The New York Times compiled a disturbing, moving, painful montage of pictures from the week following the tremblement de terre (earthquake) in Haiti. Lots of people/newspapers here were talking about the earthquake in light of France's complicated relationship with Haiti. It struck me that people (myself included) always said it'd have been better to learn Spanish in order to communicate with impoverished people and countries, and that French is the language of philosophy and sky-pointed noses. And then I found all these videos of Haitians describing their experiences. Hearbreakingly, I understood their words.
The next day, I arrived at the Atelier (workshop) Arts Plastiques that Reid Hall had arranged for those interested. Our artist host/teacher provided all the paint, magazines, glue, and tools that we needed, and invited us to make art. As I looked through some of her art books, I kept seeing paintings of people, of bodies, but my appreciation of the talent and beauty was disrupted by images from the previous night. Bodies, arms, legs - they're not supposed to look like they did in those NY Times photos. Bodies are not supposed to be under buildings, mixed in with broken chairs and garbage and other people's crushed bodies.
I began to sketch some ideas, and then I picked up a science magazine. It was perfect. Somehow, discussions of race and medicine, of health care and nutrition advice, really resonated with my disorganized, not-yet-formulated feelings and thoughts. People can talk all day long about blame and responsibility, but at the end of the day, we're left with bodies, homelessness, new orphans, and a world that must figure out how to react.
So -
the form: collage
the material: decontextualized images and text
the time limit: Shabbat was starting in 1.5 hours.
I worked faster than ever before, producing something angrier and more graphic than I've ever made, after which I used a twisted paper clip to tear through parts of it. Of course, I was still deeply upset, but it felt good to get it out a little bit. Matte medium stuck to my fingernails and hands, I ran home to Shabbat.
No comments:
Post a Comment