An Archaeology of Silence

I've been lucky to have seen some pretty good art in my day, perhaps because I've survived and persisted through seeing so much of the shit that passes for it. Much of it has been in the realm of photography, the one medium I have a passing acquaintance with. But I like to think that I can enjoy and sometimes even appreciate quality in any form, be it a vintage watch, a good cigar, a Renaissance painting.

On Memeorial Day Weekend, I visited Kehinde Wiley's tour de force at the DeYoung Museum in San Francisco. The highly detailed and decorative paintings, along with the reclining sculptures were impressive enough, but they neither grabbed at my soul nor any other part of me (others, maybe most, would very rightfully disagree). A major let down considering the hype concerning the amount of emotion that this exhibit was said to induce in all that saw it. Yes, incredible technique, but... 

And then I came upon the sculpture of the same name- two stories in height, in its own darkened and discreetly lit chamber, reminiscent of entering some sacred Roman temple of yore. And there I stood- transfixed, mouth agape, as if bludgeoned by a ball bat upon gazing upward. I don't think I've ever experienced such a gut punch from a work of art my entire life; the size, grandeur, majesty- people reverently stood in silence, walked slowly around it, strangely seeming to adhere to the outer walls that contain it, as if keeping their distance from whatever power it exuded to all who dared view and present themselves before it! 

The horse itself is classically magnificent, but what transforms the whole piece unto the realm of art mythology and personal resonance is the body of the black male atop it, on its back, legs splayed to one side, a solitary hand drooping down the other. Both stunning and heart wrenching, something I am not likely to forget ever- no photograph could even suggest the in person experience, none included...

25 Seconds...

I tend to be judgmental, sometimes to the point of being prejudicial, not so much in a raced based manner, more in the way of stereotyping people. Everyone does it, it's part of sizing people up, it saves both time and kinda lures you into a false sense of confidence- you are a man of the world who knows how it works and are a good judge of character and your fellow man! 

Unfortunately, I probably (undoubtedly) get it more often wrong than right, something I have to constantly remind myself- particularly because I-so-hate when people pigeon hole me. So I really kinda love when I get it so wrong and people surprise the shit outta me- in a positive way! Like this guy, or...

Carl

...as in Perkins! Can't get over the look, sound and feel of this video in all its B&W wonder! Half crazy man, half steam punk...

Bare bones minimum/Maximum impact; wonder if it ever played MTV?

The Ever Changing Construct

Recently I wrote a post about the ridiculous insanity of a "Mexican American Neo-Nazi," the writing of that very term a sheer exercise in lunacy. That said, some people to this day refuse to believe just how malleable the construct of race actually is, to them it's as clear as uhhh... black & white- despite the numerous examples throughout history proving otherwise. 

This video briefly traces the history of Italian American immigrants in the United States particularly down South, where they were basically seen and treated as another version of N-word until they were gradually redeemed and upgraded to official White status when it served a purpose. It also neglects to mention how the arrival or Puerto Ricans (my people) in the North helped boost that White privilege upon Italian Americans, just as Italians helped solidify the Irish (previously regarded as non White apes) unto their honorary White status. It always helps to have a new fall guy (traditionally just a shade darker) to hasten the ascension of the previous group of racial downtroddens. Now there are certain factions of the KKK that actually accept Italian Americans into their fold (even Ron DeSantis could join)! How do you spell "progress?" 

And so we get to the present day where even light skinned Cuban Americans who speak without accent can be effectively perceived as "White" in these United States. And the Carribean to this day remains a hotbed of racial hierarchy based on skin color and secondary 'racial' attributes. 'White' Cubans predominate the expat contingent who fled Cuba under Castro to Florida; poor, dark(er) skinned Cubans predominate those who remained on the island. Puerto Rico, the island I'm most familiar with, also maintains its colonial heritage: skin color, hair texture and other secondary 'racial' characteristics can easily come into play when considering one's social status, deliberately or unconsciously. And then there is the case of the Dominican Republic, where the majority of peoples African heritage is clearly on display; and nowhere is it clearly more in denial- because everyone knows that anyone "Black" is obviously located on the other side of that island's border in a place called... Haiti! Hey, someone's gotta hold up the bottom line if we're gonna keep this whole system up and running. 

BTW- Amazingly, it's still a very popular notion to hold up Haiti as proof positive as to how a Black run enterprise can only produce a "shit hole country" (to use official Trumpian terminology). Unfortunately, none who believe that have even the slightest, most tenuous knowledge of how Western countries (incl our own) have throughout the centuries purposely gone out of their way to repeatedly and perniciously punish Haiti into the economic, social and worldwide pariah that it remains simply because they (a colony of Black slave labor) had the audacity and ingenuity to defeat a major colonial power... 

"Mark Your Calendars"

Submitted w/o comment- except to say that Fatman Motherfucker is going down! Here in Atlanta starting in late July/early August, in DC over the purloined documents (and quite likely Jan. 6), and even in the appetizer in NYC. No matter- Fatman Motherfucker is finally... F-I-N-A-L-L-Y going down!

Two For The Road

Yeah, the video's title quote is one very much, well worth remembering. But the one that really got me was, "I want my picture to be more important than being there." That's what separates a vernacular snapshot from a work of art. If you can do that... well, there ain't much more you can possibly do, is there?

Nuclear Redux

Well, someone seems pretty damn high on reviving an old flame. And I really can't deny a whole lotta of what he says, problem is (actually, problems are) he can't deny a lotta what opponents still say, whether he cares to admit it or not. I'll let Mr. Stone explain and expound his own talking points on the strengths of reviving nuclear energy, all I can say: we still haven't figured a safe way to store the deadly, centuries lasting radioactive waste; this most recent Russian/Ukrainian debacle has highlighted just how vulnerable and potentially catastrophic traditional nuclear sites can be; talk of safer, new fangled micro plants present ever more attractive targets for terrorists from any political faction you choose; and even if you could eliminate all the aforementioned, humans always (as in always) make mistakes- a leak or fire in a fossil fuel plant can be a generational disaster at most, screwing up where nuclear fission is concerned can result in centuries of human and environmental catastrophe. And let's not forget just how prone to lying and obfuscation the nuclear industry worldwide has been throughout their history.

But... you needn't take my word (or Mr. Stone's for that matter)- if the Japanese and their obsessive attention to detail and commitment to procedure can't effectively avert a major freaking disaster that will literally continue to threaten their children's children (and well beyond), no group of humans anywhere possibly can!

FREEDOM!!!

Photo: © Stan Banos

We're movin' on up; think of it- Latin X children throughout our great land can finally dream of being Neo-Nazis! If that ain't progress in the US of A, I don't know what is- America really doesn't see race after all! Nick Fuentes never got the memo that he couldn't be a Neo-Nazi simply because he's Hispanic. I mean even a dark skinned "mulatto" the likes of Enrique Tarrio can be a full fledged White Supremacist now. And if that don't top all, Yeezus freakin' himself is a self professed Hitler acolyte! No way I could aspire to such lofty possibilities back in the day.

Been thinking on this for a while now and this whole Mauricio Garcia mass shooting really set things off, I mean, I had to go see what the guy looked like (upon writing this very paragraph) cause he most definitely comes off like some blonde haired, blue eyed Nazi in good standing- and, uhhh, surprise... let's just say he would have indubitably been on the receiving end of any OG SS officer's Luger. 

Seriously, I don't know what to make of this, then again if you can pervert the teachings of a Jesus Christ, an ideology of complete compassion and pacificism, into... "White Christian Nationalism" just to suit your needs- hey, sky's-the-limit! If you can do that in your own head, then believing yourself some form of mythological White super being no matter what shade of Brown, Black, or "non-White" you may be... piece o' cake! And shooting up a bunch of innocent men, women and children to justify it- easy fuckin' peasy.

How The Mighty Have Fallen!

The arrival of Whole Foods is usually one of the last steps of gentrification's final victory statement in any given neighborhood, but (with well over 600 emergency calls in one year) they kinda jumped the gun this time around; like Mike Tyson at the end of his career when he no longer bothered to bob and weave, didn't do the work and just rushed straight in, high on his own hype, expecting to deliver the inevitable knock out blow- and instead, getting himself KO'ed in return.

Too damn smug and arrogant to even consider what they were surrounded by, like the scores of luxury apts (they were appealing to) rising above the swelling torrent of homelessness below, they just plopped themselves right smack into the swirling zombie morass of the mentally ill, drug ravaged heart of San Francisco, and surprise, surprise- even their gleaming aisles of high priced premium goods couldn't keep the riff-raff at bay!  

The Quiet Girl

No explosions, gun fights, super heroes or their obligatory super powers- no CGI, period! This is about as bare bones a movie and plot line as one can possibly get- and all the above, all the more worth celebrating in any gosh darn movie these days! Presented in near square format, it is beautifully shot- like as essay of color photographs shot with a twins lens reflex.

The Quiet Girl (did I mention it's entirely in Irish) is aptly named, she's just trying to survive without friends or any close attachments in an essentially loveless family. The father is a selfish, uncaring bastard and mom is barely treading water herself with the rest of the kids (and another on the way) et al...

She is sent to a cousin's farm for the summer, a couple (who we later find out) has recently lost their own young son. The wife is a loving sort who immediately takes to the child, her husband, hardened from the pain of loss is a tougher nut to crack, but slowly succumbs.

It's hard even for the audience to warm up to the girl, she is after all, "quiet," somewhat aloof (as can be expected), and not particularly cute in a way that would make one automatically warm up to her. But one eventually does take to her- it's just a kid desperately wanting to belong and be loved, by anyone. And she finally, finally, finds just that with her new relations, only to be returned at summer's end to her loveless home environment. The sense of doom is visceral, it's the kind of existence that quashes any hope, any dream, any will to continue- the kind of gut punch that breaks child or adult alike. It ends with her running after her temporary family after they reluctantly drop her off and depart for their farm, her father running after her to forcibly reclaim that which he wants no part of...