Hope? Hope!
There’s a little orange cat that lives in the bodega near my train stop. I always keep an eye out for him when I pass by, and his presence–because it is infrequent–has started to serve as a kind of hopeful omen for me. It had been a while since I last saw him, but then there he was again, just hanging out. Desperate to find the good around me in spite of the ongoing and escalating horrors, it makes me think about hope.
“If you assume that there is no hope, you guarantee that there will be no hope.” I have been thinking a lot about this Noam Chomsky quote, mostly because I saw a comedy show recently where someone named Gnome Chompsky (she was dressed as a gnome, and she chomped on vegetables in her pocket every few seconds) brought it back into my atmosphere. Sometimes–and I’m not sure entirely why–but the act of being hopeful can feel naive. And while I am the first to tell you that you will starve on hope alone, the absence of hope entirely most certainly leads to famine.
I wake up everyday and watch as more bombs are dropped, as more discourse surrounds which words certain billionaires and celebrities are using to take political stances. I still send my emails and collect my paycheck and think about my art practice. I see the well meaning among us make it clear that genocide is not a red line for them, that politicians are indeed their friends, and criticism of anyone running for office is somehow dangerous and not a civic duty. It is easy to lose hope, for me, these days. And yet, a person in a gnome costume or a little orange cat can snap me back. That feels profound, I think.
I performed recently. In my head I had convinced myself that this would be the death of my artistic practice. “You’re one of those artists with a full time job.” My body is hurting. I continue to be sick, which is apparently what chronic means. I cannot dance like I used to, I can’t even walk up too many stairs in a single day or I’m out of commission for the next few days. Unfortunately, despite shifts in the physical nature of my performance and being vocally political and smelling a little because I was dressed more for fall than late, late summer, I killed it. And I had fun. And I’ve still got it.
And of course, it makes me think–art? Why? Art good? Art… bad? Art make people think or art make people rich? The famous meme page @jerrygagosian reminded me recently through one of her posts that “art is a commodity.” It is. Art is for collectors. Art is for the market. Art makes the rich richer. The art world is exploitative, filled with rabid zionists and generational wealth. It’s mean. It’s chic. It’s insular and unwavering. The past year alone has shown us even more so than before what kinds of vile politics hide behind the optics of progressive, forward thinking art.
This isn’t… new. There were patrons and political motives around art centuries ago. The further commodification of art under capitalism has just exploded this, but it’s not necessarily new. Guernica had to be hidden because it was too political to be seen outside, publicly. Now, we sell paintings of sexy figures looking at dicks or splishy splashy paint that means nothing anymore because someone did that in the 1950s. Because the images of war, the warnings, the blown up bodies are on our phones, all of the time. And the masses seem not to care.
Mainstream art has become prescriptive. “We know what sells, what’s hot. We know what stories collectors will eat up, which traumas we can market.” But no one is angry. Not enough. No one is moved to start a revolution by a watercolor of some guys fucking, not matter how pretty it is. The painting is just valuable to a certain group of people. For now.
So, why participate? The night I performed, I was surrounded by so many other artists who I felt were doing something. And I had thoughts! And I was moved. The comedy show with the gnome? I am still thinking about it. The memes–both my own and those circulating widely, they make me feel something. And they make people angry. And they aim to expose injustice. Real art is made by those who choose to speak up for injustice, those who aren’t afraid to lose collectors, those who truly reflect what is happening back to a public that may or may not want it. It isn’t just what is marketable. It’s made by those who use their platform to highlight the world without fear regardless of price point.
As put off as I am by so much lately, from the coconut pilled to the vapid and wealthy, to the war mongering and full on fascist, I am feeling hopeful. I am grateful to be reminded that imagining a better way forward is valuable, that political imagination is a tool even an artist can (and should) yield, that hope is vital, and that those with dogs should be mindful of small orange cats who live in bodegas because they mean something very special to someone.
Anyway, here are some things I’m doing that I’d love to see you at:
October 12:
I’ll be reading some gay, socialist vampire fan fiction as part of:
The Brick presents
SalOn!: FRUIT ON THE BOTTOM
at Brick Aux Studio – 628 Metropolitan Ave
Doors 7pm, Show 7:30pm
More here
October 24:
I’ll be performing Institution as a place where things happen such as the things that are happening right now: on "outsider academia," the ivory tower on fire and being at your limit, bestie as part of
AS PER SOME FORM: A Conference
The CUNY Graduate Center
Lenapehoking
(365 5th Ave, New York, NY 10016)
Opening discussion 6pm, Performances at 7pm
More here
Call for Submissions: Visual AIDS seeks artwork for Postcards From the Edge 2025 | Deadline: 11/22
Postcards From the Edge (now in its 27th year) is an annual exhibition and benefit sale to support artists living with HIV and those lost to AIDS. Submit an original 4"x6" artwork (of any medium and subject matter; artists from anywhere are welcome) to benefit the work of Visual AIDS for this beloved in-person exhibition in NYC and online sale.
I am running the ship on this bad boy again, please donate an artwork and share with artists who might be interested in supporting! Message me with questions x