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"Our
ideas held no water, but we used 'em like a dam." - Modest
Mouse
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1-
Me, Myself & I
2-Politics
3-Art
4-Race 5-Consumerism
6-Children
7-Media
& Society
8-General
9-Heroes
next
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(August 2007)
What's in a name? |
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My son Asher XT Gordon was
born in 2004. My wife and I labored over names; we both knew that it
had to mean something special. Something for us, something for him, and
something for the future.
I was exposed to charged racial situations early in my life. At
this point, I think that it is important for me to point out that I have
not had an abundance of black friends. I am not pretending.
But, I have had a few good friends and acquaintances throughout my life,
which makes these incidents (by percentage) all the more powerful.
I may not have had a lot of black friends, but I have had even fewer
real heroes.
In grade
school, I moved from nearly all white suburbs to a nearly all black city
school. My first experience with race was with a “troubled” boy (whom I
befriended) named Cecil Cooper. He was black, and I invited Cecil over
for dinner one day, and he abruptly asked “how do your parents feel
about black people?” I didn’t really know the answer to this, and I was
surprised by the question. I remember thinking: What
difference does it make if you’re black? That’s how naive I was.
This was the first of many experiences of being reminded and confronted
by race while growing up. Sometimes it would go under my radar,
sometimes it would raise my awareness, and other times it would raise my
anger. I went from the white middle class suburbs to the inner city, and
then back to the upper class suburbs. My education placement went from
average (middle class), to top tier (inner city), to bottom tier (upper
class). That upper class placement never let me forget where I
came from. I was that white kid from the city, a place
where poor people lived. Later
on, there was the time I went into a record store with my black
friend Al, and after leaving he pointed out that they had heat-sealed his
bag shut, but not mine. There was the high school bon fire where my
black friend Derek had numerous racial comments directed solely at him
by the one of the sheriffs who busted it up. There was the boyfriend
from Kentucky of the girl having a small college house party who pulled
out a Ku Klux Klan outfit and told nigger jokes as soon as the “negroes” left the party
(true story). Race
is so prevalent to my history, that it is intricately interwoven into
who I am.
I grew up during the
70’s- with heroes like Hank Arron, and Muhammad Ali. I grew up during
the dawn of Hip Hop, and was exposed to Run DMC
in 1983, and regularly believed that the dawn of rap was the music of the
revolution. In my first college
literature class I was exposed to the works of James Baldwin, Langston
Hughes, and the Harlem Renaissance. When I read the autobiography of
Malcolm X in 1987, it literally changed my life. I heard one of
the most moving political speeches of my life come from Jesse Jackson at
the 1988 Democratic convention ("You
must never stop dreaming. Face the pain of reality- yes, but don't stop
with the way things are. Dream of things as they ought to be."). When I was turned on to Malcolm,
the prevailing mentality from the white population was
that he was a violent reverse-racist (which is in itself a misnomer). I came away with a different idea
of Malcolm. His life and the changes within his short life were
deeply inspirational.
I saw Malcolm X as a
hero. Not make believe, but a real hero. And like I
stated earlier, I did not have an abundance of real heroes. The short facts are:
In his youth, his family was subjected to horrific
crimes ranging from
racial humiliation to murder. His life followed a road of crime,
hustling, and
superficial coping mechanisms. In prison he was exposed to Islam and education.
He returned to a childhood love of knowledge and
changed his life to move away from avoidance to confrontation. He became a leader out of a love for his people, and
as a necessary defense (some may say offense) in racist America. He
advocated change “By Any Means Necessary”, and was a vocal critic of
race, American history, and the government. He had the courage to
confront his own convictions, and he did by constantly evolving his
philosophy until his murder in 1965 at the age of 39.
As of this writing,
I’m 39.
I was once asked at a
conference to name the most educated, and well rounded individual I
could think of, and why. I named Malcolm X (to the obvious shock
of my educational counterparts). I explained that he was the total package.
He is the high water mark of how good and admirable a human being can
become, no matter where they start out. He was versatile in knowledge,
had ferocious oratory skills, legendary convictions, he sweated truth
and bled honesty. Always fiery, but never showy- he liked to Make it Plain.
That’s the way he preferred to be introduced. How could I not
have someone of this caliber, this American hero, this example of what I
think the human race should strive to be- factor into the name of my
son? For many people Malcolm X is the past- a history of what
was. For me, he is the future of what will be.
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(April 2008)
Thunder's End |
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In September of 1993 at the age of 78, my father passed away. In October of 1993, I took
a part time job working in an animal hospital. I wanted the job because
I loved animals, and I needed to do something extra that felt soothing.
One day in October I came in to find a large German Sheppard half in a
large cage, and half on a blanket on the floor of the back exam area.
It was alive, but just laying there. His name was Thunder. Thunder
suffered from a common problem with large dogs. His stomach had twisted
and he could not ingest food, nor process anything in his bowel. At the
time it was a $600 surgery to fix the problem. All day I sat around and
petted him, waiting to see if he was going to have surgery or if he was
going to be put down. ALL DAY I waited. The whole time I was petting
him I was thinking about my father being in intensive care for 3
months. There was medication being administered to ease the discomfort,
and an IV, and everything we could do to make him comfortable. Just at
closing, the owner came in. He was a gruff man in his 30's that looked
like a trucker. He could not pay for the surgery and opted to
put Thunder down. I held Thunder on my lap while they injected him. I
made the decision to have my father taken off of life support less
than a month prior. I felt his breathing slow, I felt his heart stop,
and then Thunder was not there…my father was not there- they were just
gone. There was a body, but no dog. There was a body, but no person.
Whatever my father was- what was left was not what I knew. 
At the same time as this event I was teaching Illustration at R.I.T.,
and I did a painting demonstration for every class I taught. I th ought
that this was a great chance to show students that the depth of visual
art can hit on many levels. That the idea was to capture the change of
that moment, from life to death. Something “real” and something
missing. Chaos to nothing. Sound to silence. And in my head, maybe to
understand the weight of my fathers death. This painting hangs in my
dining room and represents one of the great turning points of my life-
the one where I had to suddenly pay attention.
I
find myself thinking about this a lot- that moment when what makes us
"us"...goes away. That moment when we just return to being a
random selection of stuck together carbon. I titled it “Thunders
End” for a few reasons. Obviously it was the end of this dog’s life.
But more importantly there was a painting by Andrew Wyeth called Distant
Thunder. Many people have characterized this painting as a signal to
the oncoming turbulence of the mid to late 60's. It was painted prior
to the mass social upheaval and change (The dog is said to have his ear
perked at the thunder which represents the coming social change). I was
a big fan of his work, and it just clicked: "Distant Thunder...Thunder's
End". His painting may have symbolized the social upheaval breaking the
peace of the nap. My painting was more about the internal struggle and
loss of my father. I am not comparing my work to Andrew Wyeth, I am
bringing Wyeth into my understanding. I have 2 or 3 paintings that I
think are actually important. Not just as art, but as markers for my
life. This is one of the most important.
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(June2008)
Horror and Home
both begin with H-O... |
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I
am a huge lifelong fan of horror films. Sitting down to watch a new
Horror movie is as good as opening a new sketchbook, it has endless
possibilities. When I was a ki d,
my father used to order 8 millimeter parts of horror movies to show me on
weekends. I grew up with Lon Chaney, giant city crushing tarantulas,
and Godzilla like they were my family. My big radioactive family.
I routinely read Famous Monsters of Filmland, and eventually Fangoria
magazine. I loved to be scared, I loved the unknown, the monsters, the danger,
and the
anticipation of what might be in the dark.
I
was 6 when I started watching old horror movies via 8mm.
8 when I was dropped off with friends to see Godzilla
Saturday matinee’s, 9 when I moved into a house that had
the same Amityville horror house demonic windows, and 10 when I walked to the theater at night with friends to watch
the Exorcist. 11 when I was snuck into a drive-in
inside a box to see Dawn of the Dead (which was originally rated X), and
12 when I first saw Halloween in the theater.
Everyone has something that they use to add spice to life. For
some it is the faith in
religion, some believe in UFO’s, some ghosts, some space travel, some
visit psychics, or
read romance novels. It’s what we can’t get a hold of that
sometimes
gets a hold of us. I like the darker side of myself. I like to feel
the fear. To possibly face something so dark that it consumes me.
I
have always received the odd look for reading about serial killers, or the
supernatural. In fifth grade a phone call was made to my mother bec ause
I was reading Rosemary’s Baby at school…and this caused some alarm in my
teacher. In junior high school (a
time of terror for everyone), I was ridiculed for not having bikini-clad chick pics
up in my locker. Instead I had Michael Myers, zombies, and monsters.
And yes- I pretty much set myself up for junior high brutality with that
stylish locker decor'. But, I have always been myself and not part
of the pack. I remember a 7th grade health class where everyone was asked
what their favorite movie was. We all went around in a circle
shouting out the movie we loved. EVERY kid in that class said
either "Meatballs" or "Caddyshack"...except me. I blurted out
"Dawn of the Dead". That was another phone call home. I did
it not to be different, but because it was my favorite movie...I mean
c'mon...a zombie got the top of his head cut off by a helicopter!
For
the record, I do not plan on killing anyone…I actually detest real
violence. In my art I have a reoccurring fascination for the
broken mind, but that does not transfer to burying any bodies
stuffed into foot lockers in my
basement. I also am a strict skeptic. I want to believe,
but I am hard pressed to see proof. There is a lot of difference
between a leap of faith and a leap of logic. That makes me
an oddity. For most psychologists, I
would be red-flagged for my fascinations. Horror, serial killers, and
the occult tends to do that. When I was a kid, most school officials
just thought I was odd. Oh how the times have changed! In that today- I may be
scheduled for extensive testing to be sure that I would not one day show
up with a duffle bag filled with automatic weapons. That's what
happens when you use profiles to judge in a superficial manner-over
actually talking with people. You miss the context of real life, and
therefore the real person. If the me from 25 years ago were to
visit a contemporary school setting, I would not be wearing all
black (I detest that also)- I would still be that average kid. I
did not look the part that was expected of me, and I still don't.
Adult expectations are tough on all kids. I take pride in that part of me as an individual person,
and that I survived the expectations. And as a person, horror is simply a part of who I am.
Horror is a tie to my father, and serial killers are a tie to the interest
in the darkness of human beings sparked by horror films. The occult
has always been a what if? scenario for me to entertain myself
with when real life needs a bit of mystery. Life should have some
unknown elements- real life causes real
feelings. When stressed or anxious or
depressed or angry- some people choose to exercise. Some choose to meditate, or eat a half gallon of
ice cream, or yell, or tune out, or drink, smoke, break things…I choose
horror films. It’s like being home. It’s my comfort spot. It's a
spot where the scary things are make believe.
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(August 2008)
The Wall within |
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"We don't need no education. We don't need no thought control.
Hey- Teachers leave those kids alone! All in all we're just
another brick in the wall."
I had no idea what I was listening to as a teen when I put Pink
Floyd’s the Wall on my record player for the first time in 1982, but
I knew it was something important. I had no idea why so many people
wanted me to watch this new fangled V-H-S of a movie based on the
album. You can just sense when you are witnessing creative genius
unf old in front of you. It pulls up the shades to let the light in, and
that is what this music did to me- it blasted the light into me. It
planted the very first seed of doubt in large political or social
movements. It fed the small lil’ part of me inside that was hiding an
individual. It’s only now that I am older, how much I realize the
powerful effect and the importance of that message. (That's Roger
Waters spray painting "No Thought Control" on Israel's separation
barrier in Bethlehem.)
As a teen, I fell into the group in “need of direction”- but there was
very little there to offer me anything substantial. The adults in my
life were very removed, some cared- and some didn’t. That’s life, but
every kid desperately desires help- whether they admit it or not.
I had friends who were all over the board; some studious-some slacker,
some racist-some political, some sexist-some old school, some
innocent-some guilty, some tuned out-and some tuned in. They were all
products of the adults in their lives. That IS what adults are,
every adult is a guide and a teacher- whether they admit it or not.
What the Wall did for my generation x was to reinforce the belief that
we do not need to fall in line like everyone else. That individualism
keeps a society honest. It spoke to us in a way that only true art can-
to the core of our being. That is the importance of art. It made us
believe that we can rise up, that in the end- we can win…even if
winning only means that we get to stand up before being slapped down.
It exposed those slippery slopes that lead to dubious power, slopes that
are created by a weakness and insulated against through bully-like
behavior later in life. It strengthened an old-core-moral standing that
we all contain the ability to make the right choice, even after many
wrongs. And it shined a light on the growing disconnection of youth and
adults. God this music is good!
I
credit this story- this music- this creative genius with starting me on
my path of self examination, and my interest in community equality. I
am not crediting it with making me Mother Teresa (I am far from it), or
making me utilize every hour to help mankind- jus t in being a piece of
the puzzle that gave me direction when I really needed a map. All along
my life's way, at any point- I could have taken a different path. What
kept me on the right path was music like the Wall. And to all of those
moral activists preaching that music is what ruins youth, I give you one
more rebellious Johnny Cash middle finger to tell you that music is part
of what saved me. How many have been saved by censorship?
So whenever I am overwhelmed by the struggle of financial life as an
artist...when I am hounded by those barking about 401K's, and
money-money-money, and expensive cars-vacations- success and failure, or
the grand technology running every aspect of our lives...when I watch
CNN-or FOX news-or read a newspaper, or see the latest self-help craze
(scientology, mediums talking to the dead, or kabbalah anyone?) or hear
just about any politician- I just need to put this CD on to feel strong again.
It led to the right path- one of free and independent thought.
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1-
Me, Myself & I
2-Politics
3-Art
4-Race 5-Consumerism
6-Children
7-Media
& Society
8-General
9-Heroes
nextt |
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