Writers (artists) are like scientists.

(Thank you to Andrew Simonet for the reminder)

We listen to the world to hear what it needs.

We begin with meaningful questions about something we don’t know.

We follow a process of inquiry and problem solving.

We question assumptions.

We are resourceful.

We work hard.

Please do not dismiss what we do as “talent” when what we do requires hard work.

We search for truth and evidence to support our ideas.

We claim the space in our labs or studios for our research.

We are discerning, far-sighted and wise.

We share the most relevant answers and questions.

We persist.

We know a negative can very much have a positive result.

We possess many skills and the meta-skill of learning what it takes.

We cannot be truly stopped by a government or system, art and truth can be sidelined, but never silenced completely.

We are the truth-tellers, the liars, the one who point out the liars and warn you to watch your back.

We are deserving of respect — financial and otherwise.

We are much more than marketable product makers.

We have our hands in the everyday things, made by not only a scientist and the scientific method, but also an artist and artistic process.

We make meaning of the spiritual, the political, and the emotional chunks of the human experience.  

We are permanent residents of the world.

We make meaning of the spiritual, the political, and the emotional chunks of the human experience.  

We are permanent residents of an impermanent world.

THE WHY:

While traveling through a foreign land with my family, I established a custom, a rule of sorts, perhaps I’d go so far as to call it a manifesto: Always pay for the music.

Everytime, we’d pass street musicians, we’d lean over and drop a Euro or two into their hat, cup or instrument case. I felt it was the least we could do for the pleasure of hearing them play, for their hard work in learning and courage in performing. The kids enjoyed taking turns doing what they felt was a worldly duty. Even now, at home, I make an effort when I cross paths with a busker, someone trying to make a living at providing a soundtrack to the story of our lives. I drop in a buck. My budget can’t always afford more, so I use libraries and free passes. But when I can, I pay for the work they do.

While attending a writer summit, I was reminded of this practice as I listened to Andrew Simonet speak about art and artists. The above was inspired by his talk at the summit, and made more clear by looking at his work on Artist U, a project that asserts that artists can come together to change the working conditions of artists by opening up resources to artists. Support local artists.

Your turn:

What have you learned from art and artists?

What might persuade you to write a note, comment, letter to an artist?

What needs of the world can you/have you addressed recently?

How are you an artist?

The Scam is Over Party

To witness the traditional ceremonial tassel shift of my son and his girlfriend, we gathered on the last Sunday in May.  Each name was called, each grad walked across a stage, and each stopped twice for a photo and handshake then, a token–computer Science mug filled with chocolate. When two names were called, the collective hoot and holler, and screams of their names filled the gym. Smiles or let tears came, or both.  Go Class 2023!  

A few weeks earlier, I pressed into party planning.  When my daughter, my son’s girlfriend and I begin to plan, I half-expect my graduating son to balk. He knows family celebrations are part of our culture–my abuela paid for a band of mariachis when I graduated from Stanford with my Masters! Maybe he was worried I’d make a huge fuss since the last time he graduated, I’d organized one for our homeschool community program (he played in the band for that one). While I was determined to have a special evening with people ready to honor their accomplishments, I was certainly open to a simple affair. But not a “No.”

“Why should anyone celebrate graduating from college?” As I reiterated that his graduation is an accomplishment (and reminded him of family culture), he fed me the headlines: the empty promises and high price of a college education, overwhelming loan debt, the unprepared teachers who guard the gate instead of guiding learners onto the next step and more.  Having been an autodidact from the get-go, he has honed skills of finding his own educational resources which in turn has lead him to set high expectations for those who purport to teach in exchange for money.

“It’s a scam,” he tells me. “Colleges take people’s money, professors give short-shrift to the goals of learning, and business interests drive the crazy bus.” For the amount paid to the university, he envisioned better. He expected better. He deserved better.  To be clear, he has had some excellent teachers.  I hear in his disappointment and anger the disparity between the time and energy he put in and what he hoped and didn’t to get out of his university experience.

We both wonder if an education has become little more than receiving a piece of paper. Does a college diploma merely offer proof that we can endure four years of varied inefficiency, of jumping hoops, and surviving? Are we clinging desperately to an outdated, outmoded tradition because we haven’t figured out how to adapt?

Without solution or answer, I listen, validating his concerns. I offer my weak hope that education still means something, and that our society will once again re-invest in its future. And I insist that a celebration is just as important as the work we do.

Besides my daughter deserved a graduation. The pandemic stole this singular privilege from her and so many others. To see her cross such a stage, to scream her name with my pride, and to flood her with celebration would’ve been one of life’s greatest hits.  Even more so, she received little family acknowledgement of her graduation– and she put in as much, if not more, effort than her brother! The planning was for her, too. She loves planning parties and enjoys spotlights and such things: over the top, happy events stuffed with cheery balloons, good music, and lots of special touches.  She’s my Gothic-Romance-tea-party-Halloween-extravaganza-Christmas-décor comes-out-in-November-kind of gal.

Her brother is the opposite type.  He has been a can-we-skip-cake-and-the-fuss kind of guy.  One Christmas, he boycotted the holiday, spending the day in his room.  Conformity and consumerism annoy him. Regularly skipping out on birthdays (a family basic), avoiding most parties, and having trouble giving himself credit for his efforts all add up to the question of a party.  And while his critical observations are often on target, such dark thoughts can overwhelm us almost as much as large crowds can an introvert. 

Could I convince him? “Then we’ll celebrate the end of the scam?” I suggested. It’d be different kind of evening. We’d have a party that releases the hold that that the chaos of a disconnected pandemic-interrupted education has had on us.  We’d look forward. We’d acknowledge problems but leave off wrestling with them for just a moment. We’d drink not to how far we have to go, but how far we’ve come.

Finally, the day came with the loudest of joyful whooping from a large group of friends and two families (his girlfriend’s), especially our daughter. She stood with her new husband cheering for and snapping pics of her little brother. The sight mended my heart. And her brother had a big smile on his face!

Later that day, at the End-of-the-Scam party, no cake was served and while the BBQ was simple, the beers and sodas were plentiful.  I am grateful for those friends and family members who filled our home with talking, laughing, and youthful energy that came with the intention to celebrate. It was a good party!

A special thanks

• To my daughter who added classy touches of décor and a charming table of cocktail ingredients, not to mention focused on her brother.
• To my son’s girlfriend’s mom who brought champagne and crystal glasses for toasting. 
• To my partner who actively, concretely has supported our children’s goals of attending college.

While I bask in relief and swell in parental pride, my response is so much less noteworthy than the sacrifices, the work and the perseverance of the college graduates. Go Class 2023! I hope you can do better than we’ve ever done.

Hallelujah to celebrations, the reasons we have them, and the curious way that endings often feel like beginnings.

What are you celebrating this month? This year?

What small victories do you celebrate?

Do you come from a culture of celebrations?