confiscated childhood: afro supa hero and confiscated cabinet at the museum of childhood

It's not far from where I live, but I had never been to the V&A's Museum of Childhood before now. Crazy, huh. 

Anyway, last week I finally went to check out two shows I'd heard mentioned: Afro Supa Hero and Confiscated Cabinet

If I'm honest, the building itself shocked me a bit. And reminded me of a starker version of the Pitt Rivers Museum (which is a weird museum - another story). It was all open and noisy. I don't know why, but I was expecting more of a library, journey-type museum, rather than an (admittedly, gorgeous) open hall and with massive ceilings and balconies around the outside. 

I was also hungry at the time, so some of these opinions may be slightly skewed.

Wow, I've digressed already.

Afro Supa Hero - Jon Daniels

I loved the underlying idea behind Afro Supa Hero. I loved seeing the comics from the 1960s onwards -  I wished I could have read some of them there. I'm not even into comics that much, but there were some seemingly great action stories and ace history-based ones I wanted to peer into (especially the one about Harriet Tubman).

But the historical journey of Afro action figures and heroes was the really interesting bit. It was a relief to see a shift from their names being 'Black XYZ' to just XYZ. That's polite of everyone.

Some of the renditions of famous black characters into toys was embarrassing - you could compare the printed image on the box to the way they'd been rendered in 3D and you could tell sometimes it was just like - "eh, we'll just make White Lady Action Figure into darker skin and it'll be fine!" Cringe.  

I learned that Jean-Michel Basqiat and Lee 'Scratch' Perry have action figures!! Which is pretty rad, although i never really played with dolls (cough) and ona selfish level, I was a bit bummed that Frozone  from the Incredibles wasn't in there. But maybe he's missing for a reason. Like licensing blah blah. 
(Or maybe Jon Daniels doesn't like Frozone?)

At the end of the historical/collectible action figures was Jon Daniels' own super hero design.
And it was fly - matching mega afros, the earrings matching the goatie? red, yellow, green and black colours of africa? Loved it. 

There were mock-ups and lego versions, although I really want to see them in production. Surely Momiji dolls need a new range. I would have bought some Afro Super Hero dolls, for sure.

Well, I say that, but I couldn't afford to buy one of the cute mugs on sale, so who am I kidding ( I would like to think that the money went to Daniels himself and not back into the V&A merch pot)

But what Daniels' show highlighted, of course, was the limitations of scope in action figures and super heroes and how that perpetuates the limitation of scope of human beings. Especially human beings of colour, starting from the beginning. In childhood.

Super important issue to tackle.

And, here's where I add to the problem: I wanted to draw even more out of that show. 

I wanted to extend it into a whole show about race and childhood and toys. 
Like, looking at the Mamie Clark research from the 1960s on the colour dolls and how she changed the way race and childhood imagery was understood; it has had an influence in psychology, cultural studies, art and image-making and of course education. 

And i could totally imagine a wider scope that takes those ideas, includes the excellent ones from Daniels' work and extends even further - including makie dolls, brats, barbie, home-made toys/dolls from non-western cultures, etc.

And I wanted to see more, not because I'm culturally greedy (although there is that), but because the influence toys/dolls have on us as adults is pretty massive.  With them we learn to play, to associate, development of identity, understandings about our body and the abstraction of the internal experience to a external object in identification, and boil down our expansive selves into these very particular objects.

It would become a museum show about the history of where limitation starts. The history of where adults decide how small a box they can squeeze future adults into, in order to get the best possible outcome for current adults.

Wouldn't THAT be a cool show to see?

OK, I'm being a bit ascerbic, but I do think that, given the influence from childhood into adulthood of dolls when it comes to race and culture, it's a massive topic that deserves even more attention.

And speaking of home-made toys/dolls, 

Confiscation Cabinets - Guy Tarrant

These cabinets of confiscation were fascinating: A collection of toys/weapons/objects that have been confiscated from school children over the last 30 years.

hand-written notes, those paper-based things girls play with, knifes, flame throwers, stones, playing cards, chewing gum, etc.

It was organised according to 'age' and 'gender'. Two cabinets each for girls, two for boys. Two for lower grades and two for higher grades.

That sorting in itself intrigued me. 
Yes, there are obvious links between boys and girls of similar ages. But i think it also would be interesting to make the cabinets sortable in different ways. 
Like, actual age - see what all 9-year olds hide. 
Or chronology - all the things confiscated in 1991, or 2007. 
Maybe even by kind of school - what do grammar school kids bring and what do comprehensive kids bring?

But, back to the display at hand, it was enlightening for me, as a woman (who was previously a girl at a catholic primary and single-sex private highschool) to see what was gendered. 
So it wasn't just in my school, but girls really do use words as weapons. And vanity is a weakness (one conditioned, I argue). So much make up, cruel notes and there was a chewing gum/hair attack sample in there that was simultaneously gross and a reminder of the nature of our attack/defence tactics: long-lasting and shame-based.

Boys? Garden-variety violence. I knew it, but the image of some of the sticks and metal rods brought to highschools still made me go a little weak at the knees. How the hell you're supposed to cultivate nuanced social interaction when that's a threat, I have no idea. And the fact that men grow up to be sensitive at all? Bravo. Hats off to the sensitive ones!

A History of Childhood

I do wish shows like both of these could be seen and talked about more. Especially because, given that we all have childhoods and those become our adulthoods and the society at large, it's amazing that more people aren't fascinated with the history of the small but constant ways in which we really belittle ourselves as humans.

I know, clear reminders of painful history and the failings of the human condition is not traditionally a thing that we enjoy pondering over on a wet sunday (except if you're in a cinema), but I think I would like them to be.

Perhaps if we could see these childhoods in museums, in an abstract way, and how they project forward, we might be better able to make decisions about our own adulthoods, or any childhoods we may be in the business of influencing right now.


Deets:
Afro Super Hero
14 September 2013 - 9 February 2014

Confiscation Cabinets 
9 November 2013 - 1 June 2014

At V&A Museum of Childhood
Cambridge Heath Rd, London E29PA

images pinched from the V&A Museum of Childhood site.

intermission

beyonce released another killer album today. 

having danced around my living room to grown woman the other night, i know that it is going to be amazing. 

between her and kanye at the moment, my world is sparkling with creative and pop-cultural dynamite. fireworks.*

but don't worry, this isn't one of a thousand reviews about it and her amazingess. 

it's about the fact that i haven't listened to the album yet because it's too inspiring.

yes, that sounds ridiculous.

especially because i am a fan, i am totally gassed that she's released something, the film clips are all going to be killer and i'm loving seeing my twitter timeline light up with excitement.

but right now, i don't want to be 'inspired', because that energy needs to be poured into something, a channel, a path, a way forward, and i don't have a clear one of those right now. 

and if you take energy and have no-where to put it, you end with catharsis and impotence. 

none of which are helpful to me right now. 

not to mention a waste of a shit-hot beyonce album.

because right now, i'm in an intermission.

i'm between drinks. in a holding pattern. treading water. purgatory.

although none of those idioms really describe where i'm at in my life.

i've put art down. for a while. 

i'm not convinced that it's able to do what i want it to do in the world at the moment. i'm not able to overcome the glaring conflicts in the sector, or the same-old-same-old concerns and the same old tired men people doing the same old thing. 

i'm bored of the complacency and unimpressed with the little energy there is. 

i'm also not convinced of my place in art. of my ability to execute my ideas and passions and decisions into the world in a satisfactory way.

don't just do it for the sake of it

one of my good qualities is that i have determination and perseverance. i keep going, cutting through all the muck. just keep doing it.

but if i'm not convinced by the work, or the project, or the idea - its relevance, i can't get behind it. 

i would rather preserve my energy and focus on something that resonates.

because when it is hard work, if you don't believe in it, NOTHING will get you through that hard work. and any energy from inspiration will be wasted.

it probably means i'm not going to be successful. because all those inspirational sayings talk about just keeping on keeping on. seemingly regardless of if the idea is terrible, or you're hurting people, hurting yourself or just wasting your time.

before spiritual enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. after spiritual enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.

the nice thing about putting art on the shelf for a bit is that it allows me to do other stuff. to write. to pick up dancing. to watch film and theatre and to read the amazing articles i have access to in this day and age.

and to find ways to help other people doing things that have nothing to do with art or my own arts practice. i can just help see some stuff through. get things done.

i can be useful, without it having to reflect my own sense of identity in that usefulness.

beyonce reminds me that i have a stack of energy and things to say to the world. she reminds me that, when you're on a roll, go with it and work hard, believe in yourself and open up to the world. that being alive and fierce and loud and present is necessary. i'm looking forward to doing that in the near future. and in the mean time, i'm totally happy to be her stage manager.

*and don't worry if you hate it all, you don't have to convince me why, you can keep that opinion to yourself for a while.

image pinched from here:

http://es.tendencias.yahoo.com/blogs/pintalabios-y-chupetes/beyonce-levanta-ira-padres-super-bowl-144109219.html

what men really really want

xav is an artist in london, who i first met when i was chained up in a box as part of my performance space residency.

he's made this artwork/video response to the question he posed on you tube: what do you want from girls?




i could find it depressing, or aggravating. but i'm don't.
i'm sad. i know that's not how all young guys think. and the system has fucked those dudes up.

i'm also kind of relieved, because it's not just me that is seeing this trend happening up close and personal.

but it gives clarity to actively supporting young women getting educated.

if guys (like that) start finding it harder to get with an uneducated, poor, low-self-esteem, don't-talk-back, girl-as-pet and see that their cum is drying up? they'll adapt.

team kanye. team crazy.

this is an unhinged post about kanye west.

i am going to go full-wacko about how fucking amazing he is. i am going to speak in a paranoid way about how everyone loves richard branson, warren buffet, karl lagerfeld, crazy old eccentric businessmen, designers, heads of corporations and creative industries, actors and writers off their leash. unless, you know, they black. then, you gotta be all well-spoken and well coiffured and well-behaved, he's gotta get in line, dammit. 

according to you guys, he cannnot be running his mouth, talking about how you're the next big thing, or better than the last big thing. he cannot be making wild statements about how amazing he is, or how excited things could be for him and how many risks he's prepared to take for his brand, because it's not allowed.

i'm going to talk in delusional ways about the 'rebellious' label of creatives and marketing people, who find his ego too intense, but happily love jeff koons, damien hirst, ernest hemmingway, don draper, eric from true blood - a stack of other OTT creative madness types. and how it's perfectly acceptable to dumb that shit down.

well, not on my block blog. 

here are my opinions. ones that are especially unpopular with my white friends. 
it doesn't matter if you agree or not. i'm just leaving this here.

i think kanye IS the fucking greatest. 

i think he's a genius. yes, on the level with albert einstein and steve jobs.

he is out there and making things, pushing art and what's possible with creativity, extending people's expectations of music, production, love, film what 'hiphop' artist or 'black' artist is supposed to be doing. he's just continuing to extend himself and go further, longer, harder than he has before. he's michael jordan with a fucking mouth and a grill.

i think he was totally justified at MTV music awards. 

yes, i know, he was rude to taylor swift. whatever.

tell me something: how many flash mobs of that film clip have been done for t-mobile?

how many times do you hear You Belong To Me (a track i had to look up to see what it was actually called) in the club and every woman in it knows all the routines.

how many pop references are there to that film clip? saturday night live pisstakes of the routine?

beyonce.

beyonce made the GREATEST VIDEO OF ALL TIME and kanye interrupted a young woman's speech (a young woman who now has the sympathy from all her white empathy types who've had their feelings hurt) to draw attention to the big fucking elephant in the room, the emperor with no clothes: the fact that a young white girl who made a pretty lame-arse video won a major industry award over a strong black woman whose video went bananas the second it was released.

y'all take a business risk like that some time and still produce work. stand in the face of that white backlash* and survive without having to puff yourself up sometimes. that is balls.

i think he is on a level with nelson mandela 

(yes, that post is a hoax, but i'm going to defend it anyway because you all thought it was real for a reason and so i'm going to address those reasons)

as writer, poet and pundit musa okwonga has pointed out, mandela was not the smiling grandpa that we all know and love. he was a determined, focused man who believed in his principles.  he was willing to kill for freedom. he exposed the systematic oppression of people's daily lives and found ways to systematically undo it by undermining the current power systems.

just because he chose to not go crazy and kill his oppressors, prison guards, assasinate the entire national party and move on with more important things, like getting universal sufferage in south africa, doesn't mean he's just about forgiving people who fuck you over.

yes, the value that nelson mandela brought to millions of africans is more directly connected to political freedom than kanye west. 

but kanye is no less concerned with the creative and cultural emancipation of millions of people around the world. yes, he is also largely interested in his own creative emancipation too. but he is part of the people he wants to give the right to just make whatver the fuck they want. to be the heads of design organisations. to kick arse without having to do 'R&B' or a nice little diddy about a good guy. 
no, it doesn't look like altruism, but nelson mandela fought for armed struggle, was prepared to kill and trained in the army to get where he got too.

and you think kanye doesn't forgive arsehole white folk every day of his life? he still releases music and talks to the white press doesn't he? the fact that he spoke to jimmy kimmel again instead of sending a molotov through his window.

i consider kim kardashian to be the shrewdest business woman on the face of the earth right now and actually i'm glad they're married. 

ok, so i really didn't understand their attraction at first. especially because, well, amber rose is fucking hot. but now i get it. 

kim has a great body. and she knows that the reality of patriarchal, media-run world we live in, that is some serious capital. she has used that. she has made a business decision to use her image, her body, her iconography to play to the masses who drink it up. she sold it and everyone bought it.

if it didn't work, and that wasn't the case, she wouldn't be loaded. and featured in every fucking magazine. that woman has CONTROL over shit. 

it's not my basket, really. but it's a choice she made. she is not a victim to men and their gaze, women and our insecurity. she's playing it and that, in the business world, is ACUMEN. not immorality or sluttishness. yes, i would like her to not be feeding the patriarchal bullshit, but she isn't the only woman on the planet and patriarchy is bigger than her.

and, as he mentioned in that zane lowe interview (where i wanted to throttle zane lowe), she has money and power. of her own. 
she doesn't need it from a man. she doesn't need it from her man. 
she doesn't need to control him, or manipulate him. 
and he is so secure in his power that he isn't threatened by it. not one bit! how many men do you know who are not threatened by a woman who doesn't need him. especially given the kind of bullshit comments her accounts gets every day. and her image is all over the place. 
how many in the forbes top 100 you think can handle that? how about rockstars like mick jagger, rod stewart, powerful men like charles saatchi, anyone? 

and all the pisstaking of bound 2? you are showing us up, white-people, as petty insecure types who need 'satire' as a means to expunge our own lack of understanding and reluctance to not be at the forefront of dictating what's 'good, cool, interesting, or desirable'. 
it was laid out for us to fawn over.

it doesn't matter that he made a shit album.

anyone who remembers when 808 came out, you'll remember that everyone was OVER the auto-tune. t-pain killed it for everyone, kanye included. no-one was into it. late registration had been a HIT. it bombed.

but even if it was the worst album - he fucking came back with my beautiful dark twisted fantasy. one of the best albums of the last 5 years. seriously. he failed. and came back with a vengeance. he missed a drop shot and came back with a slam dunk over the musical equivalent of le bron james. in other instances - perhaps the socially acceptable forums for black champions like boxing or basketball, he would be a CHAMPION. even if he spent the whole time running his mouth.

it's easy to call someone crazy or an ego-maniac. 

that's like calling a woman ugly or fat. 

it's the go-to for keeping someone down at a level that you have some control over, where you feel like you're part of the game. 

but what if he's not? 

why do you/we need him to be crazy so badly? 

how does it serve you/us/humankind, for him to be 'humble?'. because steve jobs was humble?

and it's not easy to call out the awful people who truly have a bad effect on others' lives, so sometimes we find people called scapegoats.

does kanye oppress people? 

does he use people without power as a stepping stone for his own? 

does he steal ideas? 

rape/kill/decimate people or their land/livelihood? write it into law?

is he in a position of trust which he has abused just because he can?

what if the only reason you cannot stand kanye and his ranting and raving - his crazy - is because he's a rich powerful black man with lots of money and who doesn't need you and who sometimes calls it like it is? 

a few years ago, i made a small shrine. well, the drawing of a shrine because i was still a nomad. but it was a shrine to the people - the artists who i think are great - who have perserverence and dedication and are a little bit mad, but make the world a better place by challenging us. 
patti smith, kanye west and louise bourgeois are on that shrine. 
this post is a little candle in front of that shrine.

listen, kanye is not perfect. his free use of homophobic language makes me ill and the painting of 'bitches'  in the way that he does is not cool. 

but based on the vitriol that i have seen coming from friends and colleagues lately - reposting fake interviews and fake videos of him kicking this shit out of papparazzi, slating his recent videos and posting every kind of pisstake possible, posting such angry 'crazy, overblown motherfucker' type shit about the 'crazy' on the BBC interview, the opinionated tweets of 'oh puhlease' from his last tour and reposting of the jimmy kimmel 'satire'? 

guys, you're champing at easy bits and circling in lynchmob territory.

and if you think i'm crazy after this, fine. 
i'm really ok with it. i'm happy to live in a bubble with kanye west being the greatest thing in the world and you worshipping the ground of the pope, or anthony robbins or nikki sixx or even steve jobs. same as it ever was.


*this is my favourite backlash from the huffington post: "The last thing I would want to happen to my daughter is some crazy, drunk, black guy in a leather shirt to come up and cut her off at an awards ceremony" << really? i could think of a lot worse fucking things to happen to her, sir.

Hard out Here: Sarah Lucas and Kehinde Wiley

Chicken knickers instead of Baggy Pussy.


This was originally a post about Lily Allen's Hard Out Here. But, well, who needs yet another mouthy white woman's opinion on the subject, really.*

So i'm going to do what i do better - write about art.

Specifically about two recent exhibitions speak with a little more nuance about some of the issues that Ms Allen was trying to portray in that racist piece of shit video. Oops? did i really say that.

Anyway, back to it: Sarah Lucas and Kehinde Wiley.


Sarah Lucas at the Whitechapel.

…and it's all about bitches. the images and the violence, the tawdriness of the same-ol-same-ol images of women's bodies, men's bodies - the same blah blah bullshit we're all just a little bit sick of seeing. well, maybe you're not sick of seeing. But I am. Friends of mine are. In fact, my first visit to the show was with a friend who is battling depression because of the hatred she has about her body because it doesn't 'fit' with what 'should'.

Anyway, it's there in the gallery. Just there. In all kinds of detail. with varying levels of humour, finesse, mess and message.

And it's refreshingly unsimplifed. it's all over the place.
It is probably comparitively 'sanitised' for the viewing public, but even with that in mind, it's not a perpetuation of the 'good girl' imagery. But neither is it so erratic that there isn't plenty of room to read some her messages about images of women. About the control of our own image. And who has it.

OK i have to say it. I think this image (i pinched) says some of what ms allen WAS trying to get at, with a whole lot finer detail. It is hard being that bitch.

And, having said that, Sarah Lucas is a white, middle class woman who presents a fairly singular image of woman. But for that, it's relentless. And it's consistent. She portrays the violence of gender symbolism, makes fun of the entendre - the guardsman of language - and rides it like she's going to come any second. She is unabashed.

The variety of materials is also refreshing: she's got sculptures, readymades, drawings, wallpapers, prints, mechanical wanking cocks (a material type all of its own), photography and text. And on that front, it's not singular.

It was a relief to see the savageness of her responding to the same old sexist bullshit about the female form.

Personally (currently up to my back teeth with it all), it is an exhibition which says 'it's ok honey, i feel the same way). But she's far more humourous about it. Me? i'm back on some adolescent angst, writing about it in my blog diary.

The work bursts its flow through the whole show, too. There's not enough space to spread out, and because of that, make plans to see the show twice.

I don't think the antidote is to give more space. I think the slightly-claustrophobic feeling of the show perfectly demonstrates a) the intensity of being an artist: you have a thousand things on the go at the one time and there's no space from it. You can't walk back from your life. b) same thing about being a woman. Your imagery and the intensity is relentless, there isn't a break from it. You don't get to take a 10minute breather, walk back and see how it feels to not have all of the 'requirements' and 'opinions' and 'representation' in your face. So why should you in an art gallery?


Kehinde Wiley at Stephen Friedman Gallery

The first time i saw Kehinde Wiley's work was in his Black Light book at the deutsche guggenheim in berlin. (note the caption: i still REALLY want this book.) it was €20 or something stupid cheap and i still couldn't afford it. and couldn't justify buying books when i could barely afford to eat. anyway, i'm a fan.


The show at Stephen Friedman gallery last month was his work from Jamaica. Floral, Patterned and Beautiful, Part of his ongoing series from around the world - especially places that have significance for (young male) figures unseen in the former colonies: Israel, Africa, Brazil.

This is one of my favourite: all pattern everything.



I love the OTT of it all. Yes, posed staring out in a fairly straight-up pose, but bursting with life and colour and yowsers!

Unlike previous works of his and other shows I'd heard about/seen, this show included the ladies. In fact, the gallery at #11 was all Ladies. Three large works of larger-than-life ladies, showing off their thang. I don't remember ever seeing a woman portrayed by Wiley like that - notoriously focused on the young men until now.

And, despite the regal/papal titles sometimes given to these women - or the grand floral treatment, the underlying message that comes with these paintings is that 'this is not their life'. These women are street. they are not 'portrait sitters', like the subjects Wiley refers to in his video

They are the 'bitches' in allen's song. The ones who she will never be and has never been. These are the women for who it is fuckin' hard. Oops - i went there again.


Again, the images are seriously beautiful. And they had me, as a 30-something educated white woman staring at the ornate, decorated images of young black men. hmm

This was the difficult part about the show for me, and the subject of a long chat with the gallery staff. (which i'm very glad that they were willing to have the discussion. they didn't, to their credit, ignore the obvious racial and ethical place of art/paintings/objects/viewers in what they're selling, and hide behind the 'it's just paintins, miss'.)

So, this age-old dynamic. me: western, privileged white appreciator of young, gorgeous black specimen. Not that's how I personally believed I was viewing these images, and these people, but I cannot ignore the echoes and the dynamic that had been set up. Into which i had walked and cannot avoid because of the fact that I am most of those things. Depressing.

The gorgeous patterns, the refreshingly different images of men and women surrounded by colours and framing reserved for the white elite - they're amazing and I love them. but if *I* take one home and stick it on my wall, am I not the same as the old anthopological doyenne with her specimens of 'the noble savage?'.

Argh! the mobius strip questioning of 'for whom is this art made?' 'who has the power?' drove me a bit bonkers. But in a way that I value: Is kehinde selling out young black street stylers, his own peeps, for the fodder of white folks, again. Or is he taking back that role of representing the young black gorgeous man into the hands of young black gorgeous man and the privilege white folks just get to watch, whilst they get to be immortalised. Or something of both. Or neither.

I left the show with all those complex feelings of wanting to take a shower, to dance in joy, to sleep with the next gorgeous man i saw, all desire and need to turn off all the images in my day to ignore how annoyingly complex and shit human power and relationships are.

Instead I wrote about it in my blog diary.




*here are a few excellent responses to that video:

- Deanna Rodger, poet wrote and performed a piece about it:
 http://bit.ly/19CG9s5 
- Chimene Suleyman, also a poet wrote an excellent essay:
http://www.poejazzi.com/fighting-against-the-fetishisation-of-women-doesnt-work-if-you-fetishise-women/http://www.poejazzi.com/fighting-against-the-fetishisation-of-women-doesnt-work-if-you-fetishise-women/
- MIA/۩ReverseColonialist۩ (@AnonFrantzfanon) and her tweet timeline from around this time https://twitter.com/AnonFrantzfanon/statuses/400411048643399680
- Bridget Minamore made an excellent storify of women on twitter: https://storify.com/bridgetminamore/lily-allen-and-satire

image credits:
Sarah Lucas, Chicken Knickers, 1997
Sarah Lucas, Bitch (detail) 1995

Kehinde Wiley, Portrait of James Hamilton, Earl of Arran’, 2013

the kindness of strangers. an ode to marcus of st. lucia.

Sit back with a cuppa. This is a story about how one man helped an old woman across the street. With added extras.

About ten days ago I had surgery.

It's a fairly basic procedure; one i've had a couple of times before. Keyhole fixing of problems on the inside. It's not a massive deal, except that I am especially restless at the moment and I am not a good patient at the best of times.

So, a few nights ago, after leaving the house just once in four days, I ventured out to fulfill an appointment - a speaking engagement of sorts. it wasn't going to be a big deal. I'd done it a stack of times before. District line from Monument to Sloane Square. I'd take it easy.

Fine.
Except: service disruptions.
Packed trains, no seats, jostling, having to reach up to hold on, stop/start. and me unable to really pipe up and say 'hey - i'm not well, lemme sit down'. It wasn't an obvious injury, i was shy and, well, headphones. I also got stagefright, lost my usual bluster.

Suddenly i was quickly losing the confidence with which I usually navigate london and its frenetic tunnels. I wished I had one of those 'baby on board' badges. Even though there was no baby - it would make sense of my clutching and sensitivity.

I held out until St. James Park.
There i realised that I wasn't going to make it. Physically, or emporally. I was in a *lot* of pain and getting anxious. I scrambled out of the train, got to somewhere i could find signal (and hopefully someone who might be able to help), rang my connects to cancel and then stood. Struck dumb.

Clearly the underground isn't designed for the infirm. And because I haven't spent a gazillion years of my life here, it's the first time i'm really discovering it. I have no back-up plan. I'm like a rabbit in headlights.

I couldn't afford a cab home.  I didn't feel like i could ask my flatmate to come and get me yet. I knew that a good friend who also had a car was busy and everyone else was either at work, or about an hour a way by train.

I was still able to walk, slowly, and my stubbornness was still running the show. Besides, i was in the underground, so how hard could it be? I'll just make my way slowly back the way I came.

I realised, as the pain got worse, and I got less and less mobile, how different London is when you're not in sync with everyone. Like, really not in sync. so unsynched that it feels like you're in slow motion and watching the whole world go by.

Did i mention that the underground is not designed for the infirm? and, as such, no-one seamingly knows what to do when a young-looking white woman with a funny hair cut is shuffling along Bank station, holding onto all the rails.

They mostly just mind their business (which i was also partly grateful for), and go around. A few tuts. And a couple of young stoner girls whispering about being 'on it' and looking back at me. Thankfully I was just in pain and not 'on it' otherwise i would have been far more paranoid from then on.

Me and an old jamaican woman shuffling slowly in the opposite direction with heavy bags made eye contact and a brief nod of 'i year ya'. Solidarity in small doses, yo.

So i get to Bank DLR and, as i'm holding my guts, shuffling along the platform, a guy asks if i'm ok. He looks me right in the eye. And I say, no, not really, but thanks. And keep moving.
Because, well, i don't know what else to do. It's not clear what help I need.

Actually, it is, I really need to fast forward the world so that I'm in bed, laying down, not hurting. But i don't think this guy has that much power. Otherwise I would have jumped at him and pleaded it thus.

A point to note: I am not conditioned to say 'I'm not ok'.

I have become much more accustomed to it  over the years and often let people know when i'm feeling rubbish, or even just mildly neurotic. Heck, i can even ask for help from health professionals and some friends, when and if i'm ready.
But never to a stranger in public.

Anyway, he sees that, actually, I'm not doing well. He shadows me and sees that get on the train OK. When a fine young dude goes to grab the last seat nearby he fends him off - hey man, she's unwell.

Bless this man.

Usuallly the trip home from Bank station is a pretty quick journey. this time it was the longest I've ever had. By this stage, I gave no fucks. I knew that mr tradesman was looking at me/out for me, concerned, so i just closed my eyes and tried to absorb the pain.

Whilst also checking for phone signal.
I had been in touch with the a friend who was diverting his ways, to come and help. i had also tried both flatmates.
nothing.
I was relying on the kindness of strangers. And mostly with eye contact. I wasn't talking much.

On the way through the station, down the lift and across the street, Marcus - this man's name, is making sure no-one got in my way, Asked where I was from. When I said I was Australian, he smiled.
His boss was Australian and an old tradesman of his was too - someone who took him under his wing and taught him everything.

He said "everyone says Australians are racist, but Australians are some of the most generous people I know and they reached out to me when they didn't have to"
He also said, you know, black, white, whatever, you got to be there for people. He said. And he lived.

Because this black man was the only person who had bothered to ask if i was ok in that trip.
It's like white folk act like they don't have to look after one another 'cos they think 'ah, she's white, someone's got her back'. Or  'ah, young white girl that looks a bit unconventional, walking slowly holding onto things' - she's probably out of it.

I dunno, but I saw the people of London in a new way that night. Hardened, in their own privileged box. I've been that person, I know it. This story shouldn't be unusual for me. But it is.


Anyway, Marcus got me to the cafe where i would wait for my friend. He made sure i was as OK as i could be and then headed home.

 I hope I run into him on the street again. Because I doubt that, at the time, was particularly articulate  or gracious. I probably looked like i was terrified of him - being a stubborn woman in pain.

Marcus from St Lucia, thank you. I'm incredibly grateful for your kindness.

Thank you for:

a. not dumping my arse on the street when you found out that I was Australian and, by reputation, probably racist.

b. not ignoring me because i'm a young white woman who may or may not be scared of you based on your race and all the complications that come with racism still.

c. not ignoring me because i'm a young white woman who may or may not be scared of you based on your gender and all the complications that come with male violence.

d. following you sisters' advice: treat a woman how you'd like men to treat mama. You did. You treated a complete stranger like a sister - just another a human.

lyrics versus anthems

During some conversations at the hip hop arts club recently, quite a few of the blokes I was chatting with about hip hop lyrics were quite nostalgic and sentimental about the ol' lyricists:
the KRS-Ones, Chuck Ds, Rakims, Bustas, Biggies, Jean Graes, Kwelis, Nas, Black Thoughts and Kendricks.

And, of course, I love those peeps; it's why I put the damn workshop on.

They have ways of telling stories, painting pictures of our lives, our words, our worlds - even if the only attachement to those lives/worlds is through a feeling, a reminiscence.

They're master craftsmen. They can flex their vocabulary, their wordsmithery, their technique - virtuosity is impressive and we awe at their skills. Hip Hop Legends.


But in the club or at carnival, even in the cars cranking past, the music that goes live is not the lyrical or poetic.

It's the anthemic.

It's what lifts the whole damn room. And that's the kind of stuff that makes your day sometimes. The whole crowd going up.

To the bass lines, trap beats, the cheap shots and ear candy.

Chief Keef, A$ap Rocky, Odd Future, YG, Young Jeezy - all those kush, money, cash money kids.
Just like the one-liners in art - the sight gag, the cheap shot and irony crew (most of Frieze 2013), tacky TV, most musical theatre,  'entertainment'.

They lift people quickly, unite them simply, like a smile or a round of sweets.


And whilst I wouldn't want that as a staple in my diet, it's not 'bad', per se.


But have the fortune of being quite clear about it: it is about balance.

The depth of songs with lyrics at their core are full of metaphor, form, subtext and a depth of meaning. They are an excellent platorm for being able to listen to and imagine a story deeply. To understand complexity - mostly the complexity of the (ultimately flawed) human condition. They contribute to my character.

Same goes for similar kinds of art - lots of painting, post-war sculpture, durational performance, theatre, dance - a way to talk about difficult things* and often it's not easy to digest.

And it's often super SERIOUS.

But who wants to just have fiber all day? You gots to have ice cream once in a while.
You have to just let things be a bit fucked and just have a good time with what you got. Sometimes, you just have to let a smile lift you, even though you know it's not really the deepest or the kind of message you want in your life all the time. They contribute to my lightness.


Of course, the slightly disturbing aspect is when they're the only message you hear, or when you base your whole life on Bang! When all you see are cheap shots at the money and simplistic talk a dem hoes.
And when all the money in various industries goes that way.

I don't think it's helpful to just say 'all that crap is crap' because it sets it up as the ONLY option that's available to people. I think it's about foregrounding what is amazing and knowing that candy dissolves eventually over time.

*(which i think is going to be the name of my next business or novel or full-length mixtape).

when oppression spreads: why racism and feminism are absolutely linked

tonight i spent a good 30 minutes taking a couple of young dudes to task about this tweet that ended up in my feed, thanks to an ignorant RT:

on the back of a couple of general WTFs, stupidly, i tried to 'educate' a little. even though that's a problematic tactic. and i think i know why*.


one of the examples i gave them was -  that attitude was similar to the idea that dressing puffer and being black justified being beaten by police.

to which they both responded/agreed:




which shocked me.
it shocked me that they believe that to be OK and they're not angry with that. at all.

they have, thanks to a white supremicist system and the racism within the media (not just the police force), come to believe that the key to not being beaten by police is to not look like hood yute.

they are so conditioned to believe that a young black man deserves to be harrassed by the authorities because of the way he dresses.

and so they believe that a young woman deserves to be raped because of the way she dresses.


and they are so conditioned to these ideas, that they're not angry about them.

they're fact.
reality.
ways of staying safe.
and a reason to castigate others for not adhering to the codes of staying 'safe'.


despite the fact that young black men from the hood in puffers are no more likely to stab someone than angry young white men in the suburbs.

despite the fact that women are raped regardless of being as sexually bared as possible, or as modest as full niqab.

and that rape is not punishment for social disorder.


and this is why white feminists need to study racial oppression.
because the conditioning is comparable. and each one supports the other.


*i've blocked one - who doesn't care about [my] opinion' and monitoring the other (the guy i originally was following).

tees

Hip Hop Arts Club at Culture Blast

Backing up after the exhibition in Dublin, my very first Hip Hop Arts Club is kicking off as part of this weekend's Culture Blast at Wimbledon Library.

Organised by Ash Akhtar from the Arts Development (and amazing actor/film-maker in his own right), it's going to be a super fun event that gets high on the mashup of art and words and music.






Inspired by Busta Rhyme's verse on Scenario by Tribe Called Quest (and that crazy video) Hip Hop Arts Club is something that has been brewing for a while, first kicking off at the Collingwood Housing Estate, chatting with the young people as part of their input into the Everybody's Favourite Song CD.

Everyone has a favourite Hip Hop lyric* - something that sticks - a click of poetry or beats or the particular flow that can paint an image that resonates. yes, even with all those mixed metaphors.

And for young people, hip hop is a genre that speaks very clearly to their actual experience (rather than an abstract one). These lyrics, these styles, a certain beat, the way a set of 16 will just capture a time and a place - they're meaningful.

And that meaning isn't always easy to articulate and sometimes it's just a feeling, and that's why it grabs.

The Hip Hop Arts Club uses that as a basis for making art - images from lyrical imagery, picking up on the cycle between poetic rhymes of rap and the feelings and states of art. It's an opportunity to give words to pictures and vice versa.

Ash has organise Culture Blast along similar lines - connecting music and words, books and technology, public places of knowledge and enjoying tunes together.

WrongTom, Sam Underwood, Graham Lawrie and a couple of others are all making work that overlays sound, art and words. And we're taking over the old Wimbledon Library! How cool is that!

I'll be commandeering their Internet Space, surrounded by an old frieze done by the Wimbledon Arts School years ago, so I feel pretty privileged.

It'll be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.


Anyway, I know that some of you are into hip hop or art, so if you're in London and can get to Wimbledon, come on down.


*OK, not everyone, but most people my age and younger do.

...and he jiggled to the beat in his black and blue tracksuit

On Thursday night, the exhibition Implicated opened at MART in Dublin. Curated by implicate collaborative, the show "aims to investigate the boundaries of privacy" and I am one of the 7 exhibiting artists; which is pretty grand (to get local with my lingo).

I'm showing an extended remix of an earlier work about headphones as mobile privacy units.

Starting from a twitter feed based on the search term 'headphones', the work has two branches about their place in society and the way we use them to manage our engagement with public space to create an idea of privacy.

The first investigates a recent occurrence - i feel like it's a legal precendent -  which occurred in Ireland. John Dundon, charged with murder, wore headphones and listened to music whilst being sentenced. The work features a court sketch done by Ireland's one-and-only court artist of him giving two fingers to the system (literally). This questions what our role as citizens is in accepting the nature of being one. There is no legal requirement, clearly, to listen to our punishment. Dundon pushes the boundaries of privacy all the way into the law.

The other branch features a range of headphones 'branded' with the words we say to the world when we wear them (above: a small detail)

Also taken from the twitter feed, these are the unspoken codes of headphones as fashion, headphones as units of privacy, headphones as contemporary objects.



In speaking with people at the exhibition's private view, there is a clear generational split of those for whom headphones are 'standard' and those who aren't. BH and AH. People of my generation and younger are all pretty-much raised on them and either choose to wear them or not. We take them for granted and are the ones who read them as a social 'norm' for delineating privacy.


The responses to the work have been great so far, including props by Jimmy Deenihan, Irish Minister for the Arts in his opening speech - that's pretty great. Not to mention the great conversations about privacy, my work and multiple references to Elizabeth Throop's book Net Curtains and Closed Doors.

There is a fantastic catalogue for the show, including an essay by Dr Paul O'Brien from National College of Art and Design. He will be speaking at the Artist Talk on Friday 11th October, which you should attend if you're anywhere near Dublin.



Deets:
Implicated
4th - 20th October, 201
MART Gallery 
190A Rathmines Rd Lower
Dublin 6

the sounds that we ignore

this is a follow-on from jade's story. and other women's stories.
my friend's stories and my own.


last week, as i was walking home from an amazing evening working on a friend's solo dance work, i was accosted by a young guy in my local neighbourhood.

he was a charming young man, menacingly telling me how sexy i looked ('babes'), did i want it?, the old 'you know you want it', delightful displays of his 'big dick' and threatening to give me one, even if i didn't want it. rapist-in-training type shit.

the whole thing pissed me off. the system in which that interchange exists is a common one and i'm sick of it.

after going through a particularly intense session of identification at the police station, i rang a friend, a trans* woman, who was incredibly supportive. and it occurred to me that she actually hadn't spent her whole life rejecting the unwanted advances of men.

i can't even imagine it.

most women, since the age of 10 (or younger), spend the rest of our lives in some act of ignoring the unnecessary sexual words and actions of men:

in the street, from cars, right up in our ear whilst our hair is being pulled, in our faces, from across the room, behind us, towards us, sideways, from scaffolding, under their breath, on the tv, on twitter, in memes, passing on the footpath, on the bus, on the train, in the office hallway, in a pub, outside a pub, at a gig, outside a gig, on the dancefloor, outside the club, at night, early morning, whilst walking, whilst jogging, with kids, without kids, in a group, on our own etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc.

etcetera.

we develop a reaction early - the paying attention of those words and sounds, the instant assessment of them on our character and varying levels of disregarding them, depending on our character and our self-esteem.

it's fucking boring. and surely a waste of our energy by now.


i'm sick of hearing it. i'm sick of ignoring it.
guys, please, give it a rest.



hey you, you, hello, hello? hey slut, dyke, freak, nice hair cut, show us your tits, whistle, kiss noises, heyy, sexy, nice tattoo, nice legs, hey sexy, hey, hello?, oi!, slut! nice hair, nice tatts!, show us your tatts, tits, car horns, oi, ladies, hey lady, miss, hey miss, excuse me, you right? can i get your number, heyyyy, shamood, shamout, butana, yo ho', belle femme, kissy kissy, check this one aaaart...

listening to london on a monday

last monday i had worked inside all day and found myself a little, well, lets just say i didn't feel like watching tv.

i wanted to soak up the goodness that london has to offer, infuse my brain with something worthwhile. i was also feeling a bit lonely that night and wanted to do something with a group, but nothing too big or "group"-y.

i remembered that my friend (and great storyteller) amaara raheem was participating in this year's one-on-one festival at battersea arts centre, london stories, so i forked out the £12 online at the last minute and scooted south west.

i could go on about how amazing battersea arts centre is as a building and a site for performance, but i'll leave that for another post.

this one is about listening to stories.

unlike perth's one-on-one performance festival, proximity, this is just about listening to stories. similarly, there's an individual route that you take through the building. sometimes that is shared with another person, sometimes just on your own.

my initial balk at the idea of having to 'share' my intimate experience passed very quickly, as the intimacy of listening with another person became actually quite delicious. and, considering the kinds of stories we heard, also a bit of relief.

toby, cancer and other bedtime stories
sitting cosy on the back steps, the first story i heard was from toby, who, in his fairly young life, has managed to beat lymphoma twice. although intense, thankfully this wasn't a sob story, but a heart-warming and honest appraisal of negativity, taking responsibility for health and the gob-smacking brilliance of the human body.

amaara, her red shoe and other fairytales
in a sweet laundry setting, lit by candles (as were most of the rooms), amaara told an hilarious story about her relationship between london and her daily commute to work, through an upside-down extension of the hans christian anderson story of the little red shoes. it was personal, engaging, humourous, without being facile or jokey mc joketown.

jade, her escape from uganda and her "5-star" stay in yarl's wood*
this was a harrowing, but all-too-common story of jade's life and escape from uganda, corruption, the military and the lord's rebel army. it was a story of her husband, children, twin sister and nieces being killed. it was a story of dehydration, hunger, deprivation and  hiding. it was a story of kindness and eventual passage to london. she spoke of her time in a detention centre as a '5-star hotel' with 3 meals a day, doctor's nurses and places to chat with others and children to play.
as a couple of naive white gyals sitting there, the disparity was as loud as a sub-woofer, but there was zero resentment, only gratitude at her story being heard.

it was the best use of storytelling and the arts in politics i've experienced to date.


other stories of self-indulgence
i'm sorry, this is going to sound harsh, but most of the other stories i heard - although i enjoyed them - felt, in comparison, a bit, well, whingey.

love stories in london, stories of heartbreak and loss in london, homelessness (although that was actually a bit less-so) - they all felt a little self-indulgent. pretty much the same kind of story we always hear. and sometimes more like therapy and catharsis, than a story.

i spend a lot of time listening to people's personal stories each week and they find a lot of solace from sharing them. but they're not art, or theatre, or even really very interesting to that person and me. and usually i'm only interested because i have similar problems and am looking for identification. it is more intimate than being an audience, but still relatively mundane.

which is why i found the three i mentioned much more valuable.

having said that, the act of listening to others was comforting.

and the combination of being with another person, knowing that i was part of a whole group, but not 'in' that group and well-supported in my journeys (logistic, emotional and intellectual) by the staff at BAC - a really worthwhile sense of togetherness and community.

some of the other trimmings of the evening? perhaps a little unneccessary, but overall, an excellent way to enrich your night.


*i'm sure she said yarl's wood - especially because it has had a fair bit of press lately, although i may have the UKBA immigration centre wrong.

word. sound. power

A few weeks ago, on a gloriously sunny day in London, my fellow smart-lady, Zana, and I got our wordiness on along the southern bank of the Thames.

We sandwiched the BFI's screening of Right On! between visits to the Tate Level 2 Project Space for their brilliant exhibition Word. Sound. Power.

Right On!




This is the Herbert Danska film is of the (original) Last Poets, late-60s poets - performers, griots-if-you-will, from New York. And crucial influences on the development of rap and hip-hop.

It was an amazing film, consisting of an 80 minute spit and flow of about 8 pieces by the trio, backed by drums, costume changes and amazing black male power on a hot summer afternoon/evening. And it was warm in London, too.

The series of spoken word performances -  poems, matras, incantations were performed, spat and hand-delivered from the rooftop of a hot Harlem block on a sunny afternoon in 1970, to a dark soporiphic theatre.

As the sun tripped from east to west across the sky, the trio: Felipe Luciano, Gylan Kain and David Nelson, interchanged between lead performer. The different forms for each poets flow, their particular voice and rhythm were mesmerising andsupported by a powerful drums, casual fly movement and the uhs, ahas and energy of the other two artists.

Works like Poetry is Black, Jazz and James Brown were not so much choreographed, but embodied, as crucial element of the relationship between words and the body, between the themes of race, sexuality, white power and poverty, as they came spilling out.



Taksh, an African-American scholar, originally born in South London hosted the afternoon, including giving a decade-by timeline of Black Power cultural expression interspersed with his own poems about each of those times.  To be honest, I would have loved to see that part as a separate event, as I felt that is overshadowed the power of the works in the film, and also simplified the black experience to solely musical genres. But I acknowledge my rather ignorant position on the matter.

Zana and I had to leave for part 2 of the exhibition, so didn't see the discussion the end. I was hoping for some powerful discussion on the place of words.

I would have loved answers to questions such as Is Poetry is Black in the 21st Century (as I believe it still is, certainly in London)?
What place do works like Right On! have on the British black (male) experience?
How can we acknowledge the beautiful, but fairly limited value of Woman in such films and how can words and power be part of changing that for the future?



Word. Sound. Power

Whenever I think about this show, a 90s throwback of lyrics that might not even be real lyrics from the Sub Swara ft Dead Prez song Speak My Language (Machinedrum Mix) comes flooding into my mind:

"This is word sound power, this is rebel soul."

And it is rebel soul, this phenomenal exhibition, curated by two amazing women, in conjunction with the fantastic KHOJ artists collective from india. It features 6 artists making work about sound, the voice, the word and power (not that you needed my help in making that leap).


Lawrence Abu Hamdan has two works in the show. His work with Janna Ullrich, Conflicted Phenomes (pictured, pinched from the Tate website) is a visual research and data map of Somali spoken language tests to ascertain cultural original, to satisfy criteria for refugee status. As a data excercise on its own, it's quite beautiful - with its graphic keys to each person's relationships and language connections

As a reflection of official policy on the business of people's asylum and freedom implemented by outsourced agents, without checks or balances, it's creepy.

I was originally suprised to see that Australia uses this for their immigration processes. And then I really remembered Australia's immigration processes and was unsurprised, dammit.


His other work, The Whole Truth, shines a light on the relationship between the place in which the voice and power intersect: the Lie Detector; When the voice is used to support incarceration, the place in which a person's (political) voice is removed - according to Foucault.


Caroline Bergvall's word drawing and spoken piece was quiet, but striking. A poem, with all of the letter o-s taken out, and placed on the opposite wall, creating a spacial relationship to the word and the sentiment, supported by the surround sound work. It was simple, but I felt things.


Zana and I went back twice to see Mithu Sen perform I am a Poet and both times we missed her - she cancelled one performance, as it was too much to do too many in the day, and then she must have finished the reading early, because it was already over by the time we arrived after the movie. We were both super disappointed because we wanted to hear her.

But her work in the gallery is interesting and engaging nonetheless. I loved her underlying premise of nonsense as resistence. The language is crucially human and that defying the technology of language, there is a core resistance of all that is human.

In light of the work Boni and I have been doing with Relay - a chopping up of political speech, which is not necessarily straight-up nonsense, but an interesting link nonetheless. I enjoyed giving my nonsensical version of the poem, too.



Nikolaj Bendix Skyum and his videos Arise and Keep Evans Safe Tonight was seemingly a major focus for the exhibition. Although, to be honest, I didn't feel like it was as crucial to the themes of the show as some of the other works, or the exhibition as a whole. Just my opinion.

The interviews in KEST were quite lovely, giving young men a voice and able speak out. I especially enjoyed the KEST boys speaking of the common diasporic experience of going back to the land of one's parents and suddenly feeling the ease of a culture that is deep within.


Added to the work in the gallery, the essays in the catalogue were amazing. Both women speak about the relationship between sound, power, culture in different ways but equally engaging. They provided second and third angles on the underlying themes of the show, providing a solid triumvirate, reflecting the title itself.

Loren Handi Momodu from Tate Modern writes about the experience of sound, referencing Brandon La Belle and speaking about it as a means of creating an 'aesthetic space' and the apparatus of the vocal, quoting Louis Chude-Sokei.

Asmita Rangari - Andi from Khoj speaks about the privilege of using the voice (and other sound means) to speak out - the ability and agency to articulate and the place of silence in this privilege.

The place of words, sound and power in contemporary aesthetics, culture and politics are particularly present at this time and the exhibition is a must-see for anyone remotely interested in any of these things, as well as the ways in which political ideas can be presented aesthetically not didactically.

The exhibition is on until November 2013.

speaking up: the personal, the professional and principles

I start a lot of my posts with caveats lately - here's another one:

caveat: I'm not an amazing example of professional because sometimes I let my principles get in the way of me making money.


I've been less chatty on here than I used to.
I've been saving a lot of my diatribes for twitter.
It seems to be the place where i'm getting the bulk of my intellectual discussion lately, although it's not always ideal. 140ch, even carried over a few tweets can get really confusing when you're trying to debate someone or actually discuss things. It's some kind of glitchy forum *.
However, it's still the medium of choice for me for some serious brain food.


Somehow I came to follow David McQueen. He's an amazing man - involved in youth education, business mentoring and empowering people to really do what they do and be amazing. From what I can tell from his twitter output, he's involved in a range of really interesting, worthwhile and actually helpful ventures, mostly talking to people and encrouaging them. And his #SundayReads are always impressive and provocative.

He's also a tall, black man with 2 daughters, a gorgeous wife he's been married to for 18 years and incredibly invested in seeing change around education, agency, race and principled people. I know this because, with measure, he didn't deny his personal effect within his professional adventures.

That's probably how he ended up in my timeline (I follow some pretty rad people, you know).

For example, he didn't pretend that it didn't effect him when Travyon Martin's killer was acquitted, he didn't pretend that the media blow-out wasn't influential during the Woolwich murder of a (white) British soldier and the ensuing EDL can-can, and he posted an opinion which I respected about Mos Def's intense video undergoing the Guantanamo Bay force-feeding regime (which I personally related to and valued the discussion, having done an artwork about the audio torture on those same detainees).

This was the scope of a professional life of a man living in London, with the connected joy and connected prejudice.

Anyway, about a month ago, David announced that he was going to set up a separate twitter account for his more-personal musings, rantings, humour and introspections. And keep his David McQueen account for professional discussion.


And it's probably the right decision.

Because his clients don't necessarily want to acknowledge that issues of race, poverty, education, homophobia, religious extremism, media sluttery (my words, not his) influence the business of running businesses or educating young people.


But I continue to rag on him for it.
(I hope it comes across like a niece ragging on her uncle.)

Because -  to my mind -  culture and privilege and media and bigotry do effect the world of business owners. And I like hearing that a successful, powerful man invested in education, with great results, is affected by these things, but continues to educate children, empower people with businesses and talk to people daily about how to overcome obstacles in achieving what they desire: regardless, because, despite and in spite of.

They're real things that happen.

And for me, it enacts the business of doing what you need to do in order to contribute to the world, without pretending that you're not in that world.



So what is the political balance between personal and professional?


I retch at the industrialist idea of a person just being a unit of labour, a denial of the social or personal effects on their work and vice versa.

I do believe they're interwoven - with the best and worst aspects of those effects (see under Roman Polanski, Catholic Priests, etc)




I have to acknowledge that I have a privileged position in this.  I was raised by women who kept reminding me that the personal is political. I'm also white, middle-class and really don't struggle (except financially)

When I go on about something, I'm not expected to be speaking for all of 'my people' and if it affects my professional capacity, it's unlikely I would have wanted to work with those people anyway.
And I'm not married with children, so my opinions about the world don't effect my husband's or my children's lives. I don't have corporate responsibility or institutional ties yet.

And even if I did, as an artist, it's also kind of expected that I might be outspoken and have left-leaning principles (or as I like to call them, manners).



It reminded me about the criticisms of Barack Obama during the Zimmerman acquittal (and other recent changes to American life that were influenced by race). He was criticised for denying his race. For acting as though he was separate from it when calling for calm or whatever. For separating his personal priciples from that of the Head of State. The suggestion was that to deny that the political was also personal, was, to some people, also a crime against other persons.


But is this unfair pressure on someone to be 100% accountable all the time, whilst I am as C-grade as it comes on the same scale?

Does this not just set up a sliding scale (and/or slippery slope) of behaviour in a public life heirarchy - a disconnection between what you do and how you feel?

Or do I just need to accept that this is the nature of contemporary times and multiple egos, where we have the need and skill to distance ourselves from others in a variety of ways and that there's nothing actually wrong with that.



*NTS: make a performance that reflects this.

**  I love p-square and the MJ reprise, but I have big problems about the same-ol-same-ol way of expressing ladies in this clip.