Walked for 30 minutes with my neighbor LaWanda today… so nice to just chat and get to know each other while achieving both our goals to get more exercise each day!
Before she came to meet me outside my house, I noticed a big billow of smoke and the stench of burning plastic – turns out there was a fire almost across the street, in the back of an empty lot. A man came walking out from there as the fire truck came around the corner. He waved them over, and as they started unloading I asked him what was burning–a house? a shed?”
“It was a pile of garbage. Someone must have set fire to it.”
THAT’s why it smelled so funky! So I asked if he lives here. He does–his name’s Darrell, he said, and he lives just down the street from me in a white house. I noticed that Darrell has a friendly manner and shared that he’s been through a lot, and is a talented “creator” — he creates out of metal and can also repair cars, and is just generally creative. We also talked about “devils” and how we each have our own demons to battle with all the time to become who we want to become. I shared that I do photography and (as happens so surprisingly often in this neighborhood), he said he might have some stuff for me–“Now that I know you and know where you’re at.”
Although I don’t need a car repair at the moment, I also logged it in my head to go ask Darrell’s help should something come up in my funky little Camry–now that I know where he’s at.
I woke up determined to walk some more and see who I could meet. But first I wanted to clean the floors… I didn’t know who I might go see and was going over ideas in my head… then, as I was whacking out one of the big rugs on the porch, I heard a honking and looked up to see the husband of Karen, the super friendly and resourceful woman who sets up a little outdoor shop on the open lot by our street (33rd) and MLK — I bought a couple of awesome purses and beautiful lamps from her awhile back. Anyway, Mike waved and asked how I was doing from his old dark blue pick-up truck, and then let me know that they had another sale going today.
I finished up the cleaning and headed down–JUST in time for it to start raining! Karen and I scrambled to get everything into the plastic boxes before it got drenched, and Mike pulled up soon afterwards to load it all (he wouldn’t let me lift anything up, like a true gentleman). The rain let up and we chatted and got to know each other better. Then, as we said goodbye, Mike asked where my car was–when I told him I’d walked, he insisted on giving me a ride back to the house (only two blocks down).
They’re an incredibly kind couple. Karen grew up in the neighborhood and I realized as we were talking that she’s an answer to one of my prayers… I am SUCH a scrounge, picking up useful discarded stuff whenever I see it, but almost never live in a situation where I can keep the stuff I want to save, and I haven’t ever developed the memory to give stuff away. It’s been the frustration of many an ex-roommate and my ex-husband, and after the show “Hoarders” found a way to turn yet another natural human inclination into a “disease,” I’ve found myself feeling defensive and a bit isolated in this tendency.
I realized that Karen and Mike are TOTALLY kindred spirits who not only see the value in things people get rid of, but are making a space in the world so that others can benefit from that stuff too. AND now I know I have someone I can bring my salvaged stuff to who will turn it around for a profit–everyone wins! I also have a good place to give my own old things a new life… since I’m so over the Goodwill Industrial Complex and have really been wanting to find something hyperlocal. I admitted to them my private fantasy of having a big shed where I can store things I find and can see being useful someday, to SOMEBODY… and Karen said, “Well bring me whatever you want, Mike built me a big old storage shed in the back so I have space!”
* * *
After Karen and Mike dropped me off, I headed over to LaWanda’s house… they live two doors over and I’ve come to like her, her husband David, and their kids SO much. They’re just incredibly nice to be around, very joyful and laid back… and I just discovered LaWanda is an artist and really want to see her work. I wasn’t sure if she’d be OK with me just dropping by–I thought she might but still, there was nervousness… but I pushed through that and ended up catching her on the porch in her houseclothes. She greeted me warmly and seemed happy and unphased when I said I just stopped by to say Hi. She welcomed me to sit down and we spent the next 2 hours talking about everything from relationships to chiggers, watching neighbors go by and greeting them, hanging out with her kids and husband when they got home, and enjoying the cooling weather.
A young man named Frog stopped by who does some kind of music production, and invited us to a video shoot/party he’s doing at his house Sunday night (but if we come, he said, we have to help each other get “super fly”). I also discovered that I share music taste and a penchant for writing with her oldest daughter Lanay (the girl loves Queen… which makes me so happy), AND got a gig offer to do a family photo shoot for them–I just need to name my price. LaWanda and I exchanged phone numbers and email before I left so we can hang out more–and especially help each other meet our exercise goals by walking around the neighborhood together.
As I was getting ready to go, the rain had started back up. LaWanda insisted I use one of their umbrellas and, before I could gratefully shrug off the offer, the middle youngest daughter Ani handed me her little brother’s Spiderman kid-sized umbrella. I was touched by this second act of caring from my neighbors.
As I walked across the wet grassy lot back to my house, I heard some tiny voices–almost a chorus of them. I looked back to see the little girls Ani and Gabby singing and dancing around on the porch, their faces pointed at me. Squinting (because somehow squinting seems to help one hear better?), I realized with a laugh that they were singing the Spiderman theme.
I laughed, did a little Spiderman dance, and walked back home very happy.
Ever since the big epiphany, after poking me from various angles, finally sank in last week that, regarding my writing and my neighborhood roving, the answer to my endless “analysis paralysis” was to “just do it,” I’ve been kicking my own butt pretty effectively to open that door and get out into my neighborhood, often with no plan but to connect.
The results have been heartening, surprising, delightful. After just a few days of this, I now have a new walking buddy (and exercise rhythm), know about 6 more people on or around my block and some of their gifts, and have 2-3 potential photography clients. And, my life feels warmer, stronger, and more comfortable in the place I call home… as someone once said, knowing neighbors extends the word “home” to include not just the four walls or corners of your yard, but your street, block, and the hearts and hearths of those who share it with you.
Here are some “Roving Notes” from the last few days. (I’m still figuring out the best way to “just do it” in terms of writing, so this is an experiment. Please let me know what you think!)
Thurs, Sept 19
Got back out in the neighborhood today, felt really good… hung out at Nosey’s (Body Oil, Incense, and much more) with the delightful owners, young entrepreneurs Rhyan and Brandon and their impeccably observant, determined and entertaining babygirl Rylan…
What I noticed, yet again, is how Nosey’s is such a hub of family and friendship in this neighborhood. One new thing, and in response to some troubling happenings in the neighborhood, Rhyan–a writer and very creative soul–posted signs up around the shop — one reading “TAKE WHAT YOU NEED” with rip-off slips saying things like “Love” “Compassion” “Inspiration” “Hope” “Strength”, etc. … the other, hung just above the door handle as you enter, said “BLACK PEOPLE” in bold black letters in the center, with phrases “Support One Another” / “Help Each other” surrounding it in stylized colorful writings.
I met Ashley, Rhyan and Brandon’s angel babysitter who loves babies so much, she comes and takes her friends’ babies for days at a time, sometimes at no charge, and cares for them to give the parents a much-needed break.
I’ve also noticed since moving into this neighborhood — which many white friends raise their eyebrows when hearing it’s my home, because it’s considered a ‘bad’ neighborhood — how much more people are open and eager to support me as a freelance businessperson than in the circles I usually move… today, when Ashley realized that I do photography, she asked if I could do a portrait of her and her family. Rhyan was an even better promoter of me than myself today, since I’ve let myself run out of biz cards.. but Rhyan had my cards right on hand!
There is so much unseen caring, collaboration, economy happening here. It arouses in me great respect and great humility. Indy people, I encourage you to stop by and meet these great people, and support them with your business–grab a snack, some scented oils, incense or smokes–especially the “walking taco” which is an ingenious portable dollop of indulgence.
(here are some pictures of Rhyan, Brandon, their baby girl and shop, taken several months back)
Last Friday, I attended an incredible dinner hosted by Danny Comacho, a natural roving listener in the Broadway neighborhood. The gathering underlined for me the power of hosting, and the importance of keeping hold of “mystery” as we practice community.
This would be Danny‘s first Broadway-sponsored meal. A couple weeks back when we were chatting about it, I had asked him who he was inviting and if there was a topic, theme, or common interest to it, he told me, “I don’t know right now. I’m reaching out into the deep web and trying to let it come to me.” By which he explained, he meant the mysterious deeper realm than just regular thought or strategy.
When the day came, almost no one he invited ended up coming, so… he/we improvised.
He invited his neighbors across the street, and I called my friend Diamond (also a natural rover and born performer), she brought her boyfriend Sedrick (who’s from the Congo and a budding singer/songwriter).
Throughout the evening, Danny‘s neighbors came through, all warmly welcomed and meeting each other in the easy, caring and comfortable space Danny held so well.
Danny had prepared some delicious food from his heritage–some of which he thoughtfully packed for a neighbor who came later in the evening.
At one point, we spotted his two newer neighbors, two young men who had recently moved in across the street, and Danny called them over for some food. As we chatted, we learned that one of them, a visiting friend of the homeowner, is an artist and has some pieces in progress just next door. So, we all took a short field trip over to his living room to witness his work in action. Gorgeous!
As others ate, shared then trickled back home, it was down to just us four on the porch–me, Diamond, Sedrick and Danny–and we talked on a deep human level about our goals, dreams, and strikingly similar life philosophies.
There was this incredible electric feeling in the air between us, a delighted sense of “finding each other.”
Danny, Diamond and Sedrick (R)
As he often does,Danny shared something profound: he is always seeking answers to things… and, he realized long ago that anyone he meets could have the answer. So, he cannot discriminate or block himself against anyone because they might be the person with the answer he’s seeking.
As the loveliness of this thought washed over me, a fusion sparked in my mind, making me jump up, run down Danny’s steps and grab the photocopied copy of Rumi’s poem, “The Guest House” that I keep in my car. It only made sense that Diamond, with her theatrical gifts, should read it–and she happily accepted my request.
THE GUEST HOUSE
This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they are a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice. meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes. because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.
— Jelaluddin Rumi, (translation by Coleman Barks)
Up Danny jumped to run, grab, and soulfully perform two poems he had recently written, which connected quite palpably with the theme of our talk. THEN, we were all led to ask Sedrick to perform something he’s written.
To cap off the night, I shared a lullaby my mom taught me, surprising everyone since they don’t know I sing.
We all were surprised by each others’ gifts, and celebrated them out loud. Quite naturally, new collaborations and opportunities emerged: Danny shared his dream to get a regular gathering started monthly for creative people to just come and share their work with each other, and Diamond and Sedrick were stoked to be a part of it. Sedrick asked me if I’d sing with him on one of his songs–which I said ‘yes’ to, since collaborating with other musicians is a secret yearning of mine which, in my day-to-day, I don’t give much intentional effort to realizing.
* * *
I left Danny‘s house with such abundance–new relationships, collaboration opportunities, joy from my friends discovering each other, and that unique, buzzing satisfaction from exchanging creativity, life stories, and insights on life with others.
Days later, I remain blown away, yet again, by the power of simply bringing people together around a meal, and also, by the importance and power of a gifted host to make such meals magical. The final stroke of “wow” came to me the next week when I walked in Broadway church and was confronted with TWO people saying, “April, I didn’t know you could sing!!” Danny, being the natural born connector and blesser that he is, had been telling everyone about my gift.
What a beautiful experience this was of how community can be when we give time and thought to seeking, uncovering and celebrating each others’ gifts.
And, what an example and teacher Danny is for me of how this work is partly strategy–deciding to have a meal to connect neighbors–and partly, perhaps mostly, a way of being… I really think the deep thought and open, spiritual energy he put into the gathering from a week back all the way up to, and throughout, the gathering, was what set the tone for the incredible synergy and “mutual delight” that emerged. I feel so blessed to be here among such powerful, intuitive activators of human goodness and exchange…!!!
While the issue just brought so jarringly to the table had definitely shifted the room’s energy that day, it wasn’t the first time the broad issue of power and equality had come up. I had actually pulled my own “Standing Man” act the day before, though with much less fire and direct personal aim toward our figureheads and organizers.
It happened at the end of the day, when the coordinators made the wise move of inviting
Louise van Rhyn (copyright April Doner, 2013)
anyone with a particular topic or “burning question” to rise and announce it, so that they and others who shared that interest could find each other over the next two days. I had stood and delivered my three topics on my mind: storytelling, supporting and increasing community-building practitioners on the ground in neighborhoods, and–big scary one!–power and patriarchy within the movement.
This was the first time I’d given voice to my own power/patriarchy concern in any public way among community-building peers. I sat back down—hot, electrified, happy, and half expecting something explosive to happen. But, no walls collapsed… no one smacked me down… no particular hush or buzz filled the room. Others stood and threw their own rich topics out into the room’s bright pond of open, focused faces until, at the facilitator’s word, we dispersed for the day.
And, nothing much else happened after that, apart from a few friends and two new women who came up to me to share gladness that I’d brought up this issue and their commitments to be a part of any discussion group that might form.
Back to Day 2. My first impulse after Standing Man’s outburts was to rush to the “power center” of event speakers and coordinators and see what was happening. What was their reaction?
But, I had to pee. Every conversation I had on the way to do that and back was one of processing what had just happened. En route, I met a woman also keen to see the organizers—to propose that they alter the meeting structure in response to this call from the floor for a “bottom up” conversation rather than “top down” lectures by switching to Open Space for the rest of the day. So, we went together to the huddle of organizers in the corner and posed this question.
With admirable wisdom and grace, organizers Louise Van Rhyn, Charles Holmes, Peter Block and a few others grappled with the situation, then decided to honor the voice of the room as well as the pre-exisitng plan by inviting folks to meet around whatever topic they chose—including the topic and presentation Walter Brueggenham had already prepared.
When this was announced, my friend (and hero) Caitlin Childs took the baton and spoke, offering to host the conversation on power, patriarchy and inequality that Standing Man had brought to the floor.
* * *
The group formed in minutes, and jumped into open dialogue. We began by unpacking our own reactions and reasons for accepting Caitlin’s invitation to this group.
Most of us felt relief, support for, and strong resonance with what Standing-Man expressed. We had also been increasingly frustrated with what seemed a starkly obvious contrast between the ideals being espoused and the set-up of the conference, which gave platform and symbolic power to “old white men” as main lecturers, save one woman (Angeles Arrien). Some came because they hadn’t seen that dynamic, but care about equality so wanted to better understand this issue.
The imbalance here is mirrored in our movement. Our figureheads are mostly old white men. Women, people of color, lower income and other marginalized characteristics enjoy positions of power, notoriety and influence significantly less than white men—despite the fact that they do work that’s just as important and have just as much to contribute.
Alongside frustration at the power imbalance, we feel just as much love, respect and appreciation for these old white men and what they had to share. Many of us wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for their trailblazing efforts. “How much power do these guys have, how much are we giving to them?”, one person pointed out. “What are we waiting for? It’s helpful to have a common story that helps bring together [which they are providing.] They have a name that we trust. If I [hosted this conference,] most of th people in the room wouldn’t come.”
That this dialogue is even happening is testament to the “establishment’s” dedication to equality, shared power and bottom-up. In most other gatherings, this topic would never have even made it to the floor, let alone led to a complete overhaul of the meeting plan which now found us here, having this conversation “in the light” of the larger group process, rather than in hushed corners and private rooms.
audience (copyright April Doner, 2013)
Unlike other movements, the issue is barely ever on the table in these gatherings or in our organizations.
This issue is incredibly thorny and personal! We all want to better understand power and privilege in our own lives. One man admitted his own privilege as one of those older white men who is the director of a state agency and his own admitted clueless-ness in handling that. Another woman who was African American called out the fact that “this room is full of white privilege,” and her own frustration that so few people of color were present.
OK, so what? What do we do? Some vague answers came into focus as we talked:
“So is it about understanding a common story?” said one man. “We could go around the room right now, all of us have an exile story—a story where we have been left out or felt left out for a variety of reasons, whether it’s color, religion, sexual orientation. If we’re really going to make a difference in our world, I and admit I’m old,white, director of an organization and I sit in that privileged position, but I understand that I have a common story where we’re all been or felt left out. That common piece can bring us together as well. My story of exile is different than yours but common story. We’ve both been left out on some level.”
This is about “lifting up” the voices we are not hearing instead of “dragging down” these “old white men” who we all love, appreciate and admire. It’s the same with how we approach our own privilege. One woman asked, “Is the point of the privilege discussion to strip away privilege from my own life so that I’m the least of these?” To which folks replied: “You can’t give that privilege away, it is yours. It’s what you do with it.” “You becoming impoverished does not help people who are in poverty. It’s about being mindful that ‘I have this [power]’ and ‘how am I being in this space?’”
The key is to have the conversation. The same woman who’d pointed out the room’s whiteness shared, “I think that there is a conflict inside of many of us around our own privilege and our own power, so it’s easy to resist that kind of conversation. And we might want to talk about things we’re doing, but not addressing how we fit in that structure—so when that comes up, there’s automatic resistance… So I think part of the conversation needs to be telling stories about our conflict, and our privilege… to have the conversation about race, class, what that means in the context of work and community. And we can choose to show up or not show up and to be engaged. For me, it’s more valuable for people to acknowledge where that conflict exists in them, so if we don’t allow that conflict to exist in the floor, and that violence takes shape in us.”
By the end, it felt like we got to a kind of answer. To begin with, it’s key is to have the conversation. We need to tell the stories of exile, exclusion, and inequality and invite them from others. And, we need to keep looking for and helping each other see ways we can restore balance in our own environments, whether that be by calling out imbalance where we see it or using our own privileges to correct them and “lift others up.”
“Cloud Concil,” April Doner
More than a real resolution, this conversation felt to me like a much-needed beginning... and a call to keep it going. I felt relieved and gratified to have finally had this hushed conversation out in the open with a great group of people. Yet, I still had that nagging question of–“so what do we do–here and now, and moving forward—to address the current, actual imbalances that brought us around that circle in the first place?”
Little did I know that, with all this rich learning and exchange, there were still more lessons to come…
* * *
Stay tuned for Part 3… and weigh in:
What strikes you?
How does this relate to your world, work, community?
There’s a list of solid reasons why the blog I’m about to write is just now being born, despite ts presence in my craw for over a week. Among them—sickness, great developments in my neighborhood, house duties and other jobs.
But deeper than that, writing this particular blog terrifies me.
Gender equality street art in Mumbai
The topic: power, patriarchy and inequality within the “unnamed” (and highly decentralized) movement of community-building/inclusion/local living/empowered citizenship.
It was under this fuzzy banner of “community-building” that me and a bunch of beautifully sincere, innovative, “un-credentialed” change-makers gathered at the Connecting 4 Community conference last week, and it was here that the topic of power and inequality burst onto the floor of collective conversation. It came with a clarity, focus and force I have not yet witnessed in my 6 years in this movement, and the ways I experienced and watched others experience this has given me invaluable new insights into the issue (as well as some nagging unanswered questions).
Connecting 4 Community conference
How do we practitioners of community building, with all our ideals of equality, empowerment and co-creation, replicate and reinforce structures of imbalanced power within our own movement? How are people in traditionally marginalized groups (women, people of color, people with lower incomes, etc.) left out, overlooked, or under-celebrated—and what can we do to change this?
This is a topic that, up until now, I’ve only spoken about or heard discussed in side, shadow spaces–break-off walks with other women after lunch, where the men won’t hear… around kitchen tables with all-female colleagues, or–much more rarely–with male colleagues who have parallel concerns based on their own experiences of inequality based on race, class, or other areas.
Perhaps because this issue seems so under-explored or -exposed, writing this blog has become a gargantuan effort. I feel compelled to tell “the whole story” of how this topic broke onto the scene at the Cincinnati conference and how I and others reacted to it, because it all felt important for drawing out both the questions and the lessons I’ve been left with and hopefully creating a space for useful dialogue from a diversity of voices and viewpoints.
I hope you’ll bear with me and share your honest thoughts along the way. (Editing suggestions are also very much welcomed!) Also, you may want to check out my report on Day 1 of C4C for some context, if you haven’t already.
* * *
Writing this blog terrifies me for several reasons.
First, the topic is terribly close to my heart and experience. I’ve grown up female in a world that lift mens’ capabilities, accomplishments and general right to powerful roles
copyright April Doner 2013
above those of women–every day, in hundreds of subtle but insidiously influential ways. I’ve worked through a lot of feelings and ways of positioning of myself toward the world since I realized this, and all-in-all, have come to a pretty good place. Still, there are still many buttons inside me–deep wounds, inherited insecurities, buckets of fear, and hot streams of anger I haven’t yet learned how to navigate with grace or desired impact.
Secondly, I’m terrified of the negative reactions this blog might provoke from the men in my field, many of whom I thank daily in my heart for what they have taught me, shown me, and given to me. Some of these men’s good graces–or lack thereof–have a real impact on my chances of making a living in my chosen field.
Thirdly, I’m terrified of being a hypocrite. By bringing up inequality, how will I expose my
“Power & Equality” by Shepard Fairey
own blind-spots, pretentiousness or abuses of the invisible privileges I enjoy as a white, able-bodied, straight American raised by two intellectuals of upper-middle-class means?
Finally, I’m afraid of mine being a voice of dissent, disruption or divisiveness within a community and movement that holds claim to one of the deepest caverns of my heart, and whose health and development I want nothing more than to protect, promote, and nurture with every word I speak and thing I do. I want to damage nothing and no one, and this topic seems to come with so much fire and danger.
In this world, the word “feminist”–which means believing that women should have equal treatment and opportunities as men in society–is still either a dirty or furtively-used word. Conversations about women’s equality in the actual world rarely happen, anywhere but between women, in hushed side-conversations or around kitchen tables. Efforts in its name rarely seem to happen without plenty of contentiousness and polarization. This also seems to be true about most other discussions that involve power imbalances in our world around such groupings as class, race, ability or sexual orientation.
So it seems pretty hard to bring this up and not cause some kind of dissonance… and I have no idea if I’ll manage to do anything but open a can of worms, which folks will either dig into or walk away from. My hope is that this can be part of a productive conversation that beats the odds.
* * *
Zoom to Cincinnati, day two of the conference.
Cincinnati Club ceiling. (copyright April Doner 2013)
Since the beginning of day one, I had sat together with 100+ other participants in the beautiful ballroom of the Cincinnati Club (an example of “architecture that humanizes,” in Peter Block’s words), taking in lecture-style talks from leaders in the world of community and social/economic/spiritual innovation (including Peter Block, Angeles Arrien and Walter Brueggeman).
The lectures were punctuated by to small 3-person groups in the tradition of Peter Block’s “A Small Group” in which we’d process and personalize the rich presentations, prompted by sufficiently “vague and uncomfortable” questions. After these break-outs, we’d be invited to share what struck us with the whole room.
Walter Brueggemann (copyright April Doner, 2013)
Besides prompting insights and a quality of exchange way beyond what normal gathering styles tend to offer, this format also offered the opportunity for us to practice the “neighborly protocols” of conversation that help promote community and authentic engagement in any environment (“Don’t be helpful; be curious.” “Sit only with people you know the least.” “Don’t wait to be chosen.”) I met amazing people and had a million rich “aha’s” of my own around the themes of story, authenticity, bottom-up change and disruption of the dominant narrative.
small group discussion (copyright April Doner, 2013)
About mid-morning on Day 2, Peter Block re-convened a break-out session with this usual full-room “stand and report” invitation. One brilliant insight followed another–until suddenly, everything changed. A man stood up and began to speak—at first waveringly then with increased passion and sharpness.
“I decided I didn’t have the guts to say what I was feeling,” he said, “but now I’ve been told I have to… I felt some anger in hearing talks about subversive interruption I found myself wanting during [Peter’s] talk and Walter’s talk to stand up and interrupt.” He went on explain that he felt angry and frustrated with “having too many old white guys up there talking at me. There’s more than content to speaking. There’s taking up space and talking at us.”
The energy in the room, and in my mind and body, shifted palpably in that moment. Suddenly the figureheads in the room of anti-establishment were being framed as establishment—personaly, directly. Within me, a strange hot energy was rising as my own fires of dissent and frustration gained fuel from his words. I knew my friends were feeling the same way.
New people stood up now. One woman in the back of the room and echoed Standing-Man’s frustration: “My experience of the last day and the last few days has been a royal experience and not the royal treatment… We haven’t heard any stories from the bottom up. We have heard how important it is to listen to the bottom up but haven’t heard stories.” She added, “I woke up this morning and did not feel anxious to come.”
She also a sentiment that echoed mine and probably others’: “You know I love you, have done great things, stories to be told. I always love you, even when I’m angry, especially when I’m angry.” She told of how Peter has spent generous time working with a young playwright in West Cincinnati and how much she admires and appreciates that. A couple of other folks spoke, then we went on break, abuzz.
first arrival — unintentional street art? white blasted dumpster caught my eye outside of Starfire Council while me and my travel-mates waited for our friend…
Two friends from Indy, Jenn and Peter, rode up together. They are taking part in a “Make a Difference” effort within their organizations facilitated by Tesserrae Learning. They’re focusing on how to shift ways of working with folks labelled with developmental disabilities to ward a more asset-based, person-centered approach. That is, instead of just receiving services, these folks can enjoy authentic connection in their communities around their gifts and passions.
Sarah Buffie (L) of Starfire Council talks with Jenn & Peter about a person-centered, community-based approach to working with people labeled with disabilities — Starfire and its members are AMAZING in their efforts to shift the conversation away from services, needs and deficiencies to one of connection, relationships, inclusion and reciprocity. It was inspiring to hear their conversation.
Sarah explains the current reality for most people labeled with a disability…
Unlike most of us, folks with this label tend to have relationships primarily with people who are paid to spend time with them, or with other folks with disabilities. They might have one or two friends in community and typically have family relationships. This is massively skewed from what the rest of us enjoy.
Is working to shift this — (see more at www.starfirecouncil.org)
A beautiful vine-covered gazebo-type structure
Whey I first visited Starfire Council last year, I never actually went to the building. Instead, we had conversations in coffee shops and other local spots out in the community where folks previously relegated to “outings” and other activities only with other disabled folks were now turning ideas into projects and partnerships in their communities around their passions. Biking, baking, sports — I was and continue to be impressed with these folks!
See the story of last year’s learning journey here: http://www.gcdd.org/blogs/gcdd-spotlight/2459-learning-journeys-spark-and-promote-connections-.html
roasted garlic at Arnold’s, the oldest bar in Cincinnati
From the Real Communities Initiative in Georgia, these folks do groundbreaking work. It’s along the same philosophy as Starfire and Make a Difference, but from their own unique community organizing approach. Pictured here is Caitlin Childs, (Organizing Director), and Organizer Stacey Harwell
Teri Palzor Schell (L), one of the on-the-ground organizers in her own community, talking with Director Eric Jacobsen
www.gcdd.org/real-communities
We left just in time to see the tub–once used to make bathtub gin–unlocked and wheeled into safety for the night.
Morningtime–first day of the conference! We’re greeted by the fresh, warm smiles of Stephanie and Avi as we enter and take in this beautifully designed space in the Cincinnati Club downtown.
for event info: http://connecting4community.wordpress.com/
Talented artist and graphic recorder Avril Orloff transformed the words and ideas being spoken throughout the conference into beautiful pictures
www.avrilorloff.com
upon entering the circular crowd, we were enveloped by the beautiful, flowing original music of pianist and leadership innovator Michael Jones.
Cincinnati Club ceiling.
Charles Holmes, one of the key event organizers and hosts, introduces Graphic Recording genius Avril Orloff.
A friend of Peter Block’s interviews Peter.
For more on Peter’s message and how it impacted me: http://www.aprildoner.com/c4c-pt1/
Barbara McAfee shares her wonderful musical talent. Her original music, straight from the heart, captured the soul of our purpose during those days. Barbara reminded me pleasantly of my Aunt Marilyn, the only girl on my father’s side of the family, who is a passionate pianist and one of my favorite female relatives
Barbara McAfee with leadership philosopher Peter Kostenbaum
rich small-group conversation with three young women doing amazing work in US and Canada — (L-R) Rachel Brnjas (Tamarac Institute, Canada), Rasmia Kirmani (Community Solutions, NYC), and Avi Kruley with the Mount Madonna Institute (CA)
well fed!
Walter Brueggemann blows our minds with a captivating re-telling of the Old Testament as I’ve NEVER heard it before —
for an excellent summary, read this by my friend and fellow blogger Rachel: http://seekingcommunity.ca/blogs/rachel-elizabeth/exodus
Peter Kostenbaum, leadership philosopher
celebrated anthropologist Angeles Arrien spoke about story and narrative across world cultures…
In ancient and many indigenous cultures, if a person is down or depressed, people would ask them one of four questions…
This was a beautiful story that hit me particularly hard. To read more, see http://www.aprildoner.com/c4c-pt1/
The story of Pandora, which has a near-identical version in every major culture… (interesting!)
Barbara leading us energetically in song.
Event host Louise Van Rhyn
innovator in Time Banking Edgar Cahn
hosts Louise Van Rhyn and Charles Holmes introduce Ward Maillard, who is initiating a School of Community Studies at the Mount Madonna Institute
After the last session, an electrified (and kind of tired) gang of us headed to the home of Starfire Council staff Tim and Rebecca’s home for a barbeque. Caught this neat sweeping hill shot from the car.
just across the river is… Kentucky!
Spring!
Arrived! Pioneers in Time Banking Edgar Cahn (L) and Chris Gray (far Right) together with Michelle Strutzenberger of Axiom News ~ a Canada-based news organization that’s changing the focus from what’s wrong with us to what’s right with us.
As the folks at Starfire remind me constantly, the best way to build community is do what folks already love to do, and be inclusive about it — gather informally, with FOOD!
Tim is a Whiskey afficionado and an “Ambassador” of Maker’s Mark (which is made in Kentucky)
a patriotic bottle of Maker’s Mark
a stimulating discussion about how we practice inclusion, connection and citizenship in our own lives with the Starfire folks (Tim & Rebecca Vogt)
Last week, I drove with friends and colleagues from Indianapolis to Cincinnati to attend the three-day Connecting for Communities (“C4C”) conference, “a powerful gathering of master and apprentice change agents and social entrepreneurs across sectors and communities, from around the world.”
I came to see, as someone passionate about convening people myself, how these particular rockstars-in-the-field crafted our coming together. I also came to get a sense of what’s “new”–new learning, new challenges, new opportunities to shift the systems around us to more citizen-centered, bottom-up, effective ways of living and structuring our approaches to the problems we see around us. I came to be refreshed in a way that only these things can refresh me–finding solace, camaraderie, a community of my own among people who, unlike most of society, understand what I do without the need for a 1-hour explanation.
Finally, I came with a question and a doubt: going to yet another conference about “community-building,” was I going to learn the same old things? Was this going to be worth it?
On all fronts, I was not disappointed.
I’d be crazy to try and fit the whole of what moved, stretched or stung me into a single blog post, so this is an attempt to fly overhead at those big patterns and most striking moments of “ahA!” which have been resonating with me since I arrived back home Friday afternoon. I’ll do this in a series of blog entries, beginning with the two themes that framed and reverberated throughout the gathering.
“Management” vs. Community, Local Living, and Mystery
Peter Block
Peter Block set the tone for the gathering with his opening words by laying out a distinction between the dominant culture and the “unnamed movement” of which we are a part. Of all the meetings going on that day in Cincinnati, and the world, Peter pointed out, most of them are about “making the world better through management”–ie. control, measurement, evidence, certainty. Underneath all of that is a belief in scarcity.
In contrast, what we are meeting about is a way of acting, living, and structuring things based upon a belief in abundance. Coming from all areas and sectors, we are each working to revitalize this over-commodified and over-managed. We’re doing this in our own corners of the world by experimenting with ways to reconnect people with each other, their neighborhoods and communities–and with the power of mystery and creativity in our lives and the world around us.
graphic recording by Avril Orloff, www.avrilorloff.com
“The world wants to certify, and is based on certainty,” Peter offered. “That’s the world we’re trained in. The problem is, that world is incapable of caring for the common good–caring about how to reduce suffering, about the commons, poverty, raising a child—which we’ve given away in the last couple hundred years.”
To many of our dismay, key presenter and leader of the asset-based movement John McKnight was unable to attend due to poor health. While I was saddened not to see him–my first “gatekeeper” and mentor in this field–the poetic, compelling message he sent to us on that first day almost made up for his absence. An excerpt:
Management has emerged as the method by which tool-ruled life is controlled. Managers create systems that are power pyramids designed for a few to control many. Competition insures that control. Competition is a word that means “for me to win, you must lose.” It demands radical individualism that prohibits personal collective relationships that could threaten the pyramid and its technology.
The enemy of the senseless life is the world of the personal. It is the world where we see each other and the magnificent natural world around us. Instead of glass screens creating images that we consume. It is the world where we can hear each other’s stories and songs. Instead of electrically marketed noise. (…) It is the touch of the baby’s hand, the feel of a hammer and saw in the basement workshop, the caress of love, the touch of care. Instead of feel of false power created by touching a steering wheel or a gun.
graphic recording by Avril Orloff – www.aprilorloff.com
One of the key struggles we face, Peter added, is that within our movement and practice not to give in to the pressure to “reduce what we’re doing to a methodology that can be taught in an academic setting.” If we do that, we will ossify and lose the core spirit of the work. Peter referred to a an ongoing conversation he has with Harrison Owen, known for his “discovery” of Open Space technology, in which Peter–whose background is in Engineering–keeps bugging Harrison to acknowledge as a technique. During one such conversation, Harrison looked at Peter and said, “You’re sitting there. You think you’re a structure? You’re just an accidental combination of water and molecules.”
graphic recording by Avril Orloff, www.avrilorloff.com
Rather than a methodology, community-building along with all of its many tags and headings, “is both a movement and learning a language of communal possibility.” Toward that end, we can develop “an alternative set of protocols for welcoming people in from exile.” In addition to what was offered by the people who would be speaking during the conference and the protocols they offered, such as Peter with his A Small Group work, Harrison Owen with Open Space, each of us came with valuable protocols and practices to add to the pot. Our purpose was therefore to share with each other, “what’s working for you?” This gathering and this movement is an ongoing harnessing, and harvesting, of “the ignorant perfection of ordinary people.”
“Don’t Wait to be Chosen”
Creative, personal, community, people-powered versus managed, commodified, certified individualism–this would become a resounding theme throughout our three days, and it resonated with me as much as each “uncredentialed” change agent in the room. When we split periodically into small groups of three in order to process and connect around each powerful topic introduced, our facilitators reminded us, “Don’t wait to be chosen.”
Most immediately, this meant of course not to wait for a person to choose us for our group, but the deeper meaning struck me hard… Both this calling “not to wait” and the idea of ours as an “uncredentialed, unnamed”–but vitally necessary function–revealed to me that, deep inside, I’m still waiting to be chosen, named, legitimized from some outward source. Sometimes it’s larger society’s blessing I’m chasing–when I hesitate or squirm before the question, “What do you do?” Going deeper, I realized that day that I’m just as dependent upon the legitimization of those I look upon as mentors in my field… and what a stupid, stupid thing this is.
One of the greatest struggles I carried with me to Cincinnati is that of feeling blocked in my practices in community–that of both telling stories of bottom-up change and that of working to build relationships and discover assets, strengths and “abundance” within my own neighborhood. Since moving to Indianapolis, I’ve gotten what I sought: surrounded on all sides by some of the most amazing natural community-builders and innovators I’ve ever met (De’Amon Harges,Mike Mather and Anne Mitchell). While I found it such a blessing to be able to absorb their brilliance and try to mimic it first-hand, I also found myself stunted, held back, terrified in doing the work myself.
Just as I don’t need to wait for larger society to “bless” me with a widely recognized and celebrated title to do good, important work (and make a living doing so), I also don’t need to cower in the shadows of these “greats.” After all, what made them great was their courage to try things they didn’t know how to do and to follow the call in their hearts toward a possibility they knew existed but didn’t see around them–to follow gleaming threads into dark places, speak truth to power despite the quaking in their guts, and to push forward day after day to bring concepts into birth as real stories of concrete and undeniable world change.
The Power of Story
and Relationship with Self
One resounding theme of the conference was the immense power of story. to give life and power to the growing restlessness toward abundance-based thinking and doing that is surging from the ground level of our communities and countries.
Angeles Arrien source: www.angelesarrien.com
Angeles Arrien, a cultural anthropologist known for her work around the common stories that weave us together across cultures and centuries, joined us by phone that first day. She has noticed seven purposes of story: it “restores, regenerates, reveals, reconnects, reconvenes, re-conveys, remember.”
Angeles shared three stories that bring to life three predominating themes throughout the history of humanity and of story: the story of Self, Relationship, and Community. Each story she shared struck me deeply, but the first got me in the gut:
A Story about Self-Work:
There’s an old story from Judaic tradition of the wise man Zusya, who went to mountain too pray and asked for guidance for his community. He came down from the mountain after three days and three nights and he was terrified. The community saw him for first time, said “Zusya what did you find that you are afraid?”
“I now know what the angels will ask me on the last day. …They will not ask me contributed. What they will ask me is—(and put your name before this question)–”the question they will ask me is, ‘Zusya, Zusya, why weren’t you Zusya?’
What is getting in the way of what I already am?
graphic recording by Avril Orloff – www.avrilorloff.com
In my small group following this rich session, I had the pleasure of sitting with two young women, Avi Kruley (Mount Madonna Institute,CA) and Rasmia Kirmani-Frye (Comunity Solutions, NY), and Rachel Clayton (Tamarack Institute). Together, we unpacked our reactions to the story. Especially hard-hitting for us was the story of self–and, in addition, our shared story of this as often the hardest, most dysfunctional relationship in our lives. We recognized the tendency across this and other “world-changing” fields for folks to burn out, often due to a lack of care for our own bodies, minds, or souls. But how can we do anything good if that relationship is not healthy?
My small group – Rachel, Rasmia, and Avi
Perhaps the most healing part of this conversation was the last, when, at prompting from the facilitator, we spent time telling each other what we appreciated in one another. Sounds hoaky, right? Well, despite how many times I’ve done this kind of thing, or had it done to me, it never ceases to be an extraordinarily powerful experience. And, despite the fact that we’d only just met, each of us was able to pinpoint something of significant brilliance or value within the other, when asked.
The energy that I got from this exchange stays with me still today, almost deeper still than the fascinating concepts, stories and tools that were shared over those three days. This reminded me that a) we are all hungry for this kind of appreciation, and that’s OK, and that b) people are willing and able to see and name each others’ gifts–it’s all about creating the space and the invitation to do so; c) beyond any fancy set of rules or tools, this simple (yet sometimes scary) practice of seeing and naming gifts out loud to one another is one essential practice that must never be left out, and which never, ever gets old.
* * *
These were the words, stories, feelings and thoughts that launched our first day. More challenges and spaces would come… Among them, these were the questions that haunted, and haunt me, most, and which I’ll unpack in my next few blogs:
How do we look out for the “top-down” and other destructive habits of power within this movement? How do we address patriarchy as it appears among us as women, people of color, or other marginalized groups?
How can stories be used as a tool for measurement?
How can we tell these compelling stories more broadly, effectively and collaboratively to shift the dominant narrative?
Please tell me–what strikes you most from these thoughts, ideas and stories? In your own relationships and practices of community, what’s working for you?
* * *
For Further Reading ~ here are some other great blogs on the gathering:
friends and changemakers talking at the Connecting for Community gathering
Just a few hours ago, I arrived home from the Connecting for Community gathering in Cincinnati. I’m still buzzing with gratitude for the richness of soul, experience, insight, passion, courage and both raw and polished talent I encountered in the last three jam-packed days. As I “return to earth,” my mind has tightly logged the need to do all kinds of things–to process all that I heard, felt, thought, discovered and decided, to write something up, to edit down the million photos I snapped and share what’s worth sharing, and–oh yes–to sleep!
But before all that, there’s a fresh story coming out of me that I need to tell.
A couple of hours ago, my friend and colleague Anne Mitchell dropped me at my front door today after our two hour, idea and story-packed drive back from Cincinnati. The day was lovely, cloudy but bathed in a perfect blend of temperature that made being outside both pleasant and right.
As I clambered up the walkway to my house and entered welcoming darkness of inside, I could feel my body sink downward with relief and my heart soften with the promise of a bed’s sweet support.
But something else tugged at me.
When I’d gotten out of the car and gathered my luggage, I noticed my cross-the-street neighbors were sitting outside. I have made a commitment to getting to know my neighbors on this block… should I go back out, tired as I am and perfectly “deserving” of rest, and make an introduction?
This was a tugging I know well, and one which has grown stronger since I moved here: a battle between the part of me that deeply yearns to create connection, neighborliness, familiarity and friendship closest to home–in my neighborhood–and the part of me that is completely terrified to do just that. Time and again, the first part yields to the part that’s afraid of looking like that crazy white girl, making some blind blunder among people my upbringing and society tell me are different than me… and maybe, sometimes, it’s simply afraid of connection.
In that moment, some wisdom arose from the talented pianist and insightful international changemaker Michael Jones, who I’d had the chance to hear and speak with at the conference. He encouraged us to pull our art, our music, or whatever our craft may be, including practice in community–from the bottom part of our body… down, not up. This is what his music teacher taught him to do many years ago, and has become a core practice in his art of both music-making and helping others “lead artfully” in the world.
pianist and changemaker Michael Jones sharing his gift
Moving through the doorway, as I took pause inside and focused downward in myself, something interesting happened.
The fear faded. What remained was that great hunger–curious, adventurous, brave, and caring–in my feet. That hunger became my dominant emotion and thought, and I decided to go back outside. (Perhaps I also got some energy from the total immersion I’d just experienced in the three-day, globally diverse community of people in Cincinnati, whose feet are also hungry in this way.)
Earlier, when I was taking my stuff inside, the three men on the porch across the street had been talking to a young woman with bright red hair and a baby carriage. As I walked back out–still pretty terrified–they were still talking.
I awkwardly played with my phone as they talked, not finding the courage to break neighbor ice AND interrupt. Finally, after what felt like 10 minutes (but was probably only one), the young woman bid the men farewell and continued down sidewalk with her stroller. I swallowed, raised my head and walked toward the house.
“Hi!” I called, smiling and waving.
“Hi,” they answered, friendly enough.
“How ya doin?”
“Pretty good,” replied the man in the center, who was wearing a blue t-shirt. “Yourself?”
“Good, thanks!” I called back. Then added, “Do you live here?” (A creepy question? I don’t know. It’s the first that comes to mind more often than not.)
“I do.”
“Well hi! I’m your neighbor. I just moved in across the street there.” I gestured behind me.
He stood up and walked toward me down his concrete walkway, smiling. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Ray.”
I extended my hand across the hip-level black gate that encloses their yard, where it was wrapped into what I can only describe as a very “kind” handshake. “I live here with my wife Brenda,” he added.
Ray then called to his friends and introduced them–Chris and Anton. They also walked up from the porch, smiling, and shook my hand.
We reached that moment where we could have kept talking. But I let it go, and we bid each other a nice evening.
A part of me wished I’d held out a little to have a longer conversation. But, the moment had passed. What I took away was a beautiful “warm front” impression–the welcoming openness that greeted me when I had the courage to get over myself and make the first move.
* * *
Not fully satisfied, my feet took me down the street.
I passed a few younger teenage girls, who I sheepishly made face contact with. They half-returned my greeting. Then, and a few houses down, I noticed the young woman with red hair I’d seen earlier. She was at her door, getting ready to go inside.
Again, I took the risk and called out a greeting.
In a natural, gentle building back-and-forth, we got to know each other, and I had the great delight of discovering Laray. Warm, funny and perceptive, Laray shares my love for photography, people, and people of different races or cultures being together. Although she’s been here just a few months more than me, when she learned of my recent move, she said, “Welcome to the neighborhood!”
Laray and her son, Antoine
She continued, “It’s a good neighborhood. The people here look out for each other. My neighbors on either side here will call me if a cat so much as walks across my porch.” She laughed–“of course then I gotta tell ’em, ‘Yeah I feed that cat!’ but that’s alright.”
After we’d chatted for awhile and she found out what I do, Laray confessed that when she first saw me, she was almost positive I was an artist. This made me feel happy and funny at the same time–happy that somehow one of my qualities is so evident, and that I’ve met someone who, like me, looks at people with curiosity–and funny in that I am apparently so obvious about something, without intending to be.
The next thing she said made me laugh, inside and out:
“I had wanted to call out to you–‘Hey! Come here’ to see if you were [an artist], but then I stopped myself because sometimes people will think you’re crazy. So, I was glad when you called out to me first.”
Laray’s confession reinforced a belief that drives me: that people are yearning for connection. They, like me, are hungry to satisfy our curiosity about each other.
Sometimes we are very aware of that–like Laray, with whom, once that ice wall made of “the fear of being thought crazy/creepy” was chopped away, an easy flow of delightful common interests and qualities emerged. Other stories I hear prove to me that even those people who seem the most happy to remain isolated still deeply crave connection–whether it’s people labeled with disabilities who have almost no one but paid staff in their lives, “at-risk youth” who slough off well-meaning adult attention (or endless advice), or just those people who are, well, cranky and mean.
That hunger also lives between people who seem to have decided to hate or resist each other until the end of time–like the story another new friend at the conference today told me about two groups on opposite sides of the abortion issue who, upon discovering their underlying common concern for mothers and children, found a way to join forces toward this common goal, despite the–in reality–small percentage of things on which they disagreed.
It also tells me that we don’t have to be heroes or accredited experts to shift the culture and reality in our neighborhoods, communities and world–from isolation, segregation, and feelings of scarcity to connectedness, inclusion and the joyful, active, concrete knowledge of the abundance that lies within these places (and ourselves). We just need a moment of pause to let that healthy hunger for knowing emerge–and, maybe a little bit of courage, born from encouragement or inspiration from other “connectors,” to take even the tiniest step forward and act on it.
As we walked back toward my house, Laray looked down at the curb. From when I first moved in, despite my intention to look primarily for “what’s good” here, I couldn’t help but notice and inwardly fuss over the litter that peppers the curb and some lawns. I’ve struggled with how to react… having always felt compelled to pick up trash wherever I’m walking as a “good citizenship” and care for place. But, I’ve been hesitant to do it here, aware of how my doing so may come across as a gesture of judgment and superiority. I worried about becoming just like the “revitalization” efforts I see in neighborhoods like this one, which, despite the best intentions, come in from the outside hell-bent on “fixing,” “improving,” and “cleaning up”–without ever taking the time to look, listen or enter into enough of an authentic relationship with neighbors to discover what is already working, good, strong and right.
Still looking at the curb, Laray said something which jolted me from my place of worry and stasis: “This is one of the cleanest blocks in this neighborhood. That’s because there’s these older women you’ll see every Sunday who come and clean up the streets.”
Suddenly, the litter looked different. Yes, it was still there… but behind it, I know knew, is a story of care, community and “cleaning up” that already exists. The question then became, for me the newbie, became not, “to clean or not to clean,” but “how might I support–or celebrate–the cleaning that’s already happening?”
The answer to that question, almost too easily, was given to me by Laray (and probably much better than what I would have dreamed up myself.) Inspired, she said, “Oh! That would be a great subject for a photo shoot! We could come out here and take pictures of them doing that.”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I said, inside and out. This felt right.
As we neared my house, I asked Laray to refresh me on the names of the neighbors I’d just met (who she’d been talking to.) She did–Ray, Chris and Anton–and added with great sincerity, “Oh, man, those are some of the nicest people.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“They really help keep the neighborhood safe.”
She paused, then said, “You know, people knowing each other and looking out for each other–that’s really what makes a place safe. People say, ‘Oh, they look out for each other on that street–we’d better not mess with them over there.”
I could not agree more.
Laray and I spent some more time together–we both had to go grocery shopping so she rode with me down to Safeway, during which time I got to enjoy the company of her one-year old and share the photo books of one of my favorite photographers. We exchanged phone numbers, talked about possibly hanging out tomorrow night, photo outings, and–the crowning delight–she offered to her make me some of her signature cabbage and neckbone one of these evenings.
* * *
What boggles my mind continuously about the practice of connecting is how quickly abundance can be revealed for what, in the end, is not much effort. My conversation time with Laray yielded so much payoff for my small effort of “push” against that fear that gripped me on my home’s threshold earlier that day.
Besides the many delightful commonalities (a love for photography, people, cross-cultural connection, and cooking), it revealed the gifts she uniquely has–the gift of mothering, caring deeply for elders.
Furthermore, it made visible an abundance within our neighbors and neighborhood that I and others would not normally have seen or, more often than not, assumed might be there. Since many folks here earn below the median income and some of the homes are in disrepair, our neighborhood is the kind that the majority of this community sees, relates to, and talks about as a place of scarcity, danger, brokenness and need. Through talking with Laray, I quickly learned that, despite the outside world’s assumption, there is abundance here.
There is caring here–neighbors watch out for each other.
There is wisdom here–neighbors know that what makes a safe neighborhood is not more police, but protection freely given between neighbors to each other.
There is action here for the sake of the whole–the women who clean up the streets on Sundays.
And, there is the will to do more good–Laray’s idea to celebrate those women by taking photos of them together.
What else is there, waiting to be uncovered, utilized, celebrated? I’d bet my life that this is just the tip of the iceberg. With each new conversation, my feeling when I drive home into my neighborhood shifts from what I’ve been trained to feel (detachment, isolation, fear) to a welcomed new set of emotions–comfort, curiosity, appreciation, respect, and joy.
Oh, what great wonders a little “Hello?” can bring!
For more of Michael’s insight, check out his TEDx Burlington talk:
~ ~ ~ acknowledgements ~ ~ ~
I want to thank the many people I met over the last three days at Connecting for Community for their kindness, encouragement and daily courage to “walk the talk” in their lives. There are too many to name, but a few are…
~ Tim Vogt and Sarah Buffie of Starfire Council for pushing me to write with my authentic voice about the subjects that I’m most scared to tackle
~ Michael Jones, for reminding me to go down into myself for that wisdom and fount of creativity I keep looking for up top, in my head or from outsiders
Last Monday night, I had the experience of a lifetime–seeing my favorite living artist, the three-decade strong, genre-transcending, brilliant singer-songwriter Nick Cave perform live with The Bad Seeds at the Chicago Theatre.
Exceeding my hopes and fears, the experience left me buzzing, reinvigorated and deeply encouraged. It was also apparently exactly what I needed to get me blogging again.
This encounter, and this blog, have also led me deep into a subject I’ve grappled with for a long time, but never tried to put clearly into words in a public way: darkness. In art, music or daily life, how can it be valuable? How do we understand–or misunderstand–darkness, artists who express it, or people who identify with it in our culture?
Try as I might, I couldn’t squeeze this into one blog. So I’ve followed a friend’s advice and chopped it (carefully) into three mini-chapters. First, I’ll introduce Cave and explore this thing about darkness. Second, the concert itself including one big surprise. And third, a second surprise, “big take-away,” and some photos.
As you read through, I invite you to click on the song links and let the music play (each links to the actual song on YouTube).
Sound good? Here goes…
“Nickwho?” (An Introduction)
If you haven’t heard of Nick Cave, don’t worry. Most folks haven’t.
Originally from Australia, Cave made the global music scene back in the 80’s with his band The Birthday Party with their striking blend of punk, gritty-wild carnivalesque sounds. He continued to evolve this sound with his next band, The Bad Seeds,’ with whom he went on to produced 15 albums–the last released in 2012. He’s also lead singer and songwriter in Grinderman, not to mention a published author, screenwriter, composer, and occasional actor.
Nick crept into my life four years ago when, on a whim, I revisited an old college crush’s recommendation. Back in college, it did nothing for me, but for some reason we clicked the second time around. The first song to hook me: “Where the Wild Roses Grow,” a dreamy duet with Kylie Minogue–one of a series of songs on the “Murder Ballads” album which tell a different story about–you guessed it–murder. For days, I played and sang it nonstop–at home, in the car, walking around the nonprofit office where I worked.
From there, I meandered through the Bad Seeds discography, increasingly impressed with the breadth of styles, imagination, and both lyrical and musical artistry–until, one day, I realized he was my favorite living artist. (Nonliving: Fabrizio DeAndre)
As one reviewer writes, “No one paints a picture quite as vividly with lyrics as does Cave, and part of his appeal is built on pure storytelling.” Take these lines from “Hallelujah”:
On the first day of May I took to the road I’d been staring out the window most of the morning I’d watched the rain claw at the glass And a vicious wind blew hard and fast I should have taken it as a warning
I’d given my nurse the weekend off My meals were ill prepared My typewriter had turned mute as a tomb And my piano crouched in the corner of my room With all its teeth bared
Perhaps, in part, it’s Cave’s storytelling style that locked me into him. I’ve always loved stories, from when my parents read to me as a kid–mostly mom whose soothing story voice would then travel to my brother’s room and reverberate through the wall once I’d been safely tucked in.
As far as subject matter, Cave describes his focus as the three “biggies”: “Love, God, and Death,” adding, “You just kind of dress them up in different ways.”
Different ways, indeed. The stories and styles range from raucous, wild or shockingly dark tales of murder, revenge and disaster like “Stagger Lee,” “Henry Lee,” and “Tupelo” to the most enchanting love songs I’ve ever heard (“Lime Tree Arbor,” “Sweetheart Come,” “Love Letter”).
Then there are the ones that make you want to weep in a corner for a few good hours like “O’Children,” “Hallelujah,” or “As I Sat Sadly By Her Side”–and, of course “The Weeping Song” which couldn’t be more clear about its purpose: “This is a weeping song; a song in which to weep.”
In “God is in the House” and “The Mercy Seat,” Cave offers up thinly cloaked social commentary on bigotry, parochialism and the justice system. At other times, he bows reverently down to something greater, godlike (“There is a Kingdom.”)
Finally, there’s Cave’s way of bringing seeming opposite themes or feelings into one song as seamless and seductively palatable partners. For instance, love and hate (“Far From Me”), or sacred/religious and personal/profane love
I don’t believe in an interventionist god but I know, darlin’, that you do but if I did I would kneel down and ask him not to intervene when it came to you
Yet beyond skill and style, there are deeper reasons why Cave has won the title of “my favorite living artist.”
Why Cave?
There is, of course, that inexplicable thing that we each have about something or someone who moves us which words can never capture, that “something” that rocks your soul, like a key sliding into a hole you didn’t know you had. We each have our own, and I don’t expect everyone to feel that–just like I can’t expect anyone to feel the love I do for certain people.
Apart from that “something,” Cave is great in my eyes for several reasons.
First, he has always been one thing: completely and unapologetically himself.
I believe he comes from somewhere real. And, I believe that is why he’s able to move deftly from the brutal and harsh to the subtle, worshipful, or sweet.
This “trueness to oneself” as an artist, and in a larger sense as a human being, is something I attempt and often fail to achieve. Too often, I find myself giving in to preoccupation with current trends and fear over how others will receive me or my crafts, be it writing, art, photography, or community-building. Cave reminds me to let that junk go and concentrate on being myself.
Secondly, I admire and strive to equal Cave’s complete dedication to his craft. This video is an excellent example, showing the studio recording of “The Sorrowful Wife.” At the end, he pulls away from the mic and asks the recorder, “How was it?” “98,” the voice replies. Nick responds, “98 out of 100? …Guess we’d better do another one.” Whether you like his style or not, it’s hard not to admire an artist who’s running strong with over 15 albums, two books, and other successful creative projects under his belt, and whose work has encompassed such a broad range of styles and periods without losing steam.
Embracing Darkness
The last thing about Nick Cave that’s won my love is perhaps the most personal: his enthusiastic inclusion of darkness in his work. As I mentioned, he allows plenty of it into his stories, music and voice–be it in the form of violence, madness, bitterness or sorrow. In some of the more violent songs like Stagger Lee, Curse of Millhaven, and The Lyre of Orpheus, Cave and the band seem to relish the sinister brutality as they bring it to life in word and sound.
I must confess, I relish these songs too–as well as the sad, solemn, mad, and bitter ones.
In the big picture, I think their “inclusion of darkness” demonstrates a willingness to engage fully in both the creative process and the experience of being human–a quality that’s necessary to create anything of impact or enduring value in the world.
First, I relish them because they make me feel at home. They give a strange kind of permission to be who I’ve always been but often felt I shouldn’t be.
Early memory: standing as a child before my Mother, crestfallen at her reaction to a drawing I just showed her. The drawing was one of those which had departed from my happier artistic themes of cats, mice and pretty ladies, diving into a realm I couldn’t explain, but simply came out of me. “Interesting,” she’d say. Her paused, hanging tone betrayed discomfort and disturbance. I’ve maintained my a penchant for the sinister, from good horror flicks to music like Marilyn Manson or Nine Inch Nails. Many of my drawings still have a darkness to them, and provoke varied reactions from people who see them.
“Candle” (done in High School), Copyright April Doner 2013
I sometimes attribute this quality in me to repeated exposure at an early age to the 50’s era mathematician-musician Tom Lehrer, a favorite of my (also mathematician-musician) father. Lehrer’s catchier tunes include “Poisoning Pigeons in the Park,” and “Irish Ballad” (about a young girl who murders her family in a variety of creative ways–a song which, incidentally, bears a strong resemblance to the little girl in Cave’s Curse of Millhaven).
While I can joke about that, I suspect it’s not really something external that has made this a part of who I am or what attracts me.
Ironically, the “other side” of me is very “non-dark.” I’m a practising Buddhist. I believe in the innate goodness of all people and the potential for any situation to be turned into something positive. I believe in pointing my life and actions as much as possible in a direction that brings good, growth, thriving and healthy relationships into the world. I love people, dislike conflict in daily life, and most of all, hate hurting other people or feeling responsible for their pain.
“Mictlantecuhtli,” Copyright April Doner 2013
So, this part of me that resonates with and sometimes creates things that are brutal, harsh, sharp or sinister has always been a source of confusion for me and others. How can I be two such opposite things at the same time? Should I submerge that dark part, or try to wipe it out?
For this reason, encountering Nick Cave as an artist was like finding a best friend, or a perfect lover–or a safe space in which to sit, dream, create, and not feel alone.
Just like my Mom had trouble embracing or enjoying my weird or dark art, I think our larger culture over-simplifies, misunderstands and under-appreciates this kind of creativity. We also do this to people who love or produce it.
Cave is one who pushed through this barrier and came out on top. Who was he in high school? That quiet kid always scribbling in his notebook? Or maybe the rough one with too much energy and a taste for the edge.
Today, how do we view those kids who dress in black, sport piercings, or otherwise show a penchant for the weird and the dark? At best, we react with tolerant discomfort. This discomfort is based on a belief that a taste for or incorporation of darkness signals imbalance, deviation or deficiency.
What if we were to see them differently–as individuals courageous enough to host harshness within them, or to even feel it in the first place?
Freedom
Nick Cave’s successful, undaunted walk between dark and light, which he twines together in narratives that reach around, under, behind and through our world’s more rigid moralistic beliefs, frees me to be all of who I am and to value it as necessary material for creating my own masterpieces.
He reminds me that, rather than “good” or “bad,” I am a force… a force which, when focused like a laser on my goals and and when freed from worries about others’ judgement, can encompass, embrace, and celebrate with grace and impact the entire gamut of human experience with all its pocks and gashes as well as its most sublime states of bliss and beauty. And, like him, I can do this, consistently, over a lifetime, in a way that will resonate with others and bring something of value to the world.
“Mamma Catania” (Mother’s Day gift, 2003), Copyright April Doner 2013
By not averting myself from what’s dark in and around me but, rather, going where it pulls me–while rooted in a solid sense of self-worth and relation to the world–I can give voice to that in a way that is important, needed, and good. I can open to and allow something to flow through me that is not picture perfect and will probably be misunderstood by tons of people. I’ll be saying “yes” in the presence of pain, sorrow, harshness or mystery.
If that’s not what art is for, I don’t know what it is.
Self portrait, 2006
So–in summary, here’s what I get from Cave: Honor that which is within you, however weird and without welcome it might seem out in the world. Give it life–a story, a sound, a color or a movement. It has a reason for being there.
When you give it life, you are affirming the vastness of your own life and creative capacity. Furthermore, by acknowledging and giving expression to this strange, hard thing, you and your creation might end up being the key to that unlocks someone else’s frozen, isolated realness… just as Nick Cave and his bold, sometimes brutal repertoire have for me.
~ O ~
If you haven’t yet, I invite you, to check out some of the songs linked above and hear the music for yourself. Then, please share your thoughts. I especially want to know…
What do you think of Nick Cave?
What’s your relationship to darkness or “dark” artists?
Does this “inclusion of darkness” make any sense to you? Can it create anything of positive value in the world–or is this just some bunk I’m cooking up to justify a bad addiction to the dark side?
