In the spirit of the educational and self-realizing power of the arts…
“Far from music-making taking a peripheral role for individuals and society — a view propagated in the kind of theoretical stance that marginalizes ‘leisure’ or ‘culture’ as somehow less than ‘work or society’ — music can equally well be seen as playing a central part not just in urban networks but also in the social structure and processes of our life today”
(Finnegan, The Hidden Music Makers)
In the interest of inspiring one another to recognize the beauty that lives around us at any and every time, ubeautiqous was born. It’s me wanting to share my experiences and observations of grace in all categories of art and design (and some that are perhaps yet to be categorized!) and inviting participation from all.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Monday, August 14, 2006
On Beauty
In this day and age, there is no excuse for ugliness. Now before you go off thinking that I'm promoting all kinds of bodily um… augmentation and the like, I am refering exclusively to the environments we live in and the products we use. Commodities. Good design. I chanced on an interesting site, trendwatching.com and they discuss our presence in the age of "innovation overload". Here, overdosing is a good thing. Interesting is their stress that innovation is not rocket science: it's about understanding what people want and delivering it to them. Sounds easy enough n'est-ce pas? Personally, I think that there is so much latent creativity within us that only needs to be triggered, perhaps most effectively by the belief that we possess it.
Beauty is not exclusive to the wealthy/fortunate/learned/cultured (delete misconception as appropriate)… few. It is a gift to us all. But you cannot receive with folded arms. Sometimes it would seem that to embrace innovation, one must be innovative, and perhaps getting there is simply a matter of conscientization!
Beauty is not exclusive to the wealthy/fortunate/learned/cultured (delete misconception as appropriate)… few. It is a gift to us all. But you cannot receive with folded arms. Sometimes it would seem that to embrace innovation, one must be innovative, and perhaps getting there is simply a matter of conscientization!
Monday, July 31, 2006
Agency, Up For Grabs
This world can be ruthless appearing to meet you at every turn with blows and battering. Appearing I reiterate, for most of the time, I like to think it’s all about perception, attitude, and basically how you choose to interpret your situation. This is good news, I tell myself, for then I am able to see that, when people do things that happen to hurt/disappoint/offend me… it’s very often about them and not about me.
Now some will say that this is an easy way to absolve myself of responsibility. It could be, in given circumstances. However, very often, succumbing to the belief that there is something “wrong” with you and that is why all these things are happening to you is definitely also absolving responsibility. It allows you to play helpless victim when in fact, you always choose to put yourself and remain in situations. You have agency.
So then, if you choose to stay in an uncomfortable situation, isn’t it then about you? Well, the offensive occurrence is not about you, but what you do about it, is all you. If you stick around for continued bruising, that’s you. Battered wife syndrome etc.
And the irony of it all is that we yearn for this word we liberally throw around, “freedom”, and yet when we begin to taste it, we don’t know what to do with ourselves. Bondage seems so much easier.
(And these cycles of enlightenment can be frustrating. Wasn’t I at this realization before?)
Now some will say that this is an easy way to absolve myself of responsibility. It could be, in given circumstances. However, very often, succumbing to the belief that there is something “wrong” with you and that is why all these things are happening to you is definitely also absolving responsibility. It allows you to play helpless victim when in fact, you always choose to put yourself and remain in situations. You have agency.
So then, if you choose to stay in an uncomfortable situation, isn’t it then about you? Well, the offensive occurrence is not about you, but what you do about it, is all you. If you stick around for continued bruising, that’s you. Battered wife syndrome etc.
And the irony of it all is that we yearn for this word we liberally throw around, “freedom”, and yet when we begin to taste it, we don’t know what to do with ourselves. Bondage seems so much easier.
(And these cycles of enlightenment can be frustrating. Wasn’t I at this realization before?)
Monday, July 24, 2006
Intangible Escapes
Death come quickly
Swallow me whole
With no reservations for pained looks
And scrutinizing eyes
Shuttle me into memory
Where every picture will capture me smiling
If images need exist at all
Lips, mumbling, whispering
Trying to grasp and retrieve
Pieces
Of utterings and sensations
And my name
If I’m lucky
If it matters at all
I am peaceful when I compose my fates
But I get familiar still with the nature of the storm
Eyes deceive
The inevitable inspires defiance
As a chained man bolts for the door
I set them free
And they come back to haunt me
I hear them say they need me
Or is it I who am in need
To remember
Is to forget
The present that haunts you
With hollow visions
Of what there was to come
Misery searches for its hero
Taking occasional vacations
For memorable moments
Destroyed before they can even learn to
Breathe
They say suffocation is painless
That fumes knock you out before
The fire burns
And life is taken care of
Before it really begins
To water my eyes.
Swallow me whole
With no reservations for pained looks
And scrutinizing eyes
Shuttle me into memory
Where every picture will capture me smiling
If images need exist at all
Lips, mumbling, whispering
Trying to grasp and retrieve
Pieces
Of utterings and sensations
And my name
If I’m lucky
If it matters at all
I am peaceful when I compose my fates
But I get familiar still with the nature of the storm
Eyes deceive
The inevitable inspires defiance
As a chained man bolts for the door
I set them free
And they come back to haunt me
I hear them say they need me
Or is it I who am in need
To remember
Is to forget
The present that haunts you
With hollow visions
Of what there was to come
Misery searches for its hero
Taking occasional vacations
For memorable moments
Destroyed before they can even learn to
Breathe
They say suffocation is painless
That fumes knock you out before
The fire burns
And life is taken care of
Before it really begins
To water my eyes.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
"Hadaka No Tsukiai": The Irony of Shame
After all is said and done, there is always something that could have been clearer, less understated, more explicit, direct. There are always those funny feelings in your stomach, those nervous twitches, those imposing grey clouds that suddenly slid over you on what was up till then a gorgeous day. There’s always that one time, that tone of voice, that something said that just didn’t add up. Sometimes, there’s the odd unexpected object, obviously foreign and out of place. Often there is the thing you saw that you shouldn’t have seen and so you choose to ‘unsee’ it. In retrospect, all these things combine and flash “hazard” like a blinking neon sign at the height of the night.
Garr Reynolds waxes lyrical about the merits of communication in the nude, i.e. “hadaka no tsukiai”, a Japanese practice thought to strip people of the unnecessary barriers that inhibit free communication. He suggests that the idea is a useful one when making presentations and I thought it could be extrapolated nicely to the realm of everyday life and dealings with people.
Imagine… without pretenses and props we have no option but to be ourselves. And the honesty that we present probably means that the response we get is more likely to be honest too, does it not? We human beings, past the honorable innocence of childhood, become experts at giving the people what they want but in the process, we lose sight of or neglect what it is that we ourselves want! So in this whole counterproductive mess, can we really complain about dishonesty when we are players in that same game? It’s a tough one and it’s perhaps easier to say, well, that’s the name of the game afterall, why should I sit out?
Henry David Thoreau warned to “beware of all enterprises that require new clothes”. There are those that will say, ‘but sometimes you have to pretend a little in order to get what you want’. Unfortunately, the prevalence of this response means that it’s a strong contender for truth status. However guilty, I am not absolutely convinced. Where does the balance lie? While getting what I want by lying (harsh but at the end of the day, that’s what it is), I’m possibly (probably) hurting somebody else. But if I don’t look after no. 1, I’ll be victim to all those other billions out there who do it all the time. So in the end you wonder, what use nobility?
Some reason that a little evasion and some embellishment here and there is closer to the honesty side of the scale. I contend that lack of communication is on par with lies. Both are deeming the would-be receiver unworthy of information. If you cannot say it, there’s obviously something amiss – whether it be because of dubious underhand goings-on or just plainly that the understanding/arrangement/relationship isn’t working out. The truth may not be for everyone but I personally want the choice.
So how about it? Communication in the nude?
“Humanity’s greatest sin is non-communication, unwanted and unloved solitude, forgetting that we were created to find each other, to be each other’s mirrors” (Paulo Coelho).
Jaded am I from time to time. Each time professing to never open myself for such possibilities again! But something inside me still wants to believe that somewhere somehow I will find, not so much a mirror, but kindred spirits with whom I can grow.
I have no shame in this nakedness.
Garr Reynolds waxes lyrical about the merits of communication in the nude, i.e. “hadaka no tsukiai”, a Japanese practice thought to strip people of the unnecessary barriers that inhibit free communication. He suggests that the idea is a useful one when making presentations and I thought it could be extrapolated nicely to the realm of everyday life and dealings with people.
Imagine… without pretenses and props we have no option but to be ourselves. And the honesty that we present probably means that the response we get is more likely to be honest too, does it not? We human beings, past the honorable innocence of childhood, become experts at giving the people what they want but in the process, we lose sight of or neglect what it is that we ourselves want! So in this whole counterproductive mess, can we really complain about dishonesty when we are players in that same game? It’s a tough one and it’s perhaps easier to say, well, that’s the name of the game afterall, why should I sit out?
Henry David Thoreau warned to “beware of all enterprises that require new clothes”. There are those that will say, ‘but sometimes you have to pretend a little in order to get what you want’. Unfortunately, the prevalence of this response means that it’s a strong contender for truth status. However guilty, I am not absolutely convinced. Where does the balance lie? While getting what I want by lying (harsh but at the end of the day, that’s what it is), I’m possibly (probably) hurting somebody else. But if I don’t look after no. 1, I’ll be victim to all those other billions out there who do it all the time. So in the end you wonder, what use nobility?
Some reason that a little evasion and some embellishment here and there is closer to the honesty side of the scale. I contend that lack of communication is on par with lies. Both are deeming the would-be receiver unworthy of information. If you cannot say it, there’s obviously something amiss – whether it be because of dubious underhand goings-on or just plainly that the understanding/arrangement/relationship isn’t working out. The truth may not be for everyone but I personally want the choice.
So how about it? Communication in the nude?
“Humanity’s greatest sin is non-communication, unwanted and unloved solitude, forgetting that we were created to find each other, to be each other’s mirrors” (Paulo Coelho).
Jaded am I from time to time. Each time professing to never open myself for such possibilities again! But something inside me still wants to believe that somewhere somehow I will find, not so much a mirror, but kindred spirits with whom I can grow.
I have no shame in this nakedness.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
On Changing the System, Not the Personnel
" When the old guard, the "dinosaurs," abruptly discover that they are after all good democrats, a country's release from authoritarianism may be facilitated, but its future as a democratic society can only be endangered. It is indeed difficult to believe that the metamorphosis of the old guard is total and that the intolerant reflexes it had exhibited for so long can vanish in a sudden political change of heart."
— Robert Fatton
— Robert Fatton
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Dailly Gospel
" The people are not fighting for ideas,
nor what is in a man's mind.
The people fight and accept
the sacrifices demanded by the struggle
in order to gain material advantages,
to live better and in peace,
to benefit from progress,
and for a better future for their children."
— Amilcar Cabral
I thought this ties in nicely with the previous post
nor what is in a man's mind.
The people fight and accept
the sacrifices demanded by the struggle
in order to gain material advantages,
to live better and in peace,
to benefit from progress,
and for a better future for their children."
— Amilcar Cabral
I thought this ties in nicely with the previous post
Monday, May 22, 2006
Some Naïve Thoughts About ‘Our Problem’
Is our self-esteem so low that rather than ‘risk’ legitimate channels of success, the only way we foresee ‘being’ anybody is through access to wealth?
Is our loyalty (and morale) so weak and our laziness so great that the ‘solution’ is often seen in terms of escape?
Is escape-achieved so wonderful that we can throw away any ‘real’ attachment to our homes without either a second tug from our conscience or another plea for rationality from our supposedly involuntary survival mechanisms?
Are our homes so unimportant and worthless that they are only invoked by memory in order to disgust us and facilitate passive (pointless?) argumentation?
There are people who are convinced that going “underground” in the West, with no hopes of any kind of legitimate career due to lack of proper documentation, is better than returning to that distant dark Africa that raised them. Better to earn less than minimum wage, spending most your living hours doing work that Westerners themselves won’t touch… in the name of escaping… poverty?
Every person’s situation is uniquely their own and their burden is too. I’m not talking of escaping violence, war or persecution of any real kind. I’m observing those who are so adverse to returning to a situation that perhaps is not as (humanly, mentally, spiritually, physically even) degrading as the alternative they’ve decided to choose.
Is there a greater plan?
Every person’s search for autonomy is unique and valid.
Are we each so insignificant that we silence our voices, forfeiting our right to demand the accountability we deserve?
…Or are we ignorant and irresponsible?
Is our loyalty (and morale) so weak and our laziness so great that the ‘solution’ is often seen in terms of escape?
Is escape-achieved so wonderful that we can throw away any ‘real’ attachment to our homes without either a second tug from our conscience or another plea for rationality from our supposedly involuntary survival mechanisms?
Are our homes so unimportant and worthless that they are only invoked by memory in order to disgust us and facilitate passive (pointless?) argumentation?
There are people who are convinced that going “underground” in the West, with no hopes of any kind of legitimate career due to lack of proper documentation, is better than returning to that distant dark Africa that raised them. Better to earn less than minimum wage, spending most your living hours doing work that Westerners themselves won’t touch… in the name of escaping… poverty?
Every person’s situation is uniquely their own and their burden is too. I’m not talking of escaping violence, war or persecution of any real kind. I’m observing those who are so adverse to returning to a situation that perhaps is not as (humanly, mentally, spiritually, physically even) degrading as the alternative they’ve decided to choose.
Is there a greater plan?
Every person’s search for autonomy is unique and valid.
Are we each so insignificant that we silence our voices, forfeiting our right to demand the accountability we deserve?
…Or are we ignorant and irresponsible?
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Daily Gospel
“We have to be part of the society which we are changing; we have to work from within it, and not try to descend like ancient gods, do something, and disappear again. A country, or a village, or a community, cannot be developed: it can only develop itself. For real development means the development, the growth, of people.”
— Nyerere
— Nyerere
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Holily Installed Vivacity
Corners inspire action. Is it claustrophobia? The breathlessness that urgently builds up to an explosive inhalation? Knocked back to consciousness to forcibly smell the coffee. Is action inevitable? How far must one be pushed? How far can one be pushed?
Is revolution realized when people awaken to the fact that it is no longer death that they fear but life?! For death is a swift truncation leaving little in terms of residue but memory that fades in and out of consciousness to eventually become a numb and distant recollection. Living, on the other hand, is constantly facing your demons, be they within and/or without. Living is constantly having to acknowledge your condition and perpetually keeping up your defenses as others paint you less-than, in an attempt to facilitate the planted self-destruction that constantly threatens to slowly and painfully obliterate you.
Living forces self-awareness and self-awareness fosters communication. And in a way, communication is vulnerability. For when the truth is opened up, it is unleashed with no holds barred. As it comes rushing out, in all directions, attempting to permeate all matter, it will inevitably enhance clarity of vision. And in really looking, often shown are the things that we would not have seen. But then it’s too late. The truth is out. And we must live its consequences every day. And death is tempting… but cowardly…
We are not oppressed so that we may literally die. In a way, oppression is opportunity, forcing us to innovate, to grow. A part of us dies to create space for new creation. We have to transcend the stigma of our chains — denounce the small-mindedness of those who would ridicule and hate us with such passion. We have to look past the frowns of our fathers and those who had plotted paths for us. Each person’s journey is their own and in their actualization shall they find resonance with all who strive to really live. Chains and bars do not death sentences make. They are merely challenges to live. and that is our purpose. The meaning of life is living… and is so often taken for granted.
Those who pity the persecuted are blinded to their own subjugation and are destined to stagnation. Those who embrace their situation find in it the seeds of determination to flourish.
The unlikely victors are those who turn their obstacles into aids.
Is revolution realized when people awaken to the fact that it is no longer death that they fear but life?! For death is a swift truncation leaving little in terms of residue but memory that fades in and out of consciousness to eventually become a numb and distant recollection. Living, on the other hand, is constantly facing your demons, be they within and/or without. Living is constantly having to acknowledge your condition and perpetually keeping up your defenses as others paint you less-than, in an attempt to facilitate the planted self-destruction that constantly threatens to slowly and painfully obliterate you.
Living forces self-awareness and self-awareness fosters communication. And in a way, communication is vulnerability. For when the truth is opened up, it is unleashed with no holds barred. As it comes rushing out, in all directions, attempting to permeate all matter, it will inevitably enhance clarity of vision. And in really looking, often shown are the things that we would not have seen. But then it’s too late. The truth is out. And we must live its consequences every day. And death is tempting… but cowardly…
We are not oppressed so that we may literally die. In a way, oppression is opportunity, forcing us to innovate, to grow. A part of us dies to create space for new creation. We have to transcend the stigma of our chains — denounce the small-mindedness of those who would ridicule and hate us with such passion. We have to look past the frowns of our fathers and those who had plotted paths for us. Each person’s journey is their own and in their actualization shall they find resonance with all who strive to really live. Chains and bars do not death sentences make. They are merely challenges to live. and that is our purpose. The meaning of life is living… and is so often taken for granted.
Those who pity the persecuted are blinded to their own subjugation and are destined to stagnation. Those who embrace their situation find in it the seeds of determination to flourish.
The unlikely victors are those who turn their obstacles into aids.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Daily Gospel: Self-reliant Madness
“What I like about my madness is that it has protected me from the very beginning against the charms of the ‘élite’: never have I thought that I was the happy possessor of a ‘talent’; my sole concern has been to save myself – nothing in my hands, nothing up my sleeve – by work and faith. As a result, my pure choice did not raise me above anyone. Without equipment, without tools, I set all of me to work in order to save all of me. If I relegate impossible Salvation to the proproom, what remains? A whole man, composed of all men and as good as all of them and no better than any.”
---Jean-Paul Sartre, The Words
---Jean-Paul Sartre, The Words
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Why Don't We Want to be Free?
The other day, disoriented as a deer caught in the headlights, I attempted to walk out of the library with unchecked books in my hand. The alarm went off and even then, my mind had not registered that those two events were connected and that I was the subject of them. Shortly I had a report written up. Yes, yet one more strike against my name. What does that mean really? Is life a long rep sheet that the ever elusive “they” add comments and judgments to as they observe the progress of our lives? And should living be a conscious act to have that paper be as white as possible or is a sign of a healthy existence a sheet marked liberally with red ink and animated punctuation?! I would like to believe that the latter is the truth. Why are we presented with so many opportunities, possibilities and forks in the road if we are to merely maintain a steady heartbeat? Something doesn’t add up. The custodians of our welfare have distorted the project and stuffed the peoples’ minds with fluff! Do you see what I’ve just done? I’ve deflected the accountability again. Easy is it to shift the blame and responsibility. Easy is it to label oneself victim. When the truth of every matter is that the self is the beginning and end of it all. All illusions start with and are subscribed to by “I”. Sticky! This is the inevitable dead-end that makes us avoid going down this road. Yet it is the only way to enlightenment. Indeed restrictions and limits often lead to greater creativity! They squeeze our sensibilities, concentrating them in a smaller space so that they have to interact and fuse and fission, generating energies that eventually explode out of their confines. That’s what it feels like to write, to create, to craft, to dance, to really laugh… to love. That release is perhaps the only true freedom one can feel. So why do we constantly keep each other from this actualization? Is it fear? Is it even conscious?
Or is it something more malevolent festering in the deep recesses of our soul? I’d like to disbelieve that that could be it. There is too much wonder and beauty in life to believe that we are somehow jealous or resentful that others may grab the pieces that we are entitled to. It pervades the air and the earth, it seeps from impermeable surfaces, it breeds and catches the winds and sails on them in every direction they go. It surrounds us in every place and at every moment, only we do not choose to see it, to recognize it, to respect it, to honour it. But it is there to guide us if only we let go of our pride. Our self-importance ironically reduces the quality of our life for we become blind to the connectivity and interrelation between ourselves and everything around us. And perhaps worse, between our minds, our bodies and our souls. It’s interesting when you listen to your body, how much it can tell you. Those headaches and stomach rumblings and aches and pains that we so readily ignore or stifle with a cocktail of chemicals proven to give rapid relief! They are God’s unique but subtle way of sending us signals. They attempt to say, “Hey, slow down and pay attention!” But we, as a society, as a species, seem to have lost even that basic self-respect.
Perhaps, before we get too far ahead and outside of ourselves in our motivations and meddling, we should check in with our selves and see that everything is in proper working order. This selfishness exists for a reason: to help you better interact with others. To bring you equanimity and balance and with that, uplifting insight. Resonance with all that wonder and beauty that envelops you with no explicit demands.
Or is it something more malevolent festering in the deep recesses of our soul? I’d like to disbelieve that that could be it. There is too much wonder and beauty in life to believe that we are somehow jealous or resentful that others may grab the pieces that we are entitled to. It pervades the air and the earth, it seeps from impermeable surfaces, it breeds and catches the winds and sails on them in every direction they go. It surrounds us in every place and at every moment, only we do not choose to see it, to recognize it, to respect it, to honour it. But it is there to guide us if only we let go of our pride. Our self-importance ironically reduces the quality of our life for we become blind to the connectivity and interrelation between ourselves and everything around us. And perhaps worse, between our minds, our bodies and our souls. It’s interesting when you listen to your body, how much it can tell you. Those headaches and stomach rumblings and aches and pains that we so readily ignore or stifle with a cocktail of chemicals proven to give rapid relief! They are God’s unique but subtle way of sending us signals. They attempt to say, “Hey, slow down and pay attention!” But we, as a society, as a species, seem to have lost even that basic self-respect.
Perhaps, before we get too far ahead and outside of ourselves in our motivations and meddling, we should check in with our selves and see that everything is in proper working order. This selfishness exists for a reason: to help you better interact with others. To bring you equanimity and balance and with that, uplifting insight. Resonance with all that wonder and beauty that envelops you with no explicit demands.
Monday, January 09, 2006
The Right Thing to Do
“Then there were the recipients of the leftovers of imperial handouts:
Post-graduate awards.
Graduate awards.
It doesn’t matter
What you call it.
But did I hear you say
Awards?
Awards?
Awards?
What
Dainty name to describe
This
Most merciless
Most formalized
Open,
Thorough,
Spy system of all time:
For a few pennies now and a
Doctoral degree later,
Tell us about
Your people
Your history
Your mind.
Your mind.
Your mind.
Tell us
Boy
How
We can make you
Weak
Weaker than you’ve already
Been.
And don’t you get any ideas either
No
Radical
Interpretative
Nonsense from
You, Flatnose.
My brother,
There should be no misunderstanding,
No malice intended —
Indeed,
Our dear
Academic doctors
Deserve all
The worship
They get from our poor administrators at home
And more.
They work hard for the
Doctorates —
They work too hard,
Giving away
Not only themselves, but
All of us —
The price is high,
My brother,
Otherwise the story is as old as empires. Oppressed multitudes from the provinces rush to the imperial seat because that is where they know all salvation comes from. But as other imperial subjects in other times and other places has discovered, for the slave, there is nothing at the centre but worse slavery.
Whether
Warming itself up
In a single cold room by a
Paraffin lamp,
Covering its
Nakedness and
Disappointed hopes with
The old tickets of the
Football pools
or
Glorious,
With degrees.”
From the novel Our Sister Killjoy by Ama Ata Aidoo
***
Have our chains become a fashion? A guilty pleasure that we're willing to sacrifice our integrity for? What's that thing about integrity again? Or is it a certain kind of survival that is more important to us? At least the slave is guaranteed work, shelter and a meal? Is the free man destined to die a slow and painful death of frustration with his dreams hanging fresh and untouched in the dusty cluttered back rooms of memory? Should we just resign to and embrace the chains and adorn them with bling and touches of our own personal style? Pierce our babies ears so as to coopt them early into the superficial comforts of myopic hedonism? But then again, we do not live forever so, we may be lucky and never have to actually… see. Clear vision is not always as desirable as it may seem.
Plus, is there ever truly a right thing to do?
Post-graduate awards.
Graduate awards.
It doesn’t matter
What you call it.
But did I hear you say
Awards?
Awards?
Awards?
What
Dainty name to describe
This
Most merciless
Most formalized
Open,
Thorough,
Spy system of all time:
For a few pennies now and a
Doctoral degree later,
Tell us about
Your people
Your history
Your mind.
Your mind.
Your mind.
Tell us
Boy
How
We can make you
Weak
Weaker than you’ve already
Been.
And don’t you get any ideas either
No
Radical
Interpretative
Nonsense from
You, Flatnose.
My brother,
There should be no misunderstanding,
No malice intended —
Indeed,
Our dear
Academic doctors
Deserve all
The worship
They get from our poor administrators at home
And more.
They work hard for the
Doctorates —
They work too hard,
Giving away
Not only themselves, but
All of us —
The price is high,
My brother,
Otherwise the story is as old as empires. Oppressed multitudes from the provinces rush to the imperial seat because that is where they know all salvation comes from. But as other imperial subjects in other times and other places has discovered, for the slave, there is nothing at the centre but worse slavery.
Whether
Warming itself up
In a single cold room by a
Paraffin lamp,
Covering its
Nakedness and
Disappointed hopes with
The old tickets of the
Football pools
or
Glorious,
With degrees.”
From the novel Our Sister Killjoy by Ama Ata Aidoo
***
Have our chains become a fashion? A guilty pleasure that we're willing to sacrifice our integrity for? What's that thing about integrity again? Or is it a certain kind of survival that is more important to us? At least the slave is guaranteed work, shelter and a meal? Is the free man destined to die a slow and painful death of frustration with his dreams hanging fresh and untouched in the dusty cluttered back rooms of memory? Should we just resign to and embrace the chains and adorn them with bling and touches of our own personal style? Pierce our babies ears so as to coopt them early into the superficial comforts of myopic hedonism? But then again, we do not live forever so, we may be lucky and never have to actually… see. Clear vision is not always as desirable as it may seem.
Plus, is there ever truly a right thing to do?
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
The Year That Could
Is something real if it does not stay the same? Moments of bliss are routinely intercepted by devastating results and events and followed by periods of frustration, anger, confusion and can only hope to be numbed by the noise of life. But numbing only offers temporary ‘sanity’… it seems that only the silence and the calmness of life can save us from ourselves. To exist is to embrace paradox.
The thesaurus here on my computer gives an example to show use of the word paradox: “the paradox of war is that you have to kill people in order to stop people from killing each other.” I’d like to extend that, in order to stop madness from engorging your world, you have to sacrifice some of your own sanity. But let the record state that I said your world,” implying that every person chooses their own reality for themselves. That perception and presupposition determine the exact hue and chroma that the picture of your imagined world will take. And the minute that we forget that it is our imagination that drives how we live in it, we find ourselves battling invisible monsters. We may fight and fight and never have anything to show but tired lungs and exhausted will. Dissatisfaction is the dessert of those who cannot discern what foods they like. Worse, alienation is the gift for those who have bartered themselves.
I find myself back to the billion-shilling question. And the point of it all would be? Well, I guess if we finally found an answer there would merely be no point to carry on! Instead we oscillate between euphoric highs and destitute lows, between bliss and depravity, with the knowledge that, as long as both exist, ascension is possible. If we succumb to that knowledge we will doggedly bear the pain on the way to pleasure. With indomitable faith and ridiculous hope. Some of us tread ever so cautiously, tiptoeing between eggshells and fool ourselves that residing in the middle (displacement=zero) is ideal for sustaining this living thing. But I insist and argue and rant and rave that, that’s not living! Why then would the extremes exist? And what’s all this about sustenance anyway? Are not we mortal?
Now on to the highs and lows. We have perverted the wavelengths. Distorted what it means to be up (and so the all-seeing “bums” and “madpeople” choose lows for at least these remain somehow pure-untouched). Never listening to our Selves and so never at risk of contentment.
This year I have known real physical pain. I have experienced the process of will shutting down and the feeling that my senses were slowly relinquishing their tenancy of my body. I have felt useless and purposeless. I have discovered reserves of hope and inspiration where I didn’t even know my vision extended to. I have found resonance. I have witnessed humanity for its own sake. I have been disappointed, nonetheless by those I love. Each disappointment has deepened my reverence for life. I have seen someone’s existence torn apart by a matter of letters… I have observed their anguish and despair and then seen them breathe, beauty and truth and wonder wafting out of every pore. I have witnessed ascension. And on every scale. I have spoken my mind with little care for consequence. Wise or unwise, I have done it and have no regrets (only perhaps that I had not done it sooner). I have accepted that I will be accepted by those who will accept me. And it is interactions with people that keep me riding the wave. It is amazement by the sheer mystery of what makes every being themselves that encourages me to appreciate each sunrise. Sometimes I fear that I’m at risk of self-erasure because of my observatory pastime… I’m still working on reconciling that, and as long as I’m still working… I am.
But here’s my challenge to you: prove that the following is not the only way…
“He will recapture his inner peace in the calm immobility engendered by disillusionment, just as a dead man finds his eternal rest (Yetiv, Isaac in Smith 1976).”
And may 2006 be awesome.
The thesaurus here on my computer gives an example to show use of the word paradox: “the paradox of war is that you have to kill people in order to stop people from killing each other.” I’d like to extend that, in order to stop madness from engorging your world, you have to sacrifice some of your own sanity. But let the record state that I said your world,” implying that every person chooses their own reality for themselves. That perception and presupposition determine the exact hue and chroma that the picture of your imagined world will take. And the minute that we forget that it is our imagination that drives how we live in it, we find ourselves battling invisible monsters. We may fight and fight and never have anything to show but tired lungs and exhausted will. Dissatisfaction is the dessert of those who cannot discern what foods they like. Worse, alienation is the gift for those who have bartered themselves.
I find myself back to the billion-shilling question. And the point of it all would be? Well, I guess if we finally found an answer there would merely be no point to carry on! Instead we oscillate between euphoric highs and destitute lows, between bliss and depravity, with the knowledge that, as long as both exist, ascension is possible. If we succumb to that knowledge we will doggedly bear the pain on the way to pleasure. With indomitable faith and ridiculous hope. Some of us tread ever so cautiously, tiptoeing between eggshells and fool ourselves that residing in the middle (displacement=zero) is ideal for sustaining this living thing. But I insist and argue and rant and rave that, that’s not living! Why then would the extremes exist? And what’s all this about sustenance anyway? Are not we mortal?
Now on to the highs and lows. We have perverted the wavelengths. Distorted what it means to be up (and so the all-seeing “bums” and “madpeople” choose lows for at least these remain somehow pure-untouched). Never listening to our Selves and so never at risk of contentment.
This year I have known real physical pain. I have experienced the process of will shutting down and the feeling that my senses were slowly relinquishing their tenancy of my body. I have felt useless and purposeless. I have discovered reserves of hope and inspiration where I didn’t even know my vision extended to. I have found resonance. I have witnessed humanity for its own sake. I have been disappointed, nonetheless by those I love. Each disappointment has deepened my reverence for life. I have seen someone’s existence torn apart by a matter of letters… I have observed their anguish and despair and then seen them breathe, beauty and truth and wonder wafting out of every pore. I have witnessed ascension. And on every scale. I have spoken my mind with little care for consequence. Wise or unwise, I have done it and have no regrets (only perhaps that I had not done it sooner). I have accepted that I will be accepted by those who will accept me. And it is interactions with people that keep me riding the wave. It is amazement by the sheer mystery of what makes every being themselves that encourages me to appreciate each sunrise. Sometimes I fear that I’m at risk of self-erasure because of my observatory pastime… I’m still working on reconciling that, and as long as I’m still working… I am.
But here’s my challenge to you: prove that the following is not the only way…
“He will recapture his inner peace in the calm immobility engendered by disillusionment, just as a dead man finds his eternal rest (Yetiv, Isaac in Smith 1976).”
And may 2006 be awesome.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Education: Keys to the Cellblock?
Version 1.0
Part I: Artfully Done
Art allows for the kind of education that formal (classical?) schooling lacks. Art being capable of a mind-expanding project free from the constraints of the rigid conformity required to “pass” and “achieve”, the idea of “competition” becomes less equipped to fascinate and dominate the pupil, and monopolize his/her space for growth. True growth is not measured by an increased capacity for memorization and regurgitation. It could perhaps be well argued that it is quite impossible (if not futile and degenerative) for there to be a standard measuring stick for growth at all! Thus indeed the universalism of formal education obliterates the very individualism that, in Enlightenment ideology and its continued spoils, it proudly claims to uphold.
The child who cannot concentrate and “perform” within these structures is outcast by the system, society and her/his peers. Deemed “deviant”, “slow”, “stupid” or perhaps worse, “uncontrollable”, she/he may grow up believing that she/he does embody some or all of these things. Complacency from internalizing these fallacies may profoundly stunt the growth of the individual so that she/he actually becomes what society has labelled her/him. Fulfilling the prophesy of her/his scarlet letter.
The sort of education that is capable of such destruction (and I do not believe that I am over-dramatizing in the least) is more effective in alienation than in the purported assimilation (into the “real world”) that is the rationale for its existence.
I do not wish to discredit formal education systems completely. Indeed, the fact that I can sit here and write this, I owe much to my schooling. However, the fact that I can sit here and write this. I owe more to extra-curricular inquisitiveness and discovery of mostly “mainstream-subversive” literature, film, performance and visual art (sometimes there is a thin ridge between the mainstream and the great “rough” and often-uncharted ocean). Ideally there would be no reef at all and swimming far and wide would be an afternoon delight.
The arts require innovation, perhaps more than any other field. Or perhaps it is that the arts allow for great measures of unbridled creative thinking. Success in formal schooling (up to a point?) does not ask for nor necessarily nourish innovation. And if these are not sought elsewhere, the pupil may be destined to a life of intellectual subservience or, as is observed more frequently, megalomaniac perpetration of old (and plagiarised) or empty (and useless) ideas.
In effect, it may be argued then that the pupil her/himself must have an interest. But where do interests come from? Arguably, culture. The home environment. The community. The society. Exposure to life uncovers resonances and affinities; excitement and passion rise out of experience. And what constitutes this culture? Music, dance, drama, storytelling, images, poetry, film, spectacle (including installation), sport (which could be conceived as being a kind of performance art)…
The pupil is enriched and begins to realise the endlessness (temporal) and limitlessness (spatial) of possibility. In them is sparked a thirst for exploration, discovery, challenge and the kind of enlightenment (small ‘e’) that no curriculum alone can teach. The journey becomes a personal one, whose destination and itinerary are determined on a uniquely individual basis. This is what takes the idea of growth to a transcendental level.
And precisely because of the “anti-social”* nature of this task, many are intimidated to take it on (* in parentheses because it is activity that hegemonic society sees as adverse/antagonistic to its project of control through conformity, despite the fact that it is only very rarely malevolently anarchic). Those daring few are discouraged from the outset and from every level and angle. Fittingly with society’s ideological perspectives, economic reward or even basic subsistence is difficult to come by for these betrayers of the holy social grail (ironically, it is often a mark of financial success and high status to indulge in consumption, observation and patronage of the arts). Hopefully these setbacks will “reform” the deviants and re-assimilate them back into the mainstream working world. “Less innovation!” preaches The Manager up in his panopticon-like tower.
It would do us the opposite of harm to rethink the merits of (and carefully-contrived intentions behind) sticking to the “straight-and-narrow”.
Now is always the time to (a part of me wanted to say “rebel”)… express
© Lulu Kitololo
Art allows for the kind of education that formal (classical?) schooling lacks. Art being capable of a mind-expanding project free from the constraints of the rigid conformity required to “pass” and “achieve”, the idea of “competition” becomes less equipped to fascinate and dominate the pupil, and monopolize his/her space for growth. True growth is not measured by an increased capacity for memorization and regurgitation. It could perhaps be well argued that it is quite impossible (if not futile and degenerative) for there to be a standard measuring stick for growth at all! Thus indeed the universalism of formal education obliterates the very individualism that, in Enlightenment ideology and its continued spoils, it proudly claims to uphold.
The child who cannot concentrate and “perform” within these structures is outcast by the system, society and her/his peers. Deemed “deviant”, “slow”, “stupid” or perhaps worse, “uncontrollable”, she/he may grow up believing that she/he does embody some or all of these things. Complacency from internalizing these fallacies may profoundly stunt the growth of the individual so that she/he actually becomes what society has labelled her/him. Fulfilling the prophesy of her/his scarlet letter.
The sort of education that is capable of such destruction (and I do not believe that I am over-dramatizing in the least) is more effective in alienation than in the purported assimilation (into the “real world”) that is the rationale for its existence.
I do not wish to discredit formal education systems completely. Indeed, the fact that I can sit here and write this, I owe much to my schooling. However, the fact that I can sit here and write this. I owe more to extra-curricular inquisitiveness and discovery of mostly “mainstream-subversive” literature, film, performance and visual art (sometimes there is a thin ridge between the mainstream and the great “rough” and often-uncharted ocean). Ideally there would be no reef at all and swimming far and wide would be an afternoon delight.
The arts require innovation, perhaps more than any other field. Or perhaps it is that the arts allow for great measures of unbridled creative thinking. Success in formal schooling (up to a point?) does not ask for nor necessarily nourish innovation. And if these are not sought elsewhere, the pupil may be destined to a life of intellectual subservience or, as is observed more frequently, megalomaniac perpetration of old (and plagiarised) or empty (and useless) ideas.
In effect, it may be argued then that the pupil her/himself must have an interest. But where do interests come from? Arguably, culture. The home environment. The community. The society. Exposure to life uncovers resonances and affinities; excitement and passion rise out of experience. And what constitutes this culture? Music, dance, drama, storytelling, images, poetry, film, spectacle (including installation), sport (which could be conceived as being a kind of performance art)…
The pupil is enriched and begins to realise the endlessness (temporal) and limitlessness (spatial) of possibility. In them is sparked a thirst for exploration, discovery, challenge and the kind of enlightenment (small ‘e’) that no curriculum alone can teach. The journey becomes a personal one, whose destination and itinerary are determined on a uniquely individual basis. This is what takes the idea of growth to a transcendental level.
And precisely because of the “anti-social”* nature of this task, many are intimidated to take it on (* in parentheses because it is activity that hegemonic society sees as adverse/antagonistic to its project of control through conformity, despite the fact that it is only very rarely malevolently anarchic). Those daring few are discouraged from the outset and from every level and angle. Fittingly with society’s ideological perspectives, economic reward or even basic subsistence is difficult to come by for these betrayers of the holy social grail (ironically, it is often a mark of financial success and high status to indulge in consumption, observation and patronage of the arts). Hopefully these setbacks will “reform” the deviants and re-assimilate them back into the mainstream working world. “Less innovation!” preaches The Manager up in his panopticon-like tower.
It would do us the opposite of harm to rethink the merits of (and carefully-contrived intentions behind) sticking to the “straight-and-narrow”.
Now is always the time to (a part of me wanted to say “rebel”)… express
© Lulu Kitololo
Monday, November 21, 2005
Make me A Break
I have had to
BREAK
Old ties
Lose touch
with previous fixtures
Steer clear
of echoing voices
from an indiscriminate time
Uproot and aim for relocation
of endangered pieces
that pieced me together
piecemeal.
I have had to
BREAK
With half-hearted satisfaction
of meals I didn’t ask for
And tricks I played
on my senses
Whims I traveled senseless
Crumbs I licked
whose beauty,
once invented,
now,
fades.
I have had to
BREAK
Out of the scrutinizing spotlight
that demands performance
of me,
That attempts even
to set the key
for songs I
must
sing.
They expect to see me drumming
Instead I play piano
While talking fighting words
of attack, submit
and retreat…
I have had to
BREAK
through
To let some air
in
To let some light
out
To take it all
A-part
To
piece
It all
Together
BREAK
Old ties
Lose touch
with previous fixtures
Steer clear
of echoing voices
from an indiscriminate time
Uproot and aim for relocation
of endangered pieces
that pieced me together
piecemeal.
I have had to
BREAK
With half-hearted satisfaction
of meals I didn’t ask for
And tricks I played
on my senses
Whims I traveled senseless
Crumbs I licked
whose beauty,
once invented,
now,
fades.
I have had to
BREAK
Out of the scrutinizing spotlight
that demands performance
of me,
That attempts even
to set the key
for songs I
must
sing.
They expect to see me drumming
Instead I play piano
While talking fighting words
of attack, submit
and retreat…
I have had to
BREAK
through
To let some air
in
To let some light
out
To take it all
A-part
To
piece
It all
Together
Thursday, November 03, 2005
No More Questions
I’m at one of those stages where I’m too tired to ask questions. Not to be alarmed, this is not a permanent transition. Is anything truly ever? But hold up, that’s a question and right now, I’m not interested in those. There is an indefinable space between questions and answers that deserves veneration. A temporal space of indiscriminate creation that carries the weight of difficult demands and allows in the multi-dimensional influx of possibilities, truths and inventions. It’s an extremely difficult place. Pride fights with many suggestions, emotions struggle with others and though I may appear to be cool-calm on the outside, my inside is war-torn, ravaged and bleeding.
I’m realising, or rather admitting, that my entire existence is laden with lies. What I know of my place in the world is built on artificialities and selective amnesia. It’s not an easy thing to deal with in your mid-twenties. Supposedly a time of consolidation yet now realising that the entire formative process was misdirected! But perhaps it is easier than were I 65.
I have to negotiate my position and create new meaning for it. My meaning. I must reinvestigate everything I have presumed and everything I have been taught and told. I must take over my education and determine its curriculum for myself. After all, when you really look at it – pierce through and break it down – I am the keeper and carrier of my sanity. Just me, alone and only.
I have often gazed at madness with a somewhat admiring eye. It is an excuse in itself. A reason not to have to conform to the (spiritually?) oppressive elements of the everyday. But at the end of the day, could it just be another way to escape accountability? Wait, that’s a question again. I always try and listen to “bums” “crazy” people, lunatics, and observe them well and they often have extremely profound things to say and essentially simple truths to relay. And I ask myself why such wise people have been relegated to this (anti-) social position. I reply to myself that it is clearly because they have realised the high moral (?) cost of “normalness” and would rather be…free. For true, to see this world of ours, to really see it for all its hypocrisy, cruelty, injustice, delusion, depravity (and feel free to go on), is to be insane. I think that a lot of us know this and so choose to escape it through selective/voluntary ignorance. It’s much easier that way, much more conducive to a certain (widely-held) definition of “living”. But I keep coming back to the point where I demand of myself if that truly is living. I battle whether that is a kind of living that I can find peace with. That I can deal with, wake up every morning without even stirrings of guilt, shame and self-repudiation.
And “all the questions I can ask only I can answer” but, that’s the most challenging kind of work that this life affords. Indeed this must be the meaning/purpose of life…to figure out how to keep on living. Not in terms of basic survival (food, water, shelter) but in more ideological terms perhaps. Religion, ritual etc., we created these to give some meaning to things but, the purest of intentions are so easily corrupted. And so volatile to discuss. …To figure out a reason to keep on doing, to keep on being, to keep on smiling, to keep on hoping.
I retire to my suspended state, to let things wander in and out freely so that I may observe which ones can go the distance and make this committment. It's about that time for a real good dose of selfishness!
I’m realising, or rather admitting, that my entire existence is laden with lies. What I know of my place in the world is built on artificialities and selective amnesia. It’s not an easy thing to deal with in your mid-twenties. Supposedly a time of consolidation yet now realising that the entire formative process was misdirected! But perhaps it is easier than were I 65.
I have to negotiate my position and create new meaning for it. My meaning. I must reinvestigate everything I have presumed and everything I have been taught and told. I must take over my education and determine its curriculum for myself. After all, when you really look at it – pierce through and break it down – I am the keeper and carrier of my sanity. Just me, alone and only.
I have often gazed at madness with a somewhat admiring eye. It is an excuse in itself. A reason not to have to conform to the (spiritually?) oppressive elements of the everyday. But at the end of the day, could it just be another way to escape accountability? Wait, that’s a question again. I always try and listen to “bums” “crazy” people, lunatics, and observe them well and they often have extremely profound things to say and essentially simple truths to relay. And I ask myself why such wise people have been relegated to this (anti-) social position. I reply to myself that it is clearly because they have realised the high moral (?) cost of “normalness” and would rather be…free. For true, to see this world of ours, to really see it for all its hypocrisy, cruelty, injustice, delusion, depravity (and feel free to go on), is to be insane. I think that a lot of us know this and so choose to escape it through selective/voluntary ignorance. It’s much easier that way, much more conducive to a certain (widely-held) definition of “living”. But I keep coming back to the point where I demand of myself if that truly is living. I battle whether that is a kind of living that I can find peace with. That I can deal with, wake up every morning without even stirrings of guilt, shame and self-repudiation.
And “all the questions I can ask only I can answer” but, that’s the most challenging kind of work that this life affords. Indeed this must be the meaning/purpose of life…to figure out how to keep on living. Not in terms of basic survival (food, water, shelter) but in more ideological terms perhaps. Religion, ritual etc., we created these to give some meaning to things but, the purest of intentions are so easily corrupted. And so volatile to discuss. …To figure out a reason to keep on doing, to keep on being, to keep on smiling, to keep on hoping.
I retire to my suspended state, to let things wander in and out freely so that I may observe which ones can go the distance and make this committment. It's about that time for a real good dose of selfishness!
Saturday, October 29, 2005
solipsista!
Miss Luna once again indulges my love for questionnaires…
10 Years ago..
Damn! Memory is not usually my strong point. Mine is highly selective and defiantly independent. 1995… New beginnings. I had just started high school. The satisfaction of having finished a chapter was soon thrown off balance by the shock of going from being the older ones at school to being the youngest. The seniors seemed so grown up and worldly (what a hoax!). My pals and I were causing havoc in the dorm, constantly getting in trouble for being loud and disorderly. My grand (ongoing) career of procrastination began about this time I believe. And being that the classroom was a minute’s walk away, I discovered the possibility of mornings! It was cross-country season, something that would continue to haunt me every September term for the next 5 years (which I now actually quite miss)…
5 Years ago...
New beginnings. About 2 months into uni in a strange land with even stranger people (and in art school, you can imagine!). Had the homesickness checked in? I don’t remember. My first winter was quickly approaching — that would be sure to do it! I was young and starry-eyed, confused, innocent, optimistic, excited, idealistic… I don’t think that much has changed ;)
1 Year ago...
New beginnings. I was about to start a new job, much-needed deliverance from my previous, stifling work environment. Also, I had just recently found out I had a hole in my heart and the two-week countdown to going under the knife was on!
Yesterday...
Watched a film, read about film, wrote about film. Engaged in the usual Friday ritual of going to the bar with the girls and boys.
A few of my favorite things
5 places I would run to:
-The Ocean. I love the ocean and being in it is one of the most amazing experiences for me. Simultaneously, the ocean frightens me! But yes, the ocean, preferably off the coast of East Africa.
-My mother’s arms. Yup. I aint gonna lie. You know all of you are down with this, I’m just the one who’ll admit it!
-Brazil quite intrigues me
-Cuba quite intrigues me
-Africa always fascinates me
5 Things I would never wear
-pleated pants or skirts (Luna I hear you!)
-heels over an inch and a half. Tough. I’m not going to do it!
-shorts. No no no no no.
-tapered-leg trousers
-shiny spandex
5 favorite shows
In possible reaction to my parents’ fondness for that box, I don’t watch much of it but, when it’s good it’s:
-La Femme Nikita
-Girlfriends
-Boston Public
-Real Time with Bill Maher
-Family Guy
And I hear they’re all these great new shows and I’m waaay behind but, what to do?
5 Things I would do with 100 milion dollars.
Travel the world and take photographs. Hook up my family (minus all the ‘cousins’ who’d surely pop out of the woodwork). Finance my most insane and outlandish projects (proving that they aint so insane and outlandish afterall!). Build a house by the ocean.
5 Greatest joys.
-Lying in the grass in the sunshine
-Being in the water
-Being around people I love
-Being an mchokozi (annoyance)
-Finding new people to know, learn from, share with…
5 Songs I know the words to
-ninanoki (it’s an anthem innit?)
-my primary ‘school song’ (was I brave and strong and true? Did I fill my heart with joy my whole life through?… That was some deep sh*t that would clearly take a decade or so to check in!)
-tell me (Groove Theory)
-any Alanis song from “Jagged Little Pill”
-dlala mapantsula!
5 snacks
-chocolate croissants
-yoghurt
-old Jamaica
-cashew nuts
-fresh bread
10 Years ago..
Damn! Memory is not usually my strong point. Mine is highly selective and defiantly independent. 1995… New beginnings. I had just started high school. The satisfaction of having finished a chapter was soon thrown off balance by the shock of going from being the older ones at school to being the youngest. The seniors seemed so grown up and worldly (what a hoax!). My pals and I were causing havoc in the dorm, constantly getting in trouble for being loud and disorderly. My grand (ongoing) career of procrastination began about this time I believe. And being that the classroom was a minute’s walk away, I discovered the possibility of mornings! It was cross-country season, something that would continue to haunt me every September term for the next 5 years (which I now actually quite miss)…
5 Years ago...
New beginnings. About 2 months into uni in a strange land with even stranger people (and in art school, you can imagine!). Had the homesickness checked in? I don’t remember. My first winter was quickly approaching — that would be sure to do it! I was young and starry-eyed, confused, innocent, optimistic, excited, idealistic… I don’t think that much has changed ;)
1 Year ago...
New beginnings. I was about to start a new job, much-needed deliverance from my previous, stifling work environment. Also, I had just recently found out I had a hole in my heart and the two-week countdown to going under the knife was on!
Yesterday...
Watched a film, read about film, wrote about film. Engaged in the usual Friday ritual of going to the bar with the girls and boys.
A few of my favorite things
5 places I would run to:
-The Ocean. I love the ocean and being in it is one of the most amazing experiences for me. Simultaneously, the ocean frightens me! But yes, the ocean, preferably off the coast of East Africa.
-My mother’s arms. Yup. I aint gonna lie. You know all of you are down with this, I’m just the one who’ll admit it!
-Brazil quite intrigues me
-Cuba quite intrigues me
-Africa always fascinates me
5 Things I would never wear
-pleated pants or skirts (Luna I hear you!)
-heels over an inch and a half. Tough. I’m not going to do it!
-shorts. No no no no no.
-tapered-leg trousers
-shiny spandex
5 favorite shows
In possible reaction to my parents’ fondness for that box, I don’t watch much of it but, when it’s good it’s:
-La Femme Nikita
-Girlfriends
-Boston Public
-Real Time with Bill Maher
-Family Guy
And I hear they’re all these great new shows and I’m waaay behind but, what to do?
5 Things I would do with 100 milion dollars.
Travel the world and take photographs. Hook up my family (minus all the ‘cousins’ who’d surely pop out of the woodwork). Finance my most insane and outlandish projects (proving that they aint so insane and outlandish afterall!). Build a house by the ocean.
5 Greatest joys.
-Lying in the grass in the sunshine
-Being in the water
-Being around people I love
-Being an mchokozi (annoyance)
-Finding new people to know, learn from, share with…
5 Songs I know the words to
-ninanoki (it’s an anthem innit?)
-my primary ‘school song’ (was I brave and strong and true? Did I fill my heart with joy my whole life through?… That was some deep sh*t that would clearly take a decade or so to check in!)
-tell me (Groove Theory)
-any Alanis song from “Jagged Little Pill”
-dlala mapantsula!
5 snacks
-chocolate croissants
-yoghurt
-old Jamaica
-cashew nuts
-fresh bread
Monday, October 24, 2005
A Hole in My Art
The other weekend, I had some very interesting encounters with the idea of art. I went to see Kwame Anthony Appiah speak at the British Museum. Topic: “Whose Culture Is It, Anyway?” He tackled, among many interesting things, the problem of authenticity and telling others what to value in their own life. He talked about connection to art through identity being powerful but saw as more important, connecting to art despite difference. Art as human art rather than Indian art, Maasai art, Mayan art etc. etc. etc.
The weekend progressed with a friend casting a very critical eye on what I would describe as overly self-conscious art. Art that is trying too hard to be art. He felt that art should speak for itself and more importantly, that it should speak to people. That it should reflect in some way, something that they can relate to. Indeed, I realize that a lot of people feel alienated by “art”. I put the word in parentheses as a reminder to critique what constitutes art; who defines what is and isn’t art? Art is really all around us all the time, in different manifestations… But ongoing is the debate.
Coming in with a film angle, and more specifically, a Third World Cinema angle, there are some notions that Teshome H. Gabriel speaks about which I think could shed some light on the dynamics of the art debate. He contrasts print/literate art with folk/oral art.
With print, there is an emphasis on individual achievement. The individual is seen as separated from the general social fabric. Wisdom is characterized by a high degree of specialization in a particular field or discipline. In art, emphasized is conceptual interpretation and it is defined in terms of aesthetic. Viewer participation is discouraged and inhibited. The earth is a hostile world that has to be subdued. Paradise is in the future or elsewhere.
Contrastingly, the deeper meaning of the folk art form is held by cultural groups/communities and thus there is more emphasis on group competence. It is an occasion for collective engagement rather than an occasion for ‘escape’ from normal routine as is with the print/literate form. Art is defined in terms of context and it expects viewer participation and so arouses it. Wisdom is a state of intellectual maturity that is gained by experience.
Folk/oral forms are largely proprieted by the Third World and print/literate forms are more characteristic of the West. Of course these are somewhat reductions and generalizations but I use them here to illustrate the different baggage we all could be bringing when coming to discuss the merits and demerits of a work of art.
I think the confusion or questioning we find ourselves in comes from the fact that we have such a multitude of (sometimes conflicting) influences. For example, from colonialism on, the contact with the West has greatly shaped a lot of Third World ‘conventions’, institutions, ways of thinking and analyzing the world and our place in it. That is I believe what makes the art debate so complex. There is a part of me that sees the immense value of art as a collective experience: one that is made the richer by allowing dialogue between creator(s) and audience. One that is captivating because it resonates on some level with the viewer’s existence. At the same time, I do believe in individual responsibility and individual prowess and these are virtues that are, if I may, inherent in Gabriel’s description of the print/literate form. Where does that leave us?
I believe it is almost important to note that nothing exists fully within one box. There is always an intermingling across all frontiers. So the challenge is not to figure out where something ‘fits’ but to acknowledge all that it is comprised of.
That is not to say that everything is worthy of appreciation, but interestingly enough, if you try to understand where something is coming from, you are more likely to see it for what it truly is.
I often feel that a lot of African artists (and this includes writers, performers etc.) try too hard to be a certain way they perceive as laudatory in order to gain acceptance and possibly acclaim from a foreign audience. They champion the causes of their people yet their work cannot even be understood by those very people. These artists are not creating the work for themselves. They are creating it for foreign praise. It’s a major inferiority complex and it subverts the whole postcolonial project of using our voices to represent ourselves. We need to appreciate that we live in different circumstances and we speak in different ways and different does not mean lesser! It just adds to the rich human cultural fabric. I remember my undergrad school motto: Be true to your work and your work will be true to you. What artists need to do is be true to their selves!
“Why do I write? Because it is a way of organizing my feelings about myself and the world around me. Without writing I fear I may metamorphose into something unpleasant. Writing feeds me literally and metaphorically. Writing provides a means by which I can sit in judgement upon myself and reach conclusions (however temporary) that enable me to shuffle towards the next day and another crisis.”
(Caryl Phillips)
“'It seems to me, more and more, that the fictional project on which I've been involved ever since I began Midnight's Children back in 1975 is one of self-definition. That novel, Shame and The Satanic Verses strike me as an attempt to come to terms with the various component parts of myself - countries, memories, histories, families, gods.”
(Salman Rushdie)
The artist is a part of a greater whole. And to conversate with themselves, through their work, is to speak to everybody else who can relate to them. Something about universal experiences and universal truths. The artist who contrives to create cheats his/her audience of that.
Create what you know.
The weekend progressed with a friend casting a very critical eye on what I would describe as overly self-conscious art. Art that is trying too hard to be art. He felt that art should speak for itself and more importantly, that it should speak to people. That it should reflect in some way, something that they can relate to. Indeed, I realize that a lot of people feel alienated by “art”. I put the word in parentheses as a reminder to critique what constitutes art; who defines what is and isn’t art? Art is really all around us all the time, in different manifestations… But ongoing is the debate.
Coming in with a film angle, and more specifically, a Third World Cinema angle, there are some notions that Teshome H. Gabriel speaks about which I think could shed some light on the dynamics of the art debate. He contrasts print/literate art with folk/oral art.
With print, there is an emphasis on individual achievement. The individual is seen as separated from the general social fabric. Wisdom is characterized by a high degree of specialization in a particular field or discipline. In art, emphasized is conceptual interpretation and it is defined in terms of aesthetic. Viewer participation is discouraged and inhibited. The earth is a hostile world that has to be subdued. Paradise is in the future or elsewhere.
Contrastingly, the deeper meaning of the folk art form is held by cultural groups/communities and thus there is more emphasis on group competence. It is an occasion for collective engagement rather than an occasion for ‘escape’ from normal routine as is with the print/literate form. Art is defined in terms of context and it expects viewer participation and so arouses it. Wisdom is a state of intellectual maturity that is gained by experience.
Folk/oral forms are largely proprieted by the Third World and print/literate forms are more characteristic of the West. Of course these are somewhat reductions and generalizations but I use them here to illustrate the different baggage we all could be bringing when coming to discuss the merits and demerits of a work of art.
I think the confusion or questioning we find ourselves in comes from the fact that we have such a multitude of (sometimes conflicting) influences. For example, from colonialism on, the contact with the West has greatly shaped a lot of Third World ‘conventions’, institutions, ways of thinking and analyzing the world and our place in it. That is I believe what makes the art debate so complex. There is a part of me that sees the immense value of art as a collective experience: one that is made the richer by allowing dialogue between creator(s) and audience. One that is captivating because it resonates on some level with the viewer’s existence. At the same time, I do believe in individual responsibility and individual prowess and these are virtues that are, if I may, inherent in Gabriel’s description of the print/literate form. Where does that leave us?
I believe it is almost important to note that nothing exists fully within one box. There is always an intermingling across all frontiers. So the challenge is not to figure out where something ‘fits’ but to acknowledge all that it is comprised of.
That is not to say that everything is worthy of appreciation, but interestingly enough, if you try to understand where something is coming from, you are more likely to see it for what it truly is.
I often feel that a lot of African artists (and this includes writers, performers etc.) try too hard to be a certain way they perceive as laudatory in order to gain acceptance and possibly acclaim from a foreign audience. They champion the causes of their people yet their work cannot even be understood by those very people. These artists are not creating the work for themselves. They are creating it for foreign praise. It’s a major inferiority complex and it subverts the whole postcolonial project of using our voices to represent ourselves. We need to appreciate that we live in different circumstances and we speak in different ways and different does not mean lesser! It just adds to the rich human cultural fabric. I remember my undergrad school motto: Be true to your work and your work will be true to you. What artists need to do is be true to their selves!
“Why do I write? Because it is a way of organizing my feelings about myself and the world around me. Without writing I fear I may metamorphose into something unpleasant. Writing feeds me literally and metaphorically. Writing provides a means by which I can sit in judgement upon myself and reach conclusions (however temporary) that enable me to shuffle towards the next day and another crisis.”
(Caryl Phillips)
“'It seems to me, more and more, that the fictional project on which I've been involved ever since I began Midnight's Children back in 1975 is one of self-definition. That novel, Shame and The Satanic Verses strike me as an attempt to come to terms with the various component parts of myself - countries, memories, histories, families, gods.”
(Salman Rushdie)
The artist is a part of a greater whole. And to conversate with themselves, through their work, is to speak to everybody else who can relate to them. Something about universal experiences and universal truths. The artist who contrives to create cheats his/her audience of that.
Create what you know.
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