Does what we do matter now?
existential crisis flavor of the week: post-election slog
At the moment, paintings, drawings, sculptures don’t feel very relevant. Self-expression feels like an incredibly privileged preoccupation. And indeed it is. It always is. But right now, I find myself questioning if there’s any purpose in these things I do on the daily.
There’s a lot of fear. Fear of global war, escalating human rights abuses, degradation of democracy, the suppression of the free press, a justice system co-opted by money and power, loss of bodily autonomy. Perhaps worse still, we are not sure if we can trust our neighbors, if we’ll encounter basic human decency when we walk down our streets.
So with stakes so high, and problems so intractable, what makes make us think that our art has any meaning? Why tune up the instrument, why stretch the canvas, why start a new paragraph?
Truthfully, I am not sure.
I don’t feel like I have anything relevant to say about this moment in time. Generally I do not make political art (though I have made responses to particularly infuriating situations in the past). Sometimes it can feel like it’s better not to say anything at all, if we are not addressing the crisis at hand.
But on the other hand, we’ve lived through a version of this before, as have people who have survived dire political situations in other countries. We know from past experience that such distressing times can swallow up our energy, disrupt our ability to think and communicate, ultimately causing us to go quiet. Retract, retreat, self-protect.
Speaking with a colleague the other night, we probed this question, does our work matter now? She shared that her work is the way that she processes the things happening to her and around her. Staying in the studio allows her to move through the thorny things; and sharing results of her process (the work output) then can give other people the space to reflect. Maybe come to terms with their own experiences.
And a good friend sent me a quote last week.
This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal. —Toni Morrison
This suggests that the act of being in creative process has an inherent value. That carrying on with the craft is actually the medicine that this wounded collective body needs. That continuing to show up and apply oneself to the discipline is, in itself, an act of resistance.
And, as I think about this, I would say that being part of the resistance does not have to mean creating overtly political work. It does not necessarily require us to address the issues in a frontal way. Rather, being defiant at this moment can start with simply re-committing to kindness, empathy. Keeping your feet planted firmly on the earth, and reminding your loved ones to do the same. Remembering that a practice of thinking, processing, and creating matters right now—and doing what you can to stay in yours.
