Integral Education: The CIIS Blog

What Is Art?

By SAMANTHA BLANCHARD

This post was written as an assignment for Professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091, Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to present their work and teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

I am an Artist because I create. I believe everyone has a creative source that fuels them, but they don't necessarily call it art... although it is art. Creation = Art. How can it not be? When we write, paint, photograph, film, sing, dance or speak about trees and flowers, are we saying that our product is art but nature's product is not? Art is in the breath of a newborn, the pan of a chef, the scissors of a hair stylist, the stillness of death. Life = Art and Art is life. As a neo-feminist pagan witch I try to see beauty in everyday things.  I love to view the choreography of birds and people crossing the street. I could make a dance theater piece about many aspects of everyday life; however I choose to make art about women's issues. I feel if I made art about everything I see I would be overwhelmed with possibilities. I need to be somewhat in control of what I choose to frame in my world as an Artist!   

"Eclipse Dance Theater 1995 - 2000" on Facebook >>

I am informed by my belief that everyone can dance, sing, act, draw, paint, but they choose not to because they are drawn to another medium; a medium that we "Artists" probably would not consider a medium. Do we think we are special? Gifted? Yes I do. As an Artist, I have an overactive ego and I need to believe I can do a singular thing, like colliding dance and theater, better than anyone else. I guess it’s my fatalistic perspective that this rises from; I believe that we are all here to do one thing, and that one thing will change the world; a kind of divination if you will. 

Creation for me happens to be in the collision of things.  I like to collide mediums and personalities and facilitate the collaboration of resolution/revolution into a performance piece.  I also like to violently edit to strip the material down to its essence.  So if I seem abrupt, I am embodying the truth of my experience.

An interview with the artistic director of Eclipse Dance Theater, Samantha Blanchard, about the making of her first one woman show, Renee >>

My art form is Dance-Theater and that began in 1995 with the collision of sound and movement, but has progressed or processed through dance and theater/text, free writing to collaboration for conflict resolution, to consciously pushing boundaries to extend or expand the artist's reach. Right now I am interested in working with rock and roll musicians, actors, all genres of dancers, and singers.

"Eclipse Dance Theater 2004 - 2009" on Facebook >>

What's brewing in my pot next is a piece on suicide inspired by the recent romantic meme of Mozart writing himself to death. On more investigation there are theories that he was a hypochondriac and took an overdose of antimony trying to rid himself of an imaginary illness. However, his wife held that he was riddled with guilt over his father's death and that is what ultimately killed him.  So that pushes me to ask the question "what would make you kill yourself?"  

This brings me full circle back to I am an Artist because I create. Is it also art to destroy? To destroy, of all things, yourself? I am struggling with the duality of things and starting to wonder if we truly mimic nature and if art is life then art must also be death. I am interested in the fact that when we create no one asks why. Why was that baby born? Why did I make such a beautiful painting? Why are the mountains so beautiful? But when we destroy, or die there are many questions. Why now? Why me? Why him and not me? And this is where we forget to see art as death. We want to cut death out of the cycle of life and hopefully that will make us happy. 

My journey for the next year and a half at CIIS is to continue to embrace the shadow and give it a voice so that we cannot consciously continue to deny the inevitable and in this way bring some integration and healing to the community.

I'm An Artist

By ELLIOT WEISS

This post was written as an assignment for Professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091, Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to present their work and teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

It has taken me 57 years to understand and envision calling myself an artist. The word artist has always had particular definition in my mind. In my mind an artist is someone that draws or paints. I inherited this definition from the culture, values, and morals of the neighborhood where I was raised. A very good example of the mindset of my neighborhood is represented in a movie written by a performance artist and actor, Chazz Palmenteri (A Bronx Tale). The neighborhood that I was raised in was located in the Northeast section of the Bronx, New York, 15 minutes away from Yankee Stadium.

 

It was working class, controlled by organized crime. Italian, Irish, and Jewish people all mixed together, however, living apart. Fighting between the Jews (which I am) and Irish occurred more than altercations with Italians. The mindset and values of my household and the community wouldn’t allow for the possibility of promoting a person with artistic capabilities. Most people with artistic capabilities were viewed by the community as strange or weird. However, an artist that had a talent for sports was exalted.

Why didn’t I gravitate towards my artistry? Well, I had a hard time gravitating towards anything because I was obese, heading quickly to morbid obesity. The main stimulus in my mind was not art, it was food; at a young age I was addicted to sugar and junk food. Also, in my family one was either college material or worker material. I was not considered college material by my parents and was urged to find employment that coincided with the worker mentality. Postal worker, sanitation, truck driver and other employment in the “blue collar” fields were the possibilities assigned by my parents.  To consider the arts as a career, well a famous saying goes, “fugghedaboutit."

Thinking back I was always who I’m becoming now; however, no one knew it…including me to a great extent.

The possibility of promoting the talents within me wasn’t a thought at all. At a young age (8 years old) I displayed a penchant for acting/performing. I remember fondly acting in plays in school and summer camps. Being obese, I was very depressed and these experiences provided me moments of happiness. I felt “normal” on stage, the only place I’ve ever felt normal to this day. I didn’t realize as a child that this artistry was a part of me, a part as big and valid as the part of someone that wants to become a lawyer or doctor.

But what I’ve learned from so many years of performing is the word artist and what it means to me is basic and simple. By calling myself an artist I am thinking with a healthy mindset. It’s a healthy mindset because I’m already an artist. I just needed to realize that and work with my talents. Pursuing my talents that I’ve been blessed/born with: that is really the real me. I remember being asked in an acting workshop, “Why do you act?” My response was: because I need to. Thinking back, the artistry in me is the major reason for my restorative health project. My health was wrecked due to morbid obesity. What kept me alive when at age 14 I was teetering on the edge of killing myself was a thought: if I kill myself (with food) I’ll never be able to act/perform or listen to music again. This was a light in a very dark existence; I’m alive because of this thought. Being an artist has an inside-out effect. I know that to be the artist I want to be necessitates my focus and dedication to be in the best mental, physical, and spiritual health that I can be. Artistry and being an artist is therapeutic on the inside and a lot of fun on the outside. I’m an artist and this is what it means to me.

What Are You Trying to Say?

By CREATRIX TIARA

This post was written as an assignment for Professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091, Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to present their work and teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

When I tell people about being an artist, or that I am working on an MFA, the first question I receive is, "What sort of art do you do?" Usually this means, "What is your medium?" and often their elaboration reveals their limited ideas about what art entails: "Painting? Drawing? Watercolors or acrylics?" Even other artists and art-savvy people focus on the medium as though that is the only way I am meant to identify: "I am a performance artist" or "I am a writer."

To me, that feels like the wrong question to ask. Stating the media I use does not convey much about my artistic practice. It's just as vague as asking me which languages I speak, and assuming that says anything about what I say with that language, as though I only communicate with that one language.

Then again, much as people don't tend to expect my use of multiple artforms, they don't often expect me to be multilingual either.

From a very young age I have been fluent in more than one language, and am also very proficient in various regional creoles, such as Singlish (Singaporean English) and Manglish (Malaysian English). Growing up in multicultural societies where English is not the primary language, though its importance as an international business language was emphasized, meant most of us often code-switched while communicating. In the same conversation, often the same sentence, I would braid in English, Malay, Bengali, sometimes a smattering of words from various Chinese or Indian languages, and often Singlish or Manglish slang words - and be perfectly understood. The mix of languages became a larger super-language for me, one that I felt best communicating in.

So it was quite a surprise for me when I played back videos from Indian TV shows, where the hosts often code-switched between Hindi, English, and other regional dialects, and many of my friends (often native Western-speakers) reacted with bafflement and confusion over the host’s patter. Even those who knew more than one language did not mix them up regularly while communicating: they picked the most useful language in that situation and stuck to it.

I understood then why people tended to be more curious about form than content: because the idea of switching between mediums, languages, tools in the same piece or space was unusual and unheard of.

Like languages, there are a couple of art forms I am more fluent in, forms I tend to gravitate to instinctively and hence have more experience with. I have been a life-long writer and recently embraced my love of the stage through performance art. And, like languages, there are a few forms I do not know much about, some I am rather self-conscious about and not confident in. I feel much the same way about Bengali (my family's mother tongue) as I do about painting or drawing. People expect me to know more than I actually do and often comment on my lack of skill to the point of making me reluctant to make use of those languages and forms.

However, to restrict me to just one form is like forcing me to choose only one language forever. Some prompts require this, and usually the prompt also tells me the requested content, creating useful artistic boundaries, e.g. submissions for themed poetry readings or acts for a burlesque cabaret. The main purpose of my artistic practice, though, is to express myself the best way I know how, which almost always involve more than one form, code-switching like I do with language. I've performed my poetry submission in costume and character; I've incorporated spoken word into my burlesque acts.

And sometimes, when the idea or emotion demands it, I delve into languages and forms I know little about - because they were the best ways to communicate. I have used painting and music to deal with body-related emotions. I have created short films to visually accompany written work. I have sung the words of others because they tap into what I want to say better than I sometimes can articulate.

I understand the importance of building fluency, whether in language or artform. It's why people take classes, read books, listen to audio instructionals. Yet one of the best ways to really learn a language is by immersion. Similarly, a lot of my artistic education has come about through immersion and experimentation.

The pertinent question for me is not, "What art forms do you work with?" It's, "What are you trying to say, and what's the best way to say it?” And sometimes the best word for what I want to say is in a language unusual to me.

Walking in Circles

By MAIA SCOTT

This post was written as an assignment for Professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091, Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to present their work and teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

Some ten years ago, I accidentally discovered the joy of walking around in circles during a theater workshop.  Don’t worry.  Lots of people do it.  In the early nineties, walking labyrinths started to become a popular addendum to spiritual, communal, and holistic practices all over the United States and beyond.  Initially walked during private training retreats with the likes of Jeanne Houston, the labyrinth touched public fancy when San Francisco’s own Dr. Rev. Lauren Artress set one up at Grace Cathedral and started training facilitators.  Like a happy case of freckles, labyrinths continue to dot the continent with greater regularity, sweeping across the nation. (Visit the World Wide Labyrinth Locator to learn about labyrinths near you.)

Popular modern labyrinth design and lore weaves back through history from around 2000 BC.  As I stepped barefoot onto a painted canvas labyrinth during that first walk, I realized I was accepting a timeless gift.  Really, how often do people receive permission to touch a work of art, let alone walk all over one?  It takes a lot of love and patience to create today’s behemoth canvas masterworks.  The Freemasons of yesteryear chiseled labyrinths ripe with numerological mysticism into medieval sanctuary floors for pilgrims with a serious case of wanderlust.  Warp back another couple thousand years and trade goods on the isle of Knossos for coins featuring a labyrinth design.  Like good tea and yogic practices, walking the labyrinth is one of those old habits made new again.  Sometimes it’s a good thing when history repeats itself.

As an art maker, spirit seeker and forward thinker, the labyrinth is a valuable tool for my varied creative practices.  To start, I am set up for success as I traverse this path with no dead ends, spiraling to the center and back.  Like a vigorous bout of spring cleaning, I appreciate the invitation to empty mind-space of clutter making way for shiny new thoughts.  As a facilitator holding space for other walkers, I love the gentle choreography generated by the design on the floor leading people to move through space differently than may be usual.

I feel joyfully mischievous when I draw a big labyrinth on the beach and run away with a friend to witness from nearby as people discover it.  Whether the design is five inches or fifty feet in diameter, the process of creating a labyrinth can be a poignant experience in its own “rite”.  Drawing a Classical style labyrinth is deceptively easy to do.  If you’ve ever played “Connect the Dots” as a child, you can figure it out.  Any sort of tool will do for creating them.  Try digging a heel into the sand at the beach, chalking one in a parking lot, forming a pattern on a table out of toothpicks or pennies… and, yeah, pens and paper work nicely, too.  For example I designed and created the labyrinths pictured with this post.

The labyrinth remains my primary muse as I journey through my studies at CIIS.  I am fascinated by the opportunity to create art that, like the labyrinth, comes to life and becomes a multi-media experience affected by the people interacting with it.  I want to create works that inspire peace, pondering, play or whatever viewers need to experience at the moment.

This four-thousand year old swirly thing has taught me a lot over the years, quietly doling out wisdom as I become ready to learn.  The path looks like it will deposit me at the center right off.  Yet, I have to wander all the way out to the edge again to eventually reach the center.  How like life that is.  That doesn’t have to be a bad thing…During that first walk over ten years ago I learned to embrace the process of reaching my goals.  “The journey is the reward.”  Indeed it is.

Autumn Sun

By DANIELLE REYNOLDS

This post was written as an assignment for Professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091, Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to present their work and teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

The autumn sun everywhere is unique to me. The air is comfortable with a touch of chill. When the fall rays hit my skin, I feel cleansed. It feels so warm, so nurturing and gentle. I never want to leave it. I never want to go in the shadow. I want to stay in its glow.

The fall sun is powerful and transformative. I get lost in the light. Autumn in itself has always seemed to me a season of surrender. The leaves gracefully fall down for a soft landing. The rains come down with a pitter-patter, washing the land. Animals gather and store up food for a long winter. Humans put on extra layers and spend more time indoors.

Personally, fall has often been an invitation for an inner surrender, too. And that's what I'm feeling—Letting go of the familiar and comfortable for a chance to be led through winter, with the hope that on the other side is a seedling, bursting forth from the fertile spring ground.

As I delve more into the Creative Inquiry program, I’m trying to remember that it does take a while for a seed to germinate, sprout, and become a mature plant.

While I struggle with what it means for me to be an artist—from understanding my aesthetic, experimenting with other mediums, and defining my values—my intention is to be the observer in this growing process, to be patient, and delight in the unfolding.

So, as I bask in the warm sun I remember that change is coming everywhere. But for that change there must be a stillness, an honest inquiry, and a will to grow from this surrender.

Because to grow, you just have to allow yourself to be rooted in your environment and to stay in the light.

Source Snapshot

By NINA RAMOS

This post was written as an assignment for Professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091, Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to present their work and teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

I was recently asked to cull a list of sources that have served me as inspiration or enhanced my investigations as an image maker and filmmaker. It was a great opportunity to construct a genealogy that traces my journey as an artist. Below is a sampling of ones I most often look to.

 

Reel Women: Pioneers of the Cinema, 1896 to the Present - Ally Acker

Comprehensive guide of the women who pioneered the art and craft of filmmaking. The revised edition (published in 2001) extends where it left off showing that women are very much a part of today’s Hollywood. It’s also an essential read for anyone looking to enhance their knowledge of the key players who introduced motion pictures as language.

 

Blank City documentary

First-time filmmaker Celine Danhier has helped create a really fantastic record of the No Wave Cinema. Balanced by archival footage and well conducted and curated interviews, the film involves the audience in this moment in time with more intimate accounts of this time and place, and some stories you might not have heard before. Thanks to Netflix streaming, I can revisit it often and seem to note something new each time. 

Shooting to Kill - Christine Vachon and David Edelstein

Birds-eye view to the production pipeline for an independent film. Part journal, part production booklet, its first person account of the behind the scenes goings on for Velvet Goldmine manages to entertain while showcasing the creative and business concerns of making a film. Reading through this felt as if I was actively going along each step of the process. Nearly ten years later Vachon followed with a more personal account of her career in A Killer Life: How an Independent Film Producer Survives Deals and Disasters in Hollywood and Beyond.

Brain Pickings website

Meticulously curated by Maria Popova, the site serves as a cornucopia of creative resources. Inspiring and informative, the myriad of books, profiles, sites, concepts cover a seemingly impossible gamut. I often reference BP when looking to expand my knowledge of graphic and motion design (both examples and origins). Or spend a fun afternoon getting lost in a curiosity-feeding labyrinth. Quoting Maria herself, “Brain Pickings is a human-powered discovery engine for interestingness, culling and curating cross-disciplinary curiosity-quenchers.”

The Art of Seeing Differently

By MAIA SCOTT

This post was written as an assignment for Professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091: MFA Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to present their work and teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

 

During a recent visit to Yosemite, I turned off the road to encounter… a lovely figure with up stretched arms, or a stumpy old tree? My love of dance, ritual, and spirit made that answer pretty obvious. And the camera and paints did tell the same tale of her quiet dance in the woods. (Photograph and painting by Maia Scott)

Color, shape, and movement play an important role in my creative process. I am also visually impaired, somewhere in the no-mans-land between “Legally Blind” and “Totally Blind." I count on a guide dog to help me stay safe. Yet, I appreciate a good art exhibit or dance performance as much as the next arts enthusiast. Early on, I learned not to count on sighted people to describe for me cold, hard facts about what they’re seeing at shows and exhibits. I went through an exhibit several times; once with a family member, docent, work friends, and audio guide. Each pointed out to me different elements of the works, causing me to “See” the collection as if from each of their points of view. In this, I discovered that our vision, like many other aspects of life, is subjective; and everyone (including me) sees things differently.

 

Remember sprawling in the fragrant summer grass looking up and identifying pictures in the clouds? Or, how about gazing at a cracked wall long enough that it reveals hidden images? And then there are such magical places as the North Bay’s Mount Tamalpias that turns out to be a sleeping princess when you stop to admire her quiet presence.

When I go hiking, I am rewarded with scene-scapes that are reminiscent of Monet’s impressions of his surroundings. And an evening at the ballet offers up a living Degas painting, complete with soft edges and supposed depth of space. Riding the underground during commute time feels like a Salvador Dali painting choreographed for the Rockettes.

 As a partially sighted visual artist and performer life is rarely mundane.  Color and motion conspire to provide me with randomly helpful cues to my surroundings, while simultaneously stirring up bits of fantasy to tempt my every creative whim.  The beauty of my limited sight is just that.  Do I feel like playing with shadow or light today?  I’m going to notice everything that goes up… or sparkles… or swirls like a dervish of crunchy leaves.

Life, art, and seeing hold similar properties; For certain, they are all open to interpretation.  As one who could easily talk to a mailbox, recycle the rent check, and proudly slam-dunk an empty bottle into an old lady’s lap while waiting for the bus to take me to work, I am well aware of how much I rely upon the art of interpretation and filling in the blanks on the fly.  Seeing with my other senses, including intuition, along with canine (guide dog) sensibility provide me with a greater part of that which informs my art processes – and just what I need for a graceful exit stage left should the above scenario occur. 

Risk for Reward

By ELLIOT WEISS

This post was written as an assignment for Professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091: MFA Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to present their work and teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

This is a blog about Risk for Reward. This was an assignment for class; however, its importance is far reaching. In my case, taking advantage of the opportunity presented by a risk when I was in my late 20s gave me confidence in myself and belief in my art (poetry). The risk of performing at an open mic and taking that risk (with help) was the starting point of my life as an artist. The confidence I gained from that event is part of my being today. I can always recall this event whenever I feel any self-doubt.

As a young teen I read a weekly newspaper, The Village Voice. In addition to the abundant music and arts section, the Voice also published an article that helped the Weiss clan win the war with roaches. The article explained how boric acid was the answer as it sent both the roaches and their offspring to the Roach Motels Burial Grounds. We had a roach colony that you would see covering the kitchen table during the night. Also in the Voice was an ad posted religiously about the Back Fence. The Back Fence, located on Bleeker Street in Greenwich Village promoted musical acts and an open mic every Sunday afternoon. Odetta, Bob Dylan, and Richie Havens are a few of the artists that performed at the Back Fence. As a teen I day dreamed about performing. I would listen to music, particularly Doo Wop, and imagine that I was singing onstage with the group.

In 1982 I wrote my first poem, “Junky.” I asked a friend to read it and his reaction was positive (Risk for Reward Pt.1.) Then I remembered the ad for the Back Fence. One Sunday I put the folded up poem in my inside jacket pocket with no intentions of reading it and headed down to the Village. While I was sitting and waiting for the open mic to begin a woman came in and sat next to me, and we introduced ourselves. Her name was Lorraine Galiper. She was originally from the Caribbean and living and working as a teacher in Spanish Harlem. She also had a young daughter still residing in the Caribbean with her mother. Lorraine asked me if I was going to read and I said that I wasn’t. I asked her if she was reading and she told me that she was the featured poet. This meant that she had 15 minutes as the feature.

While we were talking I took a risk and asked her if she wouldn’t mind reading my poem (Risk for Reward Pt.2). "Sure, I’ll read it,” she said, and I took it out of my inside pocket and handed it to her. She liked it, said it was intense, and urged me to get up and read it when the emcee called for volunteers. I said that I wasn’t sure. The open mic began with a few poets reading their poems, then Lorraine took the stage. She read for 15 minutes, and when she came off the stage she asked me what I thought. I told her that I had a clear picture of her home in the Caribbean and of her separation from her daughter.                                                                                   

Risk for reward part 3: Remember that Lorraine and I were sitting side by side? The emcee asked if there was anyone else that would like to read, and the next thing I knew, my hand was up in the air with Lorraine’s hand on top of mine. We smiled and were laughing with each other—and I took the risk. It was great. The audience responded strongly, and taking this Risk for Reward jumpstarted my involvement as an artist/performance poet/writer/actor/bass guitarist, and eventually, as an MFA Student at CIIS. Lorraine and I had a supportive relationship for a while. I retell this story in my one man show and dedicate an original poem, “Your Smile,” to Lorraine. 

The Dangerous and Painful

By CREATRIX TIARA

This post was written as an assignment for Professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091: MFA Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to present their work and teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

How do I say what’s dangerous without adding to the pain of those already harmed?

This is a question that is coming up more and more frequently for me, as my performance and writing work are strongly centered around “the personal is political," exploring the issues related to being a queer female migrant minority. Yet that same complicated multi-axis identity makes my politics more complex - and not something that easily fits party lines.

Like many other artists from minority backgrounds, I am often considered to be a "spokesperson" for my culture or other minority groups even when I do not deliberately choose this role. My opinions and stories are taken to be representative of the groups I am assumed to be affiliated with (not always the groups I actually identify with,) instead of the nuanced complex narratives that they are. People often read their preconceptions into my work—noticing an accent that isn’t there, assuming influences I have never heard of, creating political statements I do not always sign onto. I am no longer Creatrix Tiara; I am that Queer South Asian, or I am that Third-Wave Feminist, or (more commonly) I am that Angry Brown Chick. Sometimes I feel like if my work was presented under a different name (perhaps something more Anglo and male, such as "John Smith") or by a different body (white, straight, normative) the reception would be greatly different: I would be complex and individual, maybe even groundbreaking—just like the various Western performance artists that receive applause for appropriating cultural artifacts from places deemed as "backwards."

At the same time I do not want to entirely divorce my background from my work. My heritage, history, and present position completely inform the direction and form of my work. I would not be content to conform to what a "normal" burlesque performer or writer or artist would do. I want to be able to bring up my inquiry about being queer, or South Asian, or an international student, or a woman, or any combination thereof in my work. I want to delve into the rich heritage vaults provided for by my predecessors and ancestors, and be a guiding light for those after me.

Comedian Dave Chappelle talks about the moment where he felt that his acts were “socially irresponsible.” His work tackled difficult race relations in the U.S. as an African-American male, but he started to notice how people were using his jokes as an excuse to laugh at people like him, rather than with him or at themselves.

Dave began thinking about the message he was sending to millions of viewers. Dave says some people understood exactly what he was trying to say with his racially charged comedy...while others got the wrong idea.

"That concerned me," he says. "I don't want black people to be disappointed in me for putting that [message] out there..It's a complete moral dilemma."

I find myself in a similar position, trying to make sense of the complexities of class, race, immigration status, gender, sexuality, and other identity axes. As it is, I have too often been let down by people whose politics I nominally agree with, but who still refuse to recognise differences of opinion or their own privilege and circumstances. “I can’t be prejudiced/bigoted! I’m a lefty/minority/just like you!”

At the same time I feel a sense of responsibility thrust upon me to represent “my people” well, especially amongst those from dominant social backgrounds (e.g. White, straight, male, non-immigrant). It shouldn’t be my fault that people don’t seem to recognise the Other as individuals with our own layers of complexity, who insist on everyone being “role models” to make them legitimate. However, that is the situation we find ourselves in right now and the best we can do is deal with it.

On Art Making

By COLLETTE McGRUDER

This video was posted as an assignment for Professor Cindy Shearer’s CIA 7091: MFA Interdisciplinary Arts Workshop. As part of a community of artists working across art perspectives, students in this course get the chance to present their work and teach each other about their art form(s), practice, lineage and influences, and are challenged to inquire into the interdisciplinary arts as well as forms new to them.

CIIS FINAL PUBLIC ON ART MAKING from collette photo on Vimeo.