campus for half of the semester), a short class on ancient urbanism, and seminars on Italian garden design and Raphael (which was meant to go along with the celebrations for the 500th anniversary of his death this year but, again, didn’t work out). Next semester I’m going to take Islamic art and architecture and a seminar on Baudelaire and mid/late 19th century aesthetics. I also work in special collections at our library so I get to work with professors and all the lovely old books we have, which range from Roman papyri to Medieval breviaries to modern small-press prints.

You know, though, it’s interesting - two of my favorite art history teachers started their careers in another field and then found that they were unhappy and decided to go back to school for art history. I know that that’s a rather privileged thing to be able to do, since you have to have the time and resources, but I suppose it goes to show that it is possible to change your career to something you love even after having made a choice.

#personal correspondence #art history #she goes to vassar #college #quid est studiosus sine studio

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domsideasgarden · 3 years

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Fighting for social change through art

Ivan Kafka (1981) covered a street in Prague with 1,000 upright wooden sticks – the only way people could get to work was by trampling them (Credit: Ivan Kafka/Artlist.cz)

Through the history, art has been used as an implement by rulers to establish and profound their beliefs, which allowed them to keep their high position in society. Famous example of this might be considered religious propaganda that was supposed to enhance believes of people and was especially strong in the times of renaissance because it could portrait and celebrate events in the form of pictures from biblical stories. Even though art used to be a leisure of the elites in society, the democratic shift of art enabled new opportunities and people stated being creative with it. New innovative ways are explored to engage communities, such artworks can take in place of a store, garden, website, story exchange or street performance. Socially engaged art has the potential to build collaborative communities whilst provoking them to think critically.

Artists started forming various movements to speak up on the current issues that have been happening within communities by leading meaningful protests or causing controversies that expose structures of society and provoke people to think differently. An example of this could be when in 1981, Czech artist, Ivan Kafka installed 1,000 wooden sticks that stood upright on the floor on a street in Prague, the locals were faced with the decision to walk over it or to preserve it and miss being at work. This was very controversial at that time because of the communistic regime it was illegal to act in the freedom of expression (Weiwei, 2018).

Artists might go after provocative themes which are likely to spark a debate between audience leading to higher engagement and social reach. Reports by Arts Council England and the All-party Parliamentary group has shown visible evidence of the positive impact of art and cultures on wellbeing, education and social presence. Study by Arts and Mind revealed that by implementing art workshops within community can decrease anxiety by 71% and depression by 76%, while the participants also felt their wellbeing getting better and 69% of participants stated that they felt more socially included (Slawson, 2017). The participants had the opportunity to work with a variety of materials which enabled them to make a piece that not only visually represented what they wanted to say but also allowed them to show their originality with the material it was made out of. This alone would have had a positive effect on the participants because it straight away sends the message that they are free to do what they want and this project is there, this allows people’s to get motivated for their project and the more they connect with it, they more it will help them release their emotions and improve their wellbeing. This shows that implementing social change through art can have positive benefit for more vulnerable communities who might face discrimination or other injustice within the system by allowing different communities to come together through something they all understand and love. This also can help with eliminating the “cookie-cutter” culture that tries to force everyone to fit in a box, and instead it gives an opportunity to people to freely express themselves and proudly embrace their personality Badenoch, 2021).

Supporting community art has shown to have positive effect on communities as it gives them shared purpose and meaning of their neighbourhood. This is a great opportunity for art organisations to engage groups of people in shared goals, bring awareness to variety of issues and carry out community building creative programs. Such a program would promote interaction in public space, increase public participation through annual celebrations, engage youth in the community and broadens civic participation (Borrup, 2009). This way, art organisations could bring up the interest in art and achieve higher civic teamwork by collaborating with various artists that have important or radical messages to say.

A good example of an artist who raises concerns about modern issues through contemporary art is Banksy. He is globally known for his controversial artwork that usually randomly appears overnight. His radical art is reflecting societal and political corruption and environmental neglect. He is using his art voice to raise debates and change the way we think about our system by criticising it and its society while also reminding people of the negative impacts that commercialism brought to universal culture. Through his art he is expressing his unhappiness with current norms and hopes to raise more awareness about them. He is keeping is anonymity secret and that might be adding onto his mystical persona.

By shifting people’s mindsets and changing narrative, the societal norms are becoming more inclusive, diverse and equitable, and are able to embrace the constant change by using their creativity and curiosity to turn it into new opportunities, while also being more fearless about the future and relying on intuition (Badenoch, 2021).

Art has been used through the history as a form of sharing and self-expression but also as a driver to bring awareness to social and individual issues that people in societies might face. Artists started forming creative movements as a way to express their disagreement with the system and possibly cause controversy surrounding certain political or environmental issues to spark debates and embrace critical thinking within their audiences. The research that has been done within this topic shows positive influence of art on societies and shows that it provides us with the option to connect local communities and increase civic participation within them.

#art #art industry #social change #social change through art #innovation #university project #artist #artist movement #radical #community #social innovation #design

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punkpoemprose · 5 years

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December 5th- Secret Santa

Universe: Modern AU

Rating: G (General Audiences, fluff to the max)

Length: 5627 Words

A/N: It’s worth noting that I would probably get more pieces done if I kept my word count lower, but here we are. This lovely bit about volunteerism and falling in love proves, I think, that I have fully mastered the Hallmark Christmas movie formula. Thanks for being patient with me as I play catch up! Hopefully I’ll finish the rest of the fics I’ve started that were already supposed to be posted. Whoops!

The Bjorgman family was a large one, and it was no secret to anyone that their matriarch was always looking for “just one baby more” to join their ranks. It was how Kristoff had been adopted into the fold many years before, how his younger sisters and brothers, all adopted themselves, had come to be called as such. It was why every holiday was spent split between their family home and the small orphanage from which they all had been “found” by Bulda and Cliff.

The aged couple couldn’t really bring themselves to bring any new kids into the fold, but that didn’t stop them from finding ways to bring children into their family, and why Kristoff found himself lifting crates of apples off the back of his pickup truck, in the snow, to bring to the orphanage’s kitchens. Since his parents first realized they couldn’t have children themselves, since the day they found him eight years old with no family to call his own, they’d become the unofficial, official sunshine club for the children's home. They were forever coordinating donations, finding ways to organize events and trips for the kids, and Kristoff had grown up with the work being a part of him and a part of his life. Despite having been out from under his parent’s roof for three years, he never hesitated to find a way to help his family in their work to help the kids who weren’t so lucky as him and his younger siblings.

“Kristoff honey!” his mother yelled from one of the adjoining rooms as he dropped the final apple crate on the kitchen counter with the others. There were three more there, plenty enough for the amount of apple pies his mother planned to bake for their annual “desserts and dreams” program.

It was really just a party where the kids at the orphanage filled out their Christmas letters. It was a simple enough process, there was sugar and kids nervously writing usually very small requests on a piece of paper that they’d then hang on trees in local businesses and churches. Even people who couldn’t adopt a child could adopt their wishes for the holidays, and it was, generally something that they’d had great success with in the past.

Before his mother had stepped up, when he was still in the orphanage himself, there had been little celebration for the holidays. He still remembered the disappointment of no tree, no decorations but what he and the other children made themselves, and certainly the fact that there were no presents. But he remembered his first Christmas after being adopted clearer than that, he remembered how the whole house had seemed to glow with lights and tinsel and how he cried into his parent’s arms when he was given a present. It had been a lot to handle, and over the years he’d watched his younger siblings go through similar Christmas 180’s.

His parents hadn’t allowed another holiday without celebrating since for the kids in the orphanage. As they’d quickly learned their first year organizing the party, the year he’d turned 12, the community really did want to help give kids Christmas, they just didn’t know how. It had taken his mother and her fighting spirit to show them the way, and they hadn’t stopped since.

“Yeah Ma?” he shouted back, walking to the kitchen door to close it. It was flurrying out, and the last thing he needed was to hear about the puddles he’d caused by leaving the door open for a moment more than necessary.

“There’s a few new volunteers that need instruction. They just walked in, the rest of us are busy. Once you get the apples handled would you mind getting them on decorating?”

He huffed out a sigh, walking back through the kitchen, down the hallway and towards the room he assumed his mother was in. He wouldn’t tell her no. He couldn’t. Both because he really was unable to deny his mother any of her wishes, and because Bulda was not the type of woman who ever took “no” for an answer. Once she got something into her head, she was a woman on a mission until it got done. His father, Cliff, said that it was the whole reason they’d gotten married in the first place.

“She walked up to me in the middle of a football game and said ‘you’re gonna be my man’ and the rest is history”, was what he used to say. It was, truthfully, almost identical to the story of how he came to be their son. He still recalled her walking up to him, touching his cheek and saying “cutie, I’m gonna keep you”.

He was decidedly not his mother’s son. He knew the irony of that well enough, but it was true. Bulda was outgoing as the day was long, and he was not. Working with people was not necessarily his strong suit, but he would admit to it, and he considered that something. Kids he was alright with, but other adults he preferred to avoid. It was also why when he wasn’t helping his mother, he did carpentry work. Of course he had to talk to people in order to determine what they needed done, but they rarely wanted to hold much of a conversation and that was good enough for him.

“Ah Ma,” he said as he walked into to room, seeing his mother toiling rather heroically over a desk piled high with envelopes and legers, “why don’t you let me handle the math for a little while, you know I’m not good with…”

“Pish posh!” his mother said, waving him off with a smile, “You know I have to run the numbers six times myself before I’m willing to let anyone else double check me, and that’s your father’s job. Go on, it’s just a couple regulars and a new girl, you’ll be fine.”

He gave serious thought to telling his mother that her definition of “fine” and his must be very different, but when he heard one of his younger sister’s calling out for help he thought better of it. They, as they always did, had their hands plenty full without his hemming and hawing about a simple task.

“Yeah, but tell me if you need more heavy lifting done, if I hear you and Dad lifted anything over three pounds I’m going to skip Christmas dinner.”

Bulda, for her part, feigned shock as he walked away. They both knew he wouldn’t dare.

***

“I’m umm…” the girl before him, Anna, was already the most difficult volunteer he’d ever worked with. Not that he thought that she was trying to be difficult, but it was clear to him that whatever she did, it was not usually volunteering at an orphanage’s pre-Christmas party. He had to admit though, that besides his family and the handful of recurring volunteers they’d trusted over the years, there probably weren’t many people that could say they volunteered at an orphanage’s pre-Christmas party.

“I’m pretty good at making paper snowflakes?” she offered.

It had been a simple enough question, he thought. He’d just told her that she was supposed to help make or hang decorations for the party, and had asked what she was good at. He hadn’t thought it was a difficult question, or an involved one. He’d really just meant to ask her whether she wanted to decorate or whether she wanted to make the decorations, but it hadn’t come out that way, and so he had a rather nervous, but very pretty redhead looking at him like she was on foreign soil.

“Okay,” he said, deciding that even if he wasn’t good with people, he could be polite at least for his mother’s sake. “There’s… uh, paper and scissors over at the table, I’m sure you can figure something out. Thanks.”

He did his best to kind of gesture to the table in question and back out of the room slowly to go find somewhere else to be, but she caught onto his sweater sleeve.

“You’re not going to…”

He wasn’t sure whether she meant “stay” or “help” or both. Under any normal circumstance he would say no and walk away, to go do something else helpful that wasn’t arts and crafts with a stranger, but this situation was far from normal to begin with, and she looked panicked. He really wasn’t certain as to why she was even there. She looked a little too old to be the usual college or high school kids they got for community service hours, and she looked too young to be one of the rich types from the nearby city who came for the photo-op. There was something in her eyes though, a determination mixed with her nervousness, and that’s why he sighed and, without giving her an answer, walked over to the table.

***

She was good at making snowflakes. Or at least she was much better at it than he was. Hers were delicate things that looked like they had fallen straight from the sky themselves, he had made sort of squarish abominations with chunks missing that looked more chewed out than cut. She was giving him an A for effort, but had a feeling that not even his mother could truthfully come up with a compliment for what he'd created. But Anna did.

"You're getting better everytime!" She said holding up his latest attempt, "It looks a lot more circular than the last couple!"

Despite the fact that she'd shown him three times how to cut the paper to end up with a snowflake instead of a snow brick, he was still managing to come up with a mess. He appreciated her patience though and despite his earlier reservations, he was finding her easy and even enjoyable to talk to.

"So what do you do for a living Anna?"

It seemed, again, a simple enough question, but when he saw her face go flush he thought that maybe he'd managed to offend her.

"I uh... I'm unemployed at the moment. I just finished my degree in early childhood education though, so the goal is to teach."

He watched as she nervously ran her fingers over her braid, and tried to give her a reassuring smile. He had no idea how to talk to women, and while it seemed as if things had been going fine before he asked, he wasn't sure what he could do to make her more comfortable.

"That's great!" He said, trying to really show her that he meant it, "Volunteering with kids while you apply seems like a smart plan. My parents could write you a reference letter if you want."

She smiled shyly, "That would be nice, thank you. I'm just happy to help. I just really needed to do something that felt..."

She shrugged and looked to him for the word she was lacking.

"Meaningful?" He offered. It was the word he'd use to describe what he and his family did there. Rewarding and positive also came to mind, but at the end of the day, making something out of nothing for kids who barely had anything was one of the most important things he could think to do with his time.

She nodded and gave him a look of appreciation that he hadn't expected. She picked her scissors back up and went to work cutting another perfectly folded page.

"So do you work here?"

Kristoff shook his head. It felt like it most days really, especially during the holiday season when his mother and father seemingly had daily plans for the children housed there. Whether it was parties, organizing donations, crunching the budget to swing presents for children who hadn't received donations or taking nice photos of the children for various agencies to show perspective parents he almost always spent his evenings there. Oftentimes he showed up just to do a couple things and force his mother to go home. Some days she'd try to stay late into the night to get things done, and while he respected her greatly for it, she sometimes needed someone else to step in and make her rest. She often needed to be reminded that she couldn't save the world singlehandedly.

"No, I'm a carpenter. I used to live here though, before..." he didn't know why he was telling her. Normally most of the volunteers knew him. He was "Cliff and Bukda's boy" to everyone in the community and they all knew that he was adopted. He certainly didn't look at all like his parents. But Anna wasn't from the area as far as he could surmise and she was perhaps one of the first people he'd ever needed to tell.

"Oh... I'm so..."

He waved her off before she could continue.

"Oh don't be, please. It's not a sore subject or anything. I was adopted when I was eight, and we've been coming back ever since to volunteer and help out the other kids. It's also how I acquired several siblings."

Her concern was sweet, but entirely unnecessary. As he glanced over to the opposite side of the room where his younger siblings were working with other volunteers to cover tables, put up decorations, and prepare papers and pens for letter writing Kristoff knew for a fact that he was one of the luckiest men alive. That he was talking to Anna and that they both seemed to be enjoying the he conversation despite it's awkward "getting to know you" was an unexpected addition to his luck.

She smiled at that and pulled apart her folding to reveal another perfectly cut snowflake. "That's really sweet you know. My family doesn't really..." She shook her head and he decided not to pry, "I'm glad you do this, and that I have the opportunity to help. It means a lot."

Kristoff grinned, "Well for the kids it means even more than you know. Thank you for coming to help out."

The soft way she reached over to touch his hand after setting down the snowflake was wholly unexpected, and it caused his heart to race in an unfamiliar way. He could feel his face warming.

“No, I mean… I’m sure it does, but I was trying to say, being able to do this means a lot for me. If that makes sense? Does that sound selfish? I’m not really…”

She trailed off and lifted her hand from his. He wasn’t really sure why he flipped his palm and caught her hand in his as she was drawing away. It was instinct, he just didn’t want her to think he thought she was selfish for feeling good about what they were doing. He thought that she was the type of person who should feel good about doing good things, he wanted her to feel good, and that was foreign.

“It does make sense,” he said looking her in the eye, secretly glad to see that he wasn’t the only one blushing. “I mean… this feels good, right?”

He was confused when he saw her eyes go wide and when she gave him a shy grin.

“It really does.”

***

Kristoff still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up catching an early dinner with her. They’d been talking, and then his mom had pulled him aside with the good news that someone had sponsored all the kids, plus some. An anonymous contribution marked “from Santa” which meant that every child would receive not just one gift, but a few. It was generous to say the least, and they hadn’t expected it.

When he’d returned to her, smiling, and feeling very good about the world, she’d mentioned needing to grab dinner before the party started and he’d said that they could go together. He had to ask himself whether it was a date. He hadn’t been on a date since high school, and that really didn’t count because it had just been once and then he’d never really seen the girl again other than in lunch. That had been all he needed to know that he was abysmally bad at dating, but now sitting across from Anna as she mowed through a burger, he really considered the idea that trying again might be worth it.

“So you’re not from around here?” he asked, knowing the answer. It was a small town, everyone knew everyone. She was new and other than the fact that he’d heard through the grapevine, AKA his mother, that she had moved into the old Arendelle place, a large empty manor house that had been in town for years, but uninhabited since before he’d been adopted.

“Well not really,” she said before poking a fry in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully, “My parents grew up here, and my sister and I lived here when I was a baby, but I don’t remember it. I was raised in the city.”

He nodded, “Must be a lot different there, I’ve only ever just driven through.”

She sighed, “Too different. Everything is so fast there…” she took another bite of her burger and with her mouth only slightly full, continued, “My sister likes it, but there’s things about the lifestyle there I’d rather… move away from? If that makes sense.”

It didn’t really make sense. He didn’t know enough about what she could be talking about for it to be making sense, but it didn’t really matter. He’d never been so interested in hearing someone speak, save for his family, and sometimes he didn’t even have an interest so much as he had a love for them that made it worthwhile.

“I can’t say I get it,” he said with a shrug, “but it is a lot slower out here, if you want to get away from something, this is the place to do it.”

She smiled, “I’m just excited to get a fresh start, you know? It’s nice to meet someone who’s so different from…” she trailed off, “Well my ex, I hope you don’t mind my brining it up, it’s just a big part of why I’m here now. I want to be a better person than who I was.”

He didn’t mind. He didn’t think there was anything she could say to him that he would mind hearing.

“I don’t think you can do that,” he said and nearly choked on his coke when he realized what he’d said versus what he’d meant.

“I mean!” he sputtered, “I don’t think you can be better because you already seem really great.”

She laughed. It was a beautiful sound, even when she snorted and covered her face with her hand.

“Well,” she said still laughing, “That’s sweet of you, but I’m afraid you don’t know me very well.”

“I’d like to.”

She grinned broadly, “I’d like that too.”

***

His sister, ten years younger than him and not even a quarter of his size, was pulling him down the hallway of the orphanage their parents had adopted them both from.

“Kris!” she said once they were far enough away from the main room where the kids were eating apple pie and writing their Christmas lists with the help of the volunteers, Anna included, and had his sister not stolen him away, the pair of them as well.

“What is it Jemma, we’re supposed to be helping the kids,” he gave what he hoped was a disapproving look, not that it ever affected any of his younger siblings. He might be the eldest, but he had no power over them. He tried to play tough, but at the end of the day they walked all over him like a doormat and he loved them too much to fight it.

“That girl you’ve been with all day, I know who she is.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, we all do. Her name is Anna, she just moved here, she’s going to start teaching preschool in town once Mrs. Hollis goes off on maternity leave.”

His sister looked at him like he was stupid, throwing in an eyeroll for good measure.

“No Kris, I mean I’ve seen her before, in a magazine.”

He snorted. “That gossip rag you like that Mom keeps threatening to toss out?”

She treated him with another eyeroll, and he wondered if he was half the sass she was when he was thirteen. Somehow, he seriously doubted it, but in his experience, all teens were difficult until they hit sixteen or seventeen and realized just how much they didn’t know yet. With a few exceptions, amongst which he liked to consider himself at that age, even if his mother and father might disagree.

“It’s not a…”

He shot her a look and she trailed off. Even she couldn’t deny that it was, in fact, a gossip rag.

“Fine. But shut up for a minute and listen to me. She’s an heiress. Her name is Anna Arendelle, her parents owned Arendelle industries and when they died it all went to her and her sister. No one knew much about them, but then she started dating this guy Hans Westergaard who comes from like a massive family of Hollywood agents and it became kind of a big deal because he was spotted out at parties and stuff cheating on her with other women but they were engaged and...”

He stopped her with a shake of his head, “Look Jem, I don’t know if you’ve got the right girl or not here, and even if you do, I don’t need to know her backstory, she’s just nice and she’s…”

She jumped in then, “No, you do need to know because she’s not ‘just nice’, she’s volunteers at an orphanage in the middle of nowhere and pay $100 per kid for Christmas presents nice. Also, she’s single.”

Kristoff did not like the thing that his sister was doing with her eyebrows, he also didn’t like that she was implying that he should have an interest in her that was financially motivated, but he supposed that at thirteen thinking that way was more normal.

He did his best to emulate her eyeroll and wrapped an arm around her, dragging her back down the hallway and into the fantastically decorated dining space where the party was in full swing. “Go help some kids write their letters Jem you little troublemaker and I won’t tell Mom that you snuck and found out the identity of an anonymous donor.” There was no malice in his tone, and they both knew he would do no such thing.

From across the room, Anna’s eyes met his and he couldn’t help but hold her gaze and smile.

He didn’t care that she was an heiress. He didn’t care that she had just gone through some kind of highly publicized breakup. It didn’t matter to him.

What mattered was that she was one of the only people he’d ever enjoyed talking to. What mattered was the smile she gave him from across the room and how much she’d enjoyed dinner with him, though his newfound knowledge did explain why after fighting over the check they’d gone Dutch. He didn’t care about what she had in a bank account. He cared about how the little boy sitting with her was giggling, and how when she looked at the boy and he told her something in return, he could hear her laughing too.

He crossed the room and was not particularly subtle about moving to help a child who was just a few seats from where Anna sat.

***

A couple weeks had passed, and another party was well on the horizon. This time, his mother had insisted that he and Anna finish wrapping the massive pile of toys and gifts that they’d been able to purchase with the “anonymous” donation they’d been grateful for.

Kristoff was fairly certain that only he and Jemma were really aware of who Santa was, but at the same time, he knew for a fact that his mother had set up her party plans to keep him and Anna together through the process.

So he’d helped her move some boxes into her house. So they’d gone out to dinner a couple more times since they met. He didn’t see what the big deal was given that he was just trying to be friendly. That he’d helped her fix a squeaky cupboard and thought he’d felt her eyes on his rear, and that he’d blushed furiously because he’d thought he’d felt her eyes on his rear meant nothing.

He suspected Jemma had said something to their mother about how good they looked together or something because his younger sister and mother had shoved them in a room, together, alone, for what was going to be a couple hours of work.

Anna, smiling as she wrapped, seemed to be unaware of their scheming at least.

“So I was thinking, one of the other volunteers told me that there’s a Christmas craft market in the next town over tomorrow, and you know there’s only a week until the big day and I have to find something unique for my sister and trust me, she’s the woman who has everything…”

Something he’d learned about Anna was that she was an over-explainer. When she had something to say, but was worried about how it would be received, she ran on about it for a while, trying to justify what she was saying, even if she only needed to justify it to herself.

“I’d like to go with you if that’s what you’re asking,” he replied, trying desperately to try to fix some of his crumpled wrapping to make it look even slightly attractive next to her flawless work. He thought that maybe he should only be tasked with things that could go in bags and perfect squares. Any other shapes and types of gifts were his holiday kryptonite.

She clapped her hands together and cheered, making him smile.

She plucked the gift from his hands, and he relinquished it gladly, relaxing as she masterfully straightened and primped the paper until the object resembled a gift instead of a wad of paper and tape.

“Good because I was hoping to get some things for the other volunteers and for your family and you know everyone better than I do.”

He laughed, “I think you give my social skills too much credit.”

It was sweet of her to think about getting everyone gifts. He was happy that she was starting, through their little menagerie of family and church ladies and local likeminded folk, to build some friendships in town. She was a nice girl, she deserved to have nice people around her. He still wasn’t sure if that really included him or not, but even if as she met people she was interested in him less and less, he was happy to have been one of the first people to welcome her into town.

“No, I don’t think I do,” she said with a grin, “People like you. Even if you don’t talk to them much, they really like you. The other volunteers have so many nice things to say.”

He shrugged. Most people had good things to say about his whole family. Cliff and Bulda were good people and they did their best to raise their children well. He supposed it made sense that he’d be included amongst someone’s praises of his family.

“But yeah, thank you for agreeing to come. I’ve been really enjoying spending time with you.”

He laughed at that, “That’s a new one.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, “I’m serious, you’re fun to be around. You’re no strings attached and that’s nice. It’s…”

She waved her hand in the air as she searched for a word, finally landing on “refreshing.”

“Not so many blunt people in the city then?”

“No,” she said thoughtfully as she handed him a football, something neither of them were going to attempt to put in anything other than a bag. “They were blunt, but everyone always wanted something from you. They’d be blunt and rude and whatever else they thought they could get away with, but there was always an ulterior motive. They always just talked to me to get to my sister or I was a walking net worth. I wasn’t a person they wanted to get to know. I was a means to an end.”

He frowned when he heard the emotion in her voice. He was not good with crying girls, not even his sisters, so when he looked up at her and saw tears in her eyes he set the football down and scooted across the space on the floor between them and did his best to give her a comforting pat.

It just made her tears fall faster.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as she leaned into him. They’d only known each other a short while, but already he was desperately connected to her. He’d thought that if she left his life as quickly as she’d come that he would be fine, but it was a lie, and he knew it. He was already falling for her, and that in and of itself was completely new territory.

He wrapped his arm around her as she leaned, his hand tentatively falling on her back in a comforting gesture. They were surrounded on all sides by gifts and wrapping paper and sundry and it struck him as a strange place to cry, but he didn’t think that telling her as much would help, so he just held on to her tightly.

“You shouldn’t be sorry,” she said, “You should be proud. You’re so nice to me and you don’t even get anything out of it.”

He smiled then, “I think you’re selling yourself short now. I get plenty out of being nice to you. Like you being nice to me. I don’t really have people lining up to be my friend you know, just Sven, and he’s a dog so he has to like me.”

She laughed at that, a little snort that accompanied her tears.

“But still,” she said, “I’m used to people wanting money from me… do you even know that I’m…”

“Rich?” he asked, then quickly added, “Jemma’s into gossip rags, but I don’t really care what they have to say about you. I don’t want money from you or anything like that, I just think you’re a good person Anna. Though, I will admit when we figured out you were Santa it did make me smile. What you did was very generous.”

She grinned then, still with some tears on her cheeks. “Ho, ho, ho?”

He laughed at that and pulled her in to his side a little tighter.

When she leaned up, looking determined, and asked him a question, he was surprised.

“What if I want something from you?”

He gave her a curious look. Her eyes were still a little wet, she was flushed and looked a bit nervous.

He responded quickly, because he knew the answer, “If it was something, I could give you, I would. Honestly I’ve been trying to figure out what to get you for the holidays since y—”

He didn’t get to finish what he was saying because she was shifting around and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. A quick one, but one that made it obvious enough what she was getting at.

He came to the sudden and sweeping realization that all the times he had asked himself whether going out with her and doing something was a date, she must have been asking herself the same.

“I don’t want to be that girl who leaves a relationship and hops right into another, but I really like you a lot Kristoff,” she said, nervously overexplaining herself again in a way he thought was beginning to find endearing, “I just think that maybe this is worth giving a shot? I think that you like me too, and if not that’s okay I think we’re good friends, and I know we’re still getting to know each other and everything but I just really want to take a chance because—”

He took a chance then too, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her lips. When her arms wrapped around him and she leaned into the kiss, he knew he had made the right choice.

Her lips were soft against his and when their noses bumped together the soft laugh she treated him to, caused him to melt. She was perfect, and he counted himself the luckiest man on Earth that his Ma had forced him to be social a couple weeks before.

When the kiss broke, his forehead rested gently against hers and one of her hands moved from his back to card through his hair gently.

“Did you do that because you wanted to? Or because of the mistletoe?”

Though she asked the question, her voice was so full of mirth that he knew she was teasing. However, when he looked up and saw that there was, indeed, mistletoe hanging above them, he knew he had his mother and sister to thank.

When Anna started laughing though, he knew he couldn’t be mad about their interference.

“I noticed it when we walked in. I picked the spot on purpose,” she said, continuing to giggle as she spoke, her fingers leaving his hair to press against her lips as she blushed, “I was hoping you’d do that.”

He grinned in return. “I’d happily do so again… if you want me to, that is.”

She didn’t waste anytime closing the gap between them, presents at their sides forgotten for later. He’d never been so glad for a new volunteer in his entire life.

#kristanna advent 2019 #kristanna #fluff #this is a kissing book #this is basically a Hallmark Christmas Movie in condensed form #I'm not responsible for any tooth rotting as a consequence of consumption you have been warned this is some saccharine meet cute

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pinarworks · 4 years

Photo

Colonial Gaze Spotted Alive and Well in Eskişehir Last October, OMM, a modern museum in the city of Eskişehir in Turkey founded and run by one of the richest families of Turkey, Tabanca family, published a ‘photobook’ called The People Who Made OMM. It’s a book consisting of black and white, mostly close up shots of some of the workers who worked on the building's construction as plasterers, shovel men and brick builders. The text accompanying the announcement of the book read as follows: Consisting of short interviews and 18 monochrome portraits, some of the construction workers who made and transformed the museum building talk about their stories, craft, and the relationship they formed with the museum. (...) Highlighting the proximity of labour and artistic production, "The People Who Made OMM" celebrates the transcendent nature of works of architecture and art while immortalizing the construction team as part of OMM’s collective memory. I have looked and looked but wasn’t able to see any such highlight of the “proximity of labour and artistic production” nor any celebration of any kind. To my burning eyes, what these photos -shot by a “renowned art and fashion photographer’’ showed, was the abusive relationship between the proletariat and the rich elite. They lay bare the gentrification of class and memory and the attempt to capitalize on the workers’ already exploited labour, this time through the good old colonial gaze. Reading through the positive and grateful comments under the museum’s Instagram post about the book, I wondered if I was missing something: was this actually a ‘warm’ gesture which managed to equalize the great social and economic gap between those who came up with the idea for the book and those who posed for it? Of course it wasn’t. I emailed the editor and learnt that the workers were not paid in exchange for the content they have provided, they were instead “given books themselves and life-long free entry to the museum’’. However my follow up question asking if the photographer also was paid in free museum tickets was left unresponded. (Please note, a limited edition of 500 copies of the book were printed and are being sold for 140 TL each.) OMM is not the first rich institution/company to have come up with such a lame idea. It is only one example of the imperialist belief that the rich elite has the right to look at whatever and whoever they want, in whatever way they see fit. History of Western civilization is a catalogue of supremacist gazes disguised as warm gestures. Photography's relation to colonialism is historically recorded. It was the main tool that accompanied 19th-century European colonial propaganda, playing vital roles in the administrative, scientific and commercial justification of the invasion of “far away’’ lands. It was the direct agent in creating the Other for the “advanced world’’ to exploit. Documenting it through the eyes of the invader, building the narrative of uncivilized/savage/exotic, fascinating creatures in need of a helping hand. The hand of the white, allegedly good-intentioned colonial man. The infamous remarks Dominique François Arago made in 1839 before the Chambre des Députés: “everybody will realize that had we had photography in 1798 we would possess today faithful pictorial records of that which the learned world is forever deprived of by the greed of the Arabs and the vandalism of certain travellers’’ remind us the shameful role photography played in the heart of colonialism. As Ariella Aïsha Azoulay explains further in her book Unlearning Imperialism, due to the central role of photography within the colonial superstructure, it was never considered as being invasive of privacy. It was always about the photographers’ rights, not the photographee’s, simply because they did not have any. This right, naturalized as the innate freedom of photographers was never questioned. As photography developed and was adopted by many forms, including news, street photography and art, it maintained the unearned right to freely invade. Caring for no boundaries other than its own, photography brought potentials of more exploitation to the dominant elite. It also paved the way to continue doing this in alternative ways, appropriated by art and other cultural means. But in a post-colonial, white supremacist world, photography will always carry its history with it. This is why it is still important to examine who gazes at who and in which context. The right to photograph is still unquestioned because the eye behind the camera is assumed to be the universal eye. It represents the universal person who has the right to see everything. This right then becomes more important than the privacy of the person being looked at. The looker’s first crime is the assumption that there’s no privacy in the world that can’t be invaded. The self-appointed right to look at, the right to knowledge the gaze assumes, therefore, emerges as an act of violence. The saying “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”, implies that power accompanies the beholder. It's the beholder who decides what is beautiful. Looking at a photograph necessitates identifying with the camera: the audience adopts the perspective of the storyteller who creates a world through their framing, rather than simply reflecting the existing world. Gentrification of Labour In its supposed intent to immortalize the workers with the photographs, OMM exposes that it will only recognize the subjects of these pictures if they stay as objects. The position of the photographer and the gaze it dictates, reveal a hunger to capitalize on all forms of labour. In this case, the time workers spend posing for, hence creating the core content of the book - for free. This specific colonial gaze seems to make sure that the objects understand they are only recognized through their labour; either as construction workers or as models. This gaze invests in the workers for the pleasure of high tastes, who would see them frozen in time and forget about them but applaud OMM for its humane effort to immortalize the workers. The gaze only recognizes the workers as resources and treats them as disposable human capitals. As Franz Fanon suggests: “the supremacist gaze fixes its object and leaves no room for any ontological resistance to the white man’’. The gaze introduces an unknown species to its art-loving, educated upper-middle class audience. People they would never come face to face or recognize in real life. The People Who Made OMM does not dress the construction workers in special costumes, neither does it let them pose in their daily clothes. It photographs them in their natural habitat, on the construction site in their dirty work clothes. The black and white photos mostly consist of close-ups, focusing on the details of the faces or hands of the workers. This visual language uproots the workers from other aspects of their lives and romanticizes their labour by capitalizing on their personal, embodied histories. The People Who Made OMM is a performance for others. It invites the audience to become partners in crime by staring at the same scene together. In fact, the photos reveal some sort of relief on the part of the targeted audience as well, because they love to see contentment in the eyes of the workers whose shoes they would never want to be in. This gaze makes the spectator enjoy the scene without feeling guilty since the scene naturalizes social inequalities in a constructed, romanticized setting. These photographs do not celebrate the workers, they create objects out of them for the spectator’s pleasure. This objectification serves to ease the extreme injustice between the workers and the people who stare at them for pleasure. This is an attempt to change the narrative from cruel structural hierarchy to ‘natural harmony’, reminiscent of the narrative of “one big family’’ which is widely adopted in corporate lingo. We are a family in harmony, everybody has their own place and within a family, we only give happy poses to the camera, we don’t talk about class distinctions and other forms of discriminations within. The photos are also an attempt to domesticate, hence gentrify the workers’ relationship to the construction site and the museum. It reduces the workers' history to simple and empty Q&As which seem to be edited ruthlessly in order to not allow any negative implication to seep through their words and their looks. It prepares the perfect background for the spectator to free themselves of all responsibility. It naturalizes the existing hierarchy and pats itself on the back for doing the decent thing: Immortalizing the workers. Gentrification aims at getting rid of the abject through erasing both the collective and the personal histories of certain places. It aims at collective cultural amnesia. OMM’s photographs have a similar effect of destabilizing the reality of unpaid labour. The new narrative is also secured through the minimalist design of the book. The photos show the workers in fragments, as faces, hands, feet and always individually, never together with others. Zooming on certain body parts placed in wide white spaces in the pages, adds to the objectification of the workers through redirecting the focus to the aesthetic value of the book. Patricia Hill Collins’s concept of the controlling image suggests that those who control images, control stereotypes as well. These photos do the ideological work of masking the role of hegemony in structuring political social and economic relations. The interview questions, edited down to superficial one-line sentences amplify the violence. The answers are only there to fill up space, but they end up revealing the reality that OMM is trying to cover up: “What do you plan on doing when the building is completed?’’ asks OMM. 23-year-old Recep, master plasterer and painter responds: “If I find work in Eskişehir I’ll stay here, If not I’ll move somewhere else. We’ll have to see.’’ OMM does not care and will not have to see. Deregulation of Memory OMM is able to present its colonial motivations as art/goodness because it relies on neoliberal notions of profitable personal space and free time. This is evident in their disregard for the workers’ free time and space. These things can be invaded without feeling guilt or paying compensation. Unlike preceding forms of capitalism, neoliberalism prepares background conditions for the market to freely move in, rather than controlling market activities directly. So that regulation seems natural as life itself. With this facade of natural progression, it restructures daily life too. OMM’s photos are doing exactly this: through gentrifying the workers’ labour with a constructed fake setting and showing them temporary recognition, these photos deregulate their memory of the place. It recreates the museum as a utopian place where everyone loves each other and is connected in a way that transcends social conditions. With this attempt to cover any possible distasteful memory, the narrative of supreme benevolence emerges as a weapon to be used against ungrateful subordinates. The gaze as the sovereign’s narrative, erases all possibility of discord by magnifying the so-called harmony of warm moments. And yet, there’s no clean way to separate photography from its inglorious imperial history. The spirit of imperialism is always there and ready to show itself depending on the identity of the gaze and the spectator the gaze represents. These images do not confront a historical division, on the contrary, they secure it and shamelessly present it to the consumption of a certain class without sacrificing any loyalties. In a sense, these photos are re-performing the colonial lies of liberation. They seem like they have a sacred mission but in fact, all they do is reinforce their own privileges. Make no mistake: This book does not celebrate the workers that make OMM, it celebrates itself and its own superficial appreciation of the workers that made OMM. This book is OMM congratulating and talking to itself in the mirror while creating a paying audience for this narcissistic show. The workers do not need to be immortalised through these empty gestures. If institutions like OMM want to recognize workers' agencies and celebrate their contributions to the world, they should start with paying them the money they deserve. https://www.mangalmedia.net/english/colonial-gaze-in-eskisehir

#omm #eskişehir #odunpazarı modern #colonialgaze #exploitation

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arcticdementor · 4 years

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Something strange happened to the news over the past four years. The dominant stories all resembled the scripts of bad movies—sequels and reboots. The Kavanaugh hearings were a sequel to the Clarence Thomas hearings, and Russian collusion was rebooted as Ukrainian impeachment. Journalists are supposed to hunt for good scoops, but in January, as the coronavirus spread, they focused on the impeachment reality show instead of a real story.

It’s not just journalists. The so-called second golden era of television was a decade ago, and many of those shows relied on cliff-hangers and gratuitous nudity to hold audience attention. Across TV, movies, and novels it is increasingly difficult to find a compelling story that doesn’t rely on gimmicks. Even foundational stories like liberalism, equality, and meritocracy are failing; the resulting woke phenomenon is the greatest shark jump in history.

Storytelling is central to any civilization, so its sudden failure across society should set off alarm bells. Culture inevitably reflects the selection process that sorts people into the upper class, and today’s insipid stories suggest a profound failure of this sorting mechanism.

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Culture is larger than pop culture, or even just art. It encompasses class, architecture, cuisine, education, manners, philosophy, politics, religion, and more. T. S. Eliot charted the vastness of this word in his Notes towards the Definition of Culture, and he warned that technocratic rule narrowed our view of culture. Eliot insisted that it’s impossible to easily define such a broad concept, yet smack in the middle of the book he slips in a succinct explanation: “Culture may even be described simply as that which makes life worth living.” This highlights why the increase in “deaths of despair” is such a strong condemnation of our dysfunction. In a fundamental way, our culture only exists to serve a certain class. Eliot predicted this when he critiqued elites selected through education: “Any educational system aiming at a complete adjustment between education and society will tend to restrict education to what will lead to success in the world, and to restrict success in the world to those persons who have been good pupils of the system.”

This professional managerial class has a distinct culture that often sets the tone for all of American culture. It may be possible to separate the professional managerial class from the ruling elite, or plutocracy, but there is no cultural distinction. Any commentary on an entire class will stumble in the way all generalizations stumble, yet this culture is most distinct at the highest tiers, and the fuzzy edges often emulate those on the top. At its broadest, these are college-educated, white-collar workers whose income comes from labor, who are huddled in America’s cities, and who rise to power through existing bureaucracies. Bureaucracies, whether corporate or government, are systems that reward specific traits, and so the culture of this class coalesces towards an archetype: the striving bureaucrat, whose values are defined by the skills needed to maneuver through a bureaucracy. And from the very beginning, the striving bureaucrat succeeds precisely by disregarding good storytelling.

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Professionals today would never self-identify as bureaucrats. Product managers at Google might have sleeve tattoos or purple hair. They might describe themselves as “creators” or “creatives.” They might characterize their hobbies as entrepreneurial “side hustles.” But their actual day-in, day-out work involves the coordination of various teams and resources across a large organization based on established administrative procedures. That’s a bureaucrat. The entire professional culture is almost an attempt to invert the connotations and expectations of the word—which is what underlies this class’s tension with storytelling. Conformity is draped in the dead symbols of a prior generation’s counterculture.

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When high school students read novels, they are asked to identify the theme, or moral, of a story. This teaches them to view texts through an instrumental lens. Novelist Robert Olen Butler wrote that we treat artists like idiot savants who “really want to say abstract, theoretical, philosophical things, but somehow they can’t quite make themselves do it.” The purpose of a story becomes the process of translating it into ideas or analysis. This is instrumental reading. F. Scott Fitzgerald spent years meticulously outlining and structuring numerous rewrites of The Great Gatsby, but every year high school students reduce the book to a bumper sticker on the American dream. A story is an experience in and of itself. When you abstract a message, you lose part of that experience. Analysis is not inherently bad; it’s just an ancillary mode that should not define the reader’s disposition.

Propaganda is ubiquitous because we’ve been taught to view it as the final purpose of art. Instrumental reading also causes people to assume overly abstract or obscure works are inherently profound. When the reader’s job is to decode meaning, then the storyteller is judged by the difficulty of that process. It’s a novel about a corn beef sandwich who sings the Book of Malachi. Ah yes, a profound critique of late capitalism. An artist! Overall, instrumental reading teaches striving students to disregard stories. Cut to the chase, and give us the message. Diversity is our strength? Got it. Throw the book out. This reductionist view perhaps makes it difficult for people to see how incoherent the higher education experience has become.

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“Decadence” sounds incorrect since the word elicits extravagant and glamorous vices, while we have Lizzo—an obese antifertility priestess for affluent women. All our decadence becomes boring, cringe-inducing, and filled with HR-approved jargon. “For my Fulbright, I studied conflict resolution in nonmonogamous throuples.” Campus dynamics may partially explain this phenomenon. Camille Paglia has argued that many of the brightest left-wing thinkers in the 1960s fried their brains with too much LSD, and this created an opportunity for the rise of corporate academics who never participated in the ’60s but used its values to signal status. What if this dropout process repeats every generation?

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The professional class tells a variety of genre stories about their jobs: TED Talker, “entrepreneur,” “innovator,” “doing well by doing good.” One of the most popular today is corporate feminism. This familiar story is about a young woman who lands a prestigious job in Manhattan, where she guns for the corner office while also fulfilling her trendy Sex and the City dreams. Her day-in, day-out life is blessed by the mothers and grandmothers who fought for equality—with the ghost of Susan B. Anthony lingering Mufasa-like over America’s cubicles. Yet, like other corporate genre stories, girl-boss feminism is a celebration of bureaucratic life, including its hierarchy. Isn’t that weird?

There are few positive literary representations of life in corporate America. The common story holds that bureaucratic life is soul-crushing. At its worst, this indulges in a pedestrian Romanticism where reality is measured against a daydream, and, as Irving Babbitt warned, “in comparison . . . actual life seems a hard and cramping routine.” Drudgery is constitutive of the human condition. Yet even while admitting that toil is inescapable, it is still obvious that most white-collar work today is particularly bleak and meaningless. Office life increasingly resembles a mental factory line. The podcast is just talk radio for white-collar workers, and its popularity is evidence of how mind-numbing work has become for most.

Forty years ago, Christopher Lasch wrote that “modern industry condemns people to jobs that insult their intelligence,” and today employers rub this insult in workers’ faces with a hideously infantilizing work culture that turns the office into a permanent kindergarten classroom. Blue-chip companies reward their employees with balloons, stuffed animals, and gold stars, and an exposé detailing the stringent communication rules of the luxury brand Away Luggage revealed how many start-ups are just “live, laugh, love” sweatshops. This humiliating culture dominates America’s companies because few engage in truly productive or necessary work. Professional genre fiction, such as corporate feminism, is thus often told as a way to cope with the underwhelming reality of working a job that doesn’t contribute anything to the world.

There is another way to tell the story of the young career woman, however. Her commute includes inspiring podcasts about Ugandan entrepreneurs, but also a subway stranger breathing an egg sandwich into her face. Her job title is “Senior Analyst—Global Trends,” but her job is just copying and pasting between spreadsheets for ten hours. Despite all the “doing well by doing good” seminars, the closest thing she knows to a community is spin class, where a hundred similar women, and one intense man in sports goggles, listen to a spaz scream Hallmark card affirmations.

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The bureaucrat even describes the process of rising through fraudulence as “playing the game.” The book The Organization Man criticized professionals in the 1950s for confusing their own interests with those of their employers, imagining, for example, that moving across the country was good for them simply because they were transferred. “Playing the game” is almost like an overlay on top of this attitude. The idea is that personal ambition puts the bureaucrat in charge. Bureaucrats always feel that they are “in on the game,” and so develop a false sense of certainty about the world, which sorts them into two groups: the cynics and the neurotics. Cynics recognize the nonsense, but think it’s necessary for power. The neurotics, by contrast, are earnest go-getters who confuse the nonsense with actual work. They begin to feel like they’re the only ones faking it and become so insecure they have to binge-watch TED Talks on “imposter syndrome.”

These two dispositions help explain why journalists focus on things like impeachment rather than medical supply chains. One group cynically condescends to American intelligence, while neurotics shriek about the “norms of our democracy.” Both are undergirded by a false certainty about what’s possible. Professional elites vastly overestimate their own intelligence in comparison with the average American, and today there is nothing so common as being an elitist. Meanwhile, public discourse gets dumber and dumber as elitists spend all their time explaining hastily memorized Wikipedia entries to those they deem rubes.

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The entire phenomenon of the nonconformist bureaucrat can be seen as genre inversion. Everyone today grew up with pop culture stories about evil corporations and corporate America’s soul-sucking culture, and so the “creatives” have fashioned a self-image defined against this genre. These stories have been internalized and inverted by corporate America itself, so now corporate America has mandatory fun events and mandatory displays of creativity.

In other words, past countercultures have been absorbed into corporate America’s conception of itself. David Solomon isn’t your father’s stuffy investment banker. He’s a DJ! And Goldman Sachs isn’t like the stuffy corporations you heard about growing up. They fly a transgender flag outside their headquarters, list sex-change transitions as a benefit on their career site, and refuse to underwrite an IPO if the company is run by white men. This isn’t just posturing. Wokeness is a cult of power that maintains its authority by pretending it’s perpetually marching against authority. As long it does so, its sectaries can avoid acknowledging how they strengthen managerial America’s stranglehold on life by empowering administrators to enforce ever-expanding bureaucratic technicalities.

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Moreover, it is shocking that no one in the 2020 campaign seems to have reacted to the dramatic change that happened in 2016. Good storytellers are attuned to audience sophistication, and must understand when audiences have grown past their techniques. Everyone has seen hundreds of movies, and read hundreds of books, and so we intuitively understand the shape of a good story. Once audiences can recognize a storytelling technique as a technique, it ceases to function because it draws attention to the artifice. This creates distance between the intended emotion and the audience reaction. For instance, a romantic comedy follows a couple as they fall in love and come together, and so the act two low point will often see the couple breaking up over miscommunication. Audiences recognize this as a technique, and so, even though miscommunication often causes fights, it seems fake.

Similarly, today’s voters are sophisticated enough to recognize the standard political techniques, and so their reactions are no longer easily predictable. Voters intuitively recognize that candidate “debates” are just media events, and prewritten zingers do not help politicians when everyone recognizes them as prewritten. The literary critic Wayne Booth wrote that “the hack is, by definition, the man who asks for responses he cannot himself respect,” and our politicians are always asking us to buy into nonsense that they couldn’t possibly believe. Inane political tropes operate just like inane business jargon and continue because everyone thinks they’re on the inside, and this blinds them to obvious developments in how audiences of voters relate to political tropes. Trump often plays in this neglected space.

The artistic development of the sitcom can be seen as the process of incorporating its own artifice into the story. There is a direct creative lineage from The Dick Van Dyke Show, a sitcom about television comedy writers, to The Office, a show about office workers being filmed for television. Similarly, Trump often succeeds because he incorporates the artifice of political tropes. When Trump points out that the debate audiences are all donors, or that Nancy Pelosi doesn’t actually pray for him, he’s just pointing out what everyone already knows. This makes it difficult for other politicians to “play the game,” because their standard tropes reinforce Trump’s message. If the debates are just media spectacle events for donors, then applause lines work against you. It’s similar to breaking the fourth wall, while the rest of the cast nervously tries to continue with their lines. Trump’s success is evidence that the television era of political theater is ending, because its storytelling formats are dead.

In fact, the (often legitimate) criticism that Trump does not act “presidential” is the same as saying that he’s not acting professional—that he is ignoring the rules of bureaucratic advancement. Could you imagine Trump’s year-end review? “In 2020, we invite Donald to stop sending Outlook reminders that just say ‘get schlonged.’” Trump’s antics are indicative of his different route to power. Forget everything else about him: how would you act if you never had a job outside a company with your name on the building? The world of the professional managerial class doesn’t contain many characters, and so they associate eccentricity with bohemianism or ineptitude. But it’s also reliably found somewhere else.

Small business owners are often loons, wackos, and general nutjobs. Unlike the professional class, their personalities vary because their job isn’t dependent on how others view them. Even when they’re wealthy or successful, they often don’t act “professional.” It requires tremendous grit and courage to own a business. They are perhaps the only people today who embody what Pericles meant when he said that the “secret to freedom is courage.” In the wake of coronavirus, small businesses owners stoically shuttered their stores and faced financial ruin, while politicians with camera-ready personas and ratlike souls tried to increase seasonal worker visas.

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Ever since Star Wars, screenwriters have used Joseph Campbell’s monomyth to measure a successful story, and an essential act one feature is the refusal of adventure. For a moment, the universe opens up and shows the hero an unknown world of possibility, but the hero backs away. For four years, our nation has refused adventure, yet fate cannot be ignored. The coronavirus forces our nation to confront adventure. With eerie precision, this global plague tore down the false stories that veiled our true situation. The experts are incompetent. The institutions told us we were racist for caring about the virus, and then called for arresting paddleboarders in the middle of the ocean. Our business regulations make it difficult to create face masks in a crisis, while rewarding those who outsource the manufacturing of lifesaving drugs to our rival. The new civic religion of wokeness is a dangerous antihuman cult that distorts priorities. Even our Hollywood stars turn out to be ugly without makeup.

#james mcelroy #american affairs #read the whole thing

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