Shit! He is risen.
A senior Polish official has ordered psychologists to investigate whether the popular BBC TV show Teletubbies promotes a homosexual lifestyle.
While I was at the mall with my lovely dumpling this evening, I decided to invest in some fine art. A little girl in front of Starbucks sold me the masterpiece below. She was asking two-fiddy, which at first I thought was a little spendy. I thought she meant two ***hunnert*** or mebeee two SQUILLION dollars. But no, her prices were firm, but fair. The artist also included her business card in case I wanted to purchase more of her treasures at a later date. Her cards have this disclaimer in tiny print: “$2.50 - WARNING - only option” clearly spelled out for those ignunt asses who think art should be free.
Only memory is burdened with the scars of pure sorrow. The ugly, hated thing you hiss and kick at is your very own soul jerked on a leash, bloody and bruised. Others with a kindred cord recognize that which you believe is dark and veiled. Because you are exceptional, friends climb over tangled rope to spread palms full of gems you sadly cannot see. The beast dragged behind you is not a broken heart, but a strand of hope tethered to a woman rising. One day you alone might cradle this beautiful stranger… as she should always have been loved.
Prose by me
Etching by Käthe Kollwitz, 1903
Woman with Dead Child
You show up at the carnival with a pocket fulla cash. Maybe 65 bux and some change. Maybe 80? Hell. Why count when you are RICH? Before you discover the layout, it takes a lazy, wide-eyed while to wind your way around the bright lights of the carnival. Dollar here, dollar there. You happily blow wads on crap of course, cuz dollars just seem to burn so easily.
You try your hand at games, make some memories, make some friends. And maybe you are lucky enough to kiss a dazzling babe who swings like a broken bolt, so brave and so free. Hell yes, this night is worth every cent and more! But as this adventure rolls late, you become somewhat conscious of the last twenty in your pocket. A ferris wheel without lights really is just a machine. Dollars seem like real dollars at dawn, and you regret the cost of going back home.
Now imagine those dollars were years.
I really didn’t like Sara very much. She was self-righteous, simple-minded, and stubborn. She was annoying and blind like my parents, and she regarded my naive rebellion with suspicion. I could not help but love Sara, however. She was strong, sure-footed, and determined.
Sara was heading toward her 70’s when I met her, retired military and proud of it. She was not elegant or fine, but she was a strutting, bossy, barnyard rooster nonetheless. Squatty and plain, Sara was thick in that way runty mutts become later in life, sneaking bits of cheese even though the Dr. had warned her. She had fat, ruddy cheeks with steely blue eyes glinting behind a ridiculous pomp of soft white curls. She told me she packed with pebbles when she was five. I had no doubt this old bull had fought in dark bars only perverts knew existed, and chased and charmed her share of women. Sara still dressed like James Dean, but she wore her pants a little too high to be cool.
I am grateful that the controversy and outrage resulting from the censorship of my painting of a breast cancer survivor brought about positive change. At our meeting last night, the other artists at the Continental Gin Building decided by unanimous vote that our collective would not be in the practice of censoring art amongst our fellow members in the future. Good sense and peace prevailed.
It was a painful experience, but I am glad I spoke up. The irony is… after the story was blogged across the internet, picked up by several local papers, and then featured on our local television news, thousands have viewed my painting. The message of hope and courage behind the portrait of a breast cancer survivor went far beyond the outreach it would have had if it had not been removed from the group show.
Most of all, I am very humbled by all of the stories of struggle, survival and loss that have been shared by those whose lives have been touched by this disease.
FOR FURTHER READING:
My breast cancer painting censored from local art show
View my paintings of real women.
ABC news coverage of censored breast cancer painting
Art Censorship: How often are ethics so obviously clear??
A story I recently wrote about B, the woman in the banned painting.
Sarahs’ story: an old-school dyke and breast cancer survivor.
FOR FURTHER READING:
My breast cancer painting censored from local art show
View my paintings of real women.
Art Censorship: How often are ethics so obviously clear??
The victorious outcome: no more censorship!
A story I recently wrote about B, the woman in the banned painting.
Sarahs’ story: an old-school dyke and breast cancer survivor.