Post-Lunar Eclipse Release

With more chapters to come for paid subscribers

New Introduction to “Beyond Dreaming: A Fractured Memoir”

Holding a sense of possibility in this present moment has demanded a discipline that I didn’t know I had. As you read this, you’ll know that I’ve overcome this challenge. Despite all the tidal waves of grief and shock that have attempted to squander my energy and momentum, I’ve completed this task, this life’s mission project, that I started during the pandemic. Thanks to a reclamation of a morning meditation practice gazing out at the garden and the plethora of birds grazing in the mulch, I’ve been able to recalibrate my nervous system daily. Somehow, I understood that with persistence that this book would arrive when it was time and serve those whom it is meant to inspire.

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The people who may benefit from the words compiled here have not disappeared in the past few years. In fact, the audience has swelled; many newly awakened folks are beginning to recognize the importance of art as a tool for healing and resistance. This medicine has likely been with us since humans first began shaping rituals, scratching symbols into rock, and illustrating hunts on the walls of caves. As more people discover that the creative process, whether done alone or collaboratively, can function like a compass with immense power, we can begin to dream more lucidly and shape something together that is both tangible and beneficial for the earth and each other.

Aspects of my life’s story are revealed here through a fractured lens. Why fractured? Because I needed to have places in the narrative where I can show you what is inspiring me right now: examples of practices that I see as creative emergent strategies that need more visibility in this time of collapsing, corrupt structures.

Emergent is a term that has become quite popular in the worlds that I’ve been inhabiting for the past decade (I credit adrienne maree brown for bringing this term close to me in her book, Emergent Strategy). Other authors, healers, artists, & activists have been using the term to describe the shift that is required to flow into a heart-based and intuition-centered pathway to resistance, liberation, and interconnectedness. It’s a much more spiritual orientation, coming from a place of not-knowing and trust.

There is so much juicy, cultural fermentation happening in the cracks. Many folks can’t yet see this terrain. Perhaps with this overview, they will feel the nudge to find others with whom they can create “art as mutual aid,” something we’ve needed in our communities for a long time, but especially now with our zones of comfort shrinking. Communities that have long been marginalized have been practicing mutual aid in whatever ways were possible, even if it was sometimes very challenging and dangerous to practice art as care.

One can see in many places where trauma has proliferated that art has become a necessity to create solidarity and release. Strong examples exist among the Palestinian people and among neighbors in Minneapolis where we can see art of all kinds being used as tool for healing and creating solidarity. There are also many historical antecedents that require acknowledgement as well, especially while the current regime attempts to obliterate histories, we must endeavor to retrieve them in all sorts of contexts. Finding ways to thread those powerful histories into my own story is part of the intention of this book.

The current over-culture is mass producing chaos by eliminating the Rule of Law and increasing the reach of authoritarian violence. Individual despair, confusion, and persistent fear have become byproducts of the chaos, but there’s more breathing room where the collective is unexpectedly, but effectively rising up, often with imagination. That’s also part of what this book investigates.

I want to take you on this artist’s journey in and out of a particular chapter of an artworld that no longer exists. One in which I unexpectedly found the gates open for a minute, but I quickly retreated after smelling the stench of its dysfunction.

The structures I encountered many decades ago were already corrupt (capitalism can have that effect on most anything that is commodified), but I was still in a partial trance back then, fueled by a combination of ego, hunger, and cynicism. Perhaps I convinced myself that I was just being pragmatic by not looking deeply into the shadows or I was just testing my mettle. I was looking for the good folks, the generous and kind ones, those who focused on social justice amid the mess, and I did find a few, but not enough to keep me glued to the NYC art world.

The ability for a young artist to live on next to nothing and make provocative work that unexpectedly received public attention pre-internet was just my luck of being in the right place, at the right time, with the right thing. I learned quite a bit from that blip in time. The lack of school debt (I had a paid teaching assistantship from a Canadian grad school), decent networks born from that MFA, and low rent made my path so much easier than what young creatives encounter today. When rents began to rise, I was fortunate enough that my recognition granted me opportunities to leave town and teach in academia. I exited the NY art world with few regrets. It was like I’d caught the elusive brass ring while going around the merry-go-round. The temporary solidity of that treasure gave me the confidence to ignore the unsolicited advice of more opportunistic peers who saw my choice as ridiculous when the gates were open for me to ascend higher in the ranks of their art world. My intuition told me to leave and I listened.

My goal of subverting within academia was well-intentioned. I survived many years within different versions of ivory towers, getting tenure twice despite many roadblocks and peers actively seeking to get rid of me. Again, my naïve optimism protected me somewhat. I didn’t realize, at first, how the form of neoliberalism brought in by Reagan and his minions, was impacting academia, sacrificing the quality of education for profit, and how my attempts to subvert the studio arts curriculum would have a limited impact within the institutions themselves.

Outside of my story, this book casts a light on the creative risk takers who are often working under the radar or who are not fitting into the standards of “success” determined by the status quo. Most of them are working collaboratively in collectives, in community settings, or within social justice movements. Their work is essential to the huge transformation that needs to happen if humanity and the more-than-human world will survive the very sick, death cult regime running things right now.

It’s important to see that there are many options outside of the cultural paradigm born within capitalism, colonialism, and individualism. When the dominant form of art education focuses on technical expertise, individual innovation, and current aesthetic trends, it becomes a pedagogy that potentially shapes disassociation, ego inflation, and competitiveness; none of which serves any kind of social purpose, particularly for what’s needed in a time of systemic collapse.

Another key issue is that creatives are often fed models of success that have little to do with why many of us start making art. Our impulses are distorted by celebrity culture and epigenetic trauma that makes us crave approval. If we learned intrinsic worth from our families of origin and were more connected to the land and our ancestral cultures, those of us who are attention seekers would not have this obsessive need for extrinsic approval.

Also, trauma makes it difficult for us to deal with conflict, so we don’t learn how to collaborate or to see ourselves as able to work within a diverse community. Instead, we may become hyper-individualistic and perhaps alienated and overwhelmed by survival needs. “Making it” becomes inextricably tied to financial success. Some “do” the latter by creating decorative or prestigious objects for those who can afford them (typically the wealthy). Others compete for grants, poorly paying and insecure teaching gigs, a tenuous space in the stable of a prestigious gallery or getting a following on social media. As the access to these options narrows, even for those with independent financial resources, we can hope that those creatives with imagination recognize other ways to share their gifts.

What if we were able to raise our youth to feel their intrinsic worth rather than have them seeking attention which is always temporary? What happens if we can offer creatives, young and old, pathways that are essential for this time in the world? Some of these strategies are ancient ones where certain folks found or were given opportunities to document histories and create rituals to celebrate, grieve, and offer healing for their people. In this book, I will share examples of strategies and visions which can lead us towards a healthier and more equitable world.

For those who are currently in the grip of fear, rage, shock, and grief about the times we are moving through, this book may be a good reminder that we need each other more than we ever have and if we are willing, we can develop creative strategies that can help us see possibilities despite the grim grip of this dystopic time. The contributions of cultural workers are and will be essential medicine. We need to plant a diverse spectrum of seeds; if my words are nourishing, they will function like good soil to grow paradigms that are both ancient and beyond what capitalism taught us to dream towards. Thanks to all of you who are using art as medicine in your communities.

Here’s an incomplete list of those who I feel might benefit from this book.

1. people who have tapped into their creative voices who are not attracted to the commodity art world or those who have been struggling with the painful process of selling their creative practice and need to find grounding outside of the marketplace.

2. younger artists who are carrying enormous debt, are so exhausted by their day jobs that they can barely create and are alienated by the field in which they were trained.

3. cultural activists who want to strengthen the processes they use within communities who are informed by transformative justice and participatory democracy.

4. healers who recognize we will not move forward as a society unless trauma is recognized and processed both artfully and somatically.

5. storytellers and archivists who see the urgency of documenting local community knowledge and sharing it across generations.

6. ecological and racial justice activists who recognize that their work will be enhanced by bringing in the creative imagination of the community.

7. people who need to express all the rage, grief, fear, and despair clinging to their spirits so that they can find gratitude and ways to celebrate amid the chaos of this time.

Some final words for those who may find this book challenging to digest: we need to flex, stretch, and ground with each other if we’re going to navigate the mess of the collapse. Many won’t survive the harm that has been unleashed, but as long as I have breath to write and speak, I’m going to encourage folks to find their cohort and move with the discomfort of collaboration to build their own fledgling cultural experiments.