Strange Times in America: Sharing Stories to Heal
“What do you think an artist is? …he is a political being, constantly aware of the heart breaking, passionate or delightful things that happen in the world, shaping himself completely in their image. Painting is not done to decorate apartments. It is an instrument of war.” – Pablo Picasso
In the presence of art we can see backwards in time, and occasionally, with an abstract prescience, forward as well. Taken as a whole, all of art is a story, a grand, winding narrative of mankind. Each era has its own struggles that come forward in the art of the time.
When it comes to understanding history I’ve long preferred to wander through a museum, gleaning insight from the art, over reading historical texts. Written language comes with a certain rigidity, after all. Words are so specific in their flavor. When words are used to describe historical events the resulting accounts are especially susceptible to sanitization, a tendency borne of our innate human desire to conclude, to button up our experiences into clean outcomes. In contrast, visual language gives shape to unfolding events in a kaleidoscopic manner, with multiple versions of the truth shimmering through.
These are strange times in the United States. Artists, writers and creators are already at work, capturing these events, ascribing their kaleidoscopic commentary. Even as I pause for a moment in my own image-making, I feel a tremendous responsibility to contribute to the dialogue around unfolding events. For several years now, drawing on my own immigration experience, I have been working on projects that consider what it means to become and be an American. As I regroup, one element keeps coming forward for me: the individual’s story. Every American’s story is unique, and like a thread, gets woven in with the others, eventually revealing a larger American tapestry. We’re going to have to drill down to the individual stories. I’m not convinced that we can solve anything with sweeping assumptions about our larger American identity. I am not sure that the reductive nature of our social media platforms will help us much in having a meaningful discussion. We’re going to have to face each other, in person, and tell each other our stories. And we are going to have to be better listeners, no longer reacting in fear when encountering our differences.
There is a quote that I love, an insight laid forth by Anthony de Mello in One Minute Wisdom: “You have to understand, my dears, that the shortest distance between a truth and a human being is a story.” Stories, whatever the format, are powerful. They pass on histories, memories, cultures, and moral codes. And perhaps more importantly for us now, they shape future memories, cultures and moral codes. The stories we tell ourselves and each other have the power to change perspectives, or at the very least, invite contemplation.
America is a land of hyphenated identities, it always has been — African-American, Italian-American, Mexican-American — the list is endless. The result is a country with infinite stories, infinite pathways to arriving at the end claim of being American. Assimilation in the traditional way Americans have thought of it is a simplifying assumption, an illusion of linear progress in which cultural difference is permissible in the first generation, but is assumed to vanish after that. But in truth, the children of immigrants, the first and second generations, tend to accept aspects of the wider American culture, reject others, and retain a kind of enabling ambivalence with respect to the rest. This approach to diversity and difference is a fundamental aspect of the American experience; Americans make sense of their world through mestizo processes. Every American makes choices about who they are; they make choices about what being an American means to them.
Maybe one day in the future some intrepid scientist/engineer will invent the Experience Downloader (working title), a device that will bridge all of our differences. The way I imagine it, the machine will allow for instantaneous transfer of all the events and experiences that give rise to an individual’s identity and beliefs, complete with the heartbreaking emotions, and a bird’s eye view of accompanying hubris and fears. But until that day, we are going to have to learn to speak our experiences to The Other. And we are going to have to listen to Them; we need to learn how to read the air, hearing all that is left unsaid, while watching the emotions of loss and love dance across their faces.
Until then, I’ll be out there with my camera, listening and telling stories. Tracing our America, thread by thread. Join me.