Worthy

 

Well, it's been a good year for my art, getting a little steam, especially for the 'historical' marker sculptures, and the other day I got this email:

Hi Norm,

My name is Helen, I work with an educational organisation called Creativity & Change based in Crawford Art College in Cork, Ireland. We run a post-graduate course, as well as lots of other training and events exploring art's place in addressing social and global justice issues. It's a really great alternative and forward-thinking programme that I think is pretty important and unique.

I am writing to you because we are creating a publication that shares the insights of certain changemakers and socially engaged creative practitioners on how art and imagination are best placed to support our futures in this mad world. I love your work and think it would be amazing if you were interested in adding your voice to our book. It could be as simple as submitting a few images and words, or something you had previously written that you feel is a fit. We have some interesting submissions from some great contributors already, including the president of Ireland, Michael D. Higgins.

You can see all the information here:

https://www.creativityandchange.ie/invitation/

Thanks for reading, hope to hear from you,

Best wishes,

Helen

on behalf of the Creativity & Change team

 So I clicked on the site, where there were further instructions and it seemed they were looking for writing, from socially engaged artists, about how this is a good moment for art in our societies. A topic I'd been thinking about ever since late March, when the pandemic first hit and I did this: https://samiamchef.blogspot.com/ and then the "Pandemic Heroes" sculpture below. So I wrote a piece for her journal and sent it in and now I wanna post it here. So I won't lose it, I guess, since, realisticaly, I doubt anyone reads this blog except me!! Here's the essay:

WORTHY 

When the pandemic hit, I found my worth. 

 Despite having dedicated thirty or so years of my life to creating art that sought to engage its viewers aesthetically or intellectually or even emotionally; despite having spent decades creating “art of social conscience” and writing, repeatedly, that I hoped it “might help people think about some of today’s most pressing issues from a different point of view”, I had historically and chronically undervalued the role of art in the world, including the role of my art. For me, making art had always felt more like self-indulgence and less like anything approaching public service.  

* * * 

 In the early days of March and April 2020, we were all being told to stay home and shelter in place , but, for many, that was not an option. Those people: cops and firemen, doctors and postmen, garbage men, grocery workers, nurses, farm laborers, and other “essential workers”, kept going to work, either by choice or by mandate. They kept working on behalf of all of us who still needed to eat and still needed to be kept safe and healthy. They truly seemed to be the everyday heroes of this difficult time in uncharted territory and I wanted to celebrate their dedication by creating a new piece in my ongoing “On This Site Stood” series (in which I subvert the format of historical markers in order to add the weight of historical importance to contemporary political and social issues). 

“Pandemic Heroes” 

 The actual sculpture (above) is cast aluminum and acrylic paint and stands 96” high by 36” across by 4” deep. But prior to becoming an actual sculpture, it was a Photoshop mockup and a postcard. 

* * * 

 One day, I took some of these postcards with me to the supermarket to share with the workers there. After my checkout person finished ringing up my purchases, I pulled the card out of my pocket and gave it to her. 

 She looked confused, at first, that I would be handing her something. A postcard. Then she looked again and seemed to recognize that it was one of the familiar blue and yellow historical markers that are all around us here in New York state. Then she read it. And I could see in her eyes when she understood, intellectually, what was written on it, and when, a moment later, she had a deeper, emotional response. Her eyes glittered and softened toward tears and then got wide and excited and she asked if she could keep it and ran off calling to her friend, a few registers down: “Hey Johnnie!! Look at this!” 

 And then I softened. And I softened all the way back to the car and softened into tears and I felt, maybe for the first time ever, how important art could be to people. And how important art could be RIGHT NOW as we navigated this new world in which we were all living . . . 

 - To help us process the way it seemed things were going to be for the foreseeable future, 

 - To deal with the attendant loss of the innocent living that so many of us had probably taken for granted right up until then, 

 - To provide a humorous or aesthetically rich diversion from all that newly necessary processing that we had to do, and/or . . . 

- To create a sense of community at a time of division and danger. It was an amazing moment for me to feel so clearly the actual utility of art (including my art!) in our lives and in our society. 

 * * * 

 But there was another strange feeling that came along in that moment as I sat in the car. And I only bring it up here because I think it may resonate with other artists who might be reading. Mixed in with the pride of that moment was the overwhelming feeling that I was not worthy. A strange thing to feel but there it was; and one of the ways I’ve looked at it and think I’ve made sense of it over the subsequent months is this: 

 My art can accomplish things that I can’t. 

 Or: my art is better than I am, more worthy than I am. I know that doesn’t really make any sense. I mean, it’s MY art, after all; I made it, I brought it out of my head and heart and into the world. But even though something inside of me won’t allow me to take all the credit for it, I feel like it would be weird to not take at least some of the credit. And so I do . . . 

 Here’s my attempt: I make art. And I see now that art in general and my art specifically can really, truly help someone smile or be proud or feel other things and maybe just maybe, can help them to “think about some of today’s most pressing issues from a different point of view”. And if that’s worth anything at all then certainly I must be too. Right? 

 * * * 

 words and images by Norm Magnusson 

(more examples from my “On This Site Stood” series are below.) 

“Unarmed Black Men” 

 “Tim Rands” 

 “Roger T.” 

 “Black Americans” 

 “Education Department”

It was chilly this morning and I put on a jacket I hadn't work since spring....

...in the pocket was a whole bunch of stuff. At the bottom of it was $150 I'd forgotten about or given up for lost. It brought to mind this poem, which comes to mind often.... 

"I’ve Always Had Problems With Money"

Charles Bukowski

I've always had trouble with money
This one place I worked, everybody ate hot dogs and potato chips in the company cafeteria, for three days before payday
I wanted steaks
I even went to the manager of the cafeteria and demanded that he serve steaks, he refused
I'd forget payday, I'd had a high rate of absenteeism
And payday would arrive and everybody would start talking about it
"Payday?" I'd say, "Hell is this payday? I forgot to pick up my last check"
"Stop the bullsh*t man"
"No no I mean it!" I'd jump up and go down to payroll and sure enough there'd be a check and I'd come back and show it to them
"Jesus Chris I forgot all about it!"
For some reason they'd get angry
Then the payroll clerk would come around
I'd have two checks "Jesus," I'd say, "Two checks?" and they were angry
Some of them were working two jobs
The worst day it was raining very hard
I didn't have a rain coat so I put on a very old coat I hadn't worn for months
And I walked in a little late while they were working
I looked in the coat for some cigarettes and found a five dollar bill in the side pocket
"Hey look," I said, "I just found a five dollar bill I didn't know I had, that's funny"
"Hey man, knock off that sh*t"
"No, no I'm serious really, I remember wearing this coat when I get drunk in the bars. I've been rolled too often I've got this fear, I take money out of my wallet and hide it all over me"
"Sit down and go to work"
I reached into an inside pocket, "Hey look, here's a twenty! God there's a twenty I never knew I had I'm rich!"
"You're not funny, son of a b*t*h"
"Hey, my god, here's another twenty! Too much, too too much. I knew I didn't spend all that money that night, I thought I'd been rolled again"
I kept searching the coat
"Hey here's a ten and here's a fiver! My God!"
"Listen, I'm telling you to sit down and shut up"
"My god I'm rich I don't even need this job!"
"Man, sit down"
I found another ten after I sat down, but I didn't say anything
I could feel waves of hatred and I was confused
They believe I plotted the whole thing, just to make them feel bad
I didn't want to, people who live on hot dogs and potato chips for three days before payday, feel bad enough

Chef I Am. From April 2020. My first pandemic project

One 'chapter' a day for the month of April, 2020. Retelling the classic kids book
from the point of view of a new character: the curmudgeonly chef.

Follow along every day on twitter, facebook or instagram!
@NormMagnusson

(Click on any image to view it bigger.)

day 1

day 2

day 3

day 4

day 5



day 6



the "House Rules"



day 7



day 8



day 9



day 10



day 11



day 12

day 13

day 14




day 15

day 16

day 17

day 18

day 19

day 20 (on April 20, 2020)

day 21

day 22

(the Yelp review)

day 23

day 24

day 25

day 26

day 27

day 28

day 29

day 30

86 Chef I Am

A poem

Storm

You hear the rain coming, passing over treetops. 

And maybe you can imagine the precious little noises, nearly imperceptible, 

made by the abrupt dissolution of individual raindrops 

as they crash against bright green leaves,

but what you hear is all of them all together: 

innumerable moments creating a chorus celebrating life’s only certain song.

Big ideas - pizza

I love this story so much, and like lots of these 'big ideas' it pops up as being appropriately illustrative from time to time and in various situations. Here it is. My mom told me this:

A woman walks into a pizzeria and orders a large pie with three toppings on it. Then she grabs a seat and waits for it to cook. When it comes out of the oven, the pizza guy asks her how to cut it: "6 slices or 8?". "Oh", she exclaims, "Six! I could never eat 8 whole slices!"

Big ideas - Getting it wrong

Just heard this on WAMC, our local public radio station, during an interview with Amitava Kumar, (English professor at Bard College) who I saw live, interviewing Jenny Offill last month at Murray's in Tivoli. I love this thought, which he paraphrased and credited to Philip Roth; here it is straight from the source:

“You get them wrong before you meet them, while you're anticipating meeting them; you get them wrong while you're with them; and then you go home to tell somebody else about the meeting and you get them all wrong again. Since the same generally goes for them with you, the whole thing is really a dazzling illusion. ... The fact remains that getting people right is not what living is all about anyway. It's getting them wrong that is living, getting them wrong and wrong and wrong and then, on careful reconsideration, getting them wrong again. That's how we know we're alive: we're wrong. Maybe the best thing would be to forget being right or wrong about people and just go along for the ride. But if you can do that -- well, lucky you.”

Philip Roth

Maybe I love this quotation because if reinforces this thought I always tell my kids: Being right is no fun; being wrong is where all the action is, 'cause that's where there's an opportunity for learning. But maybe I'm wrong about THAT?!! One thing for certain: the older I get the more I know that I don't know. It's such a sweet liberation.

primary season

I don’t want an old white man for president. I don’t want a young Hispanic woman. Or a middle aged black woman or a gay man or a rich man or a Christian or a Jew or a Muslim or a business person or a veteran or a transgender or a queer or any other label you can think of, whether they’ve been historically oppressed or historically under- or over-represented or born into privilege or born into hardship. I could not possibly care less what material the spoon that they were born with in their mouth was made of. Nor do I give even one tiny rat’s ass about their age or religion or the color of their hair or what their voice sounds like or whether they roll in a chair or walk with a limp or run in boots or brogues or high heels or whatever. I don’t need someone who dresses well or smells good or has eyes that are not too far apart and perfectly white teeth. And I sure as shit do not need someone who is like me in any of those unimportant ways. Not. One. Bit. Because the adjectives attached to us rarely define our character and the failure to know that fact brings about a whole raft of ugliness and prejudice and missed opportunities.

I want someone with integrity, a long history of integrity. Someone who tells the truth. Someone who has taken the circumstances of their life and forged them into fortitude and perseverance and dedication to the goal of helping all Americans, not just some small segment of Americans. Someone who doesn’t have their finger in the air to see which way the wind is blowing, someone who has the strength of their opinions and always has. Someone who can’t be bought and so will never be called upon to sell out my interests to their patrons – many of whom are happy to engage in the most harmful forms of corporate socialism and corporate welfare and for whom the bottom line is almost always more important than the common good. Over-enfranchised string pullers who feel that their fair share of rewards should always be up near the infinite and that their fair share of sacrifice should always be down toward zero.

I want someone who reaches out to their fellow Americans and fellow politicians of any affiliation, someone who builds bridges, not someone who burns them everywhere they go. Someone who is of this country, of our people and for our people yet also knows that we are just one country amongst many – on one particular side of an imaginary and ultimately meaningless demarcation that should never allow us to feel separate from those on the other side of it – other humans living behind their own imaginary lines whose troubles or triumphs we can not even begin to imagine, much less know how to solve. I want someone who understands that we are all here together, breathing the same air and needing the same water, no matter what side of those arbitrary lines we live on or were born on and who, as the saying goes, only ever looks down on others in order to extend a hand to help them up.

I want someone who cares deeply about our environment, not just as a place where trophies can be collected but as a place where life can be sustained. The only place we know of where life can be sustained. And so they fight tirelessly to protect it. All of it.

I want someone who doesn’t engage in fear-mongering and doesn’t idolize dictators or seek to emulate the kind of totalitarian regimes that my father and other American soldiers like him went to war to fight against. Someone who cherishes and respects our constitution and the ideals behind it, not someone who thinks they’re above it. Someone who doesn’t think they are the only one with solutions. A collaborator, a compromiser, someone who is dedicated to finding the best answers to the most important questions, not some wrong-headed buffoon who thinks they have them all already. Somebody with an effortless facility for saying “I never thought of that” or “I was wrong” or “Tell me more, please.” I want somebody who understands the power of curiosity and humility and is dedicated to learning and improving - for themselves and for the entirety of the people they will be elected to represent. 

I want the best listener ever. One who listens deeply and patiently with an open mind and an open heart. Someone who is sensitive enough to shed a tear at the horrors that people or nature or happenstance inflict upon humanity and someone who is strong enough to fight against those horrors and to fight for the weak, the disenfranchised, the tired, the poor, the oppressed and the “wretched refuse of your teeming shore”, even when that shore is not our shore. I want a president who is long on compassion and short on arrogance.

I want a spiritual president: a seeker; not a zealot or a false prophet who would weaponize one faith or another to “appeal to the base” or to appear pious or to appear to be taking the moral high ground when, in actuality, they are only in it for their own personal glory. I want a visionary, who can lead us all toward “a more perfect union” for all, not someone who leads us toward civil war by actively, destructively pitting one American against another. Someone who works to overcome racism and ageism and sexism and every other –ism that leaves most out while only including the few.

I want a woman or a man of some race, some color, some creed and some sexual orientation or gender identification who is tall or short or fat or thin or young or old but who is deeply and genuinely dedicated to representing my interests, the interests of my fellow American citizens, and the interests of all of our fellow frail humans living here together on this beautiful fragile planet.

That’s what I want.