There Is No They
illustration by Greg Chinn for Outer Voice
There is only We.
Today that can feel like a platitude at best and, at worst, a lie. We’re locked in our homes, watching the world burn on the news, managing social media thread wars between loved ones. We feel isolated, and no amount of car companies and celebrities claiming they’re here for us will make a dent in that.
Cecil Baldwin reflected on this growing loneliness during a conversation for Issue 04 of Outer Voice. “I'm stuck in my apartment, and in a lot of ways I feel like I’m adrift at sea in a tiny little boat in the middle of Brooklyn, and I know there's people out there, and I know there's a world beyond my apartment, but I can't quite reach them.”
We really are interconnected. We really are all made of the same stuff. We really do all depend on one another.
It may feel like us vs them, but it’s really us vs us. Always.
A quick look at the complicated supply chain of my iPhone or daily cup of coffee is to be reminded of how globally interconnected we all are.
We are increasingly conscious of just how deeply interconnected our continued existence is. As economies grind to a halt, we’re reminded that farmers in Kenya rely on the corner coffee house just as much as our barista friends who work there. Port towns in the Netherlands rely on ships from China. And 2.6 billion fewer metric tons of carbon dioxide will be emitted into the atmosphere this year, thanks to the big slowdown.
Thinking of the world’s increasingly complex and fragile supply chains reminds me of a beautiful project from Shared Studios called Shared_Portals. Beginning in 2015, these brilliant gold shipping containers were placed around the world in an attempt to create interactive “wormholes” to other places. Iraqi refugee camps, Mexican public parks, cities in America and Afghanistan — all these places were connected through these portals, creating an opportunity for connection and empathy.
The Buddhist monk and teacher Thich Nhat Hanh wrote,
“If you are a poet, you will see clearly that there is a cloud floating in this sheet of paper. Without a cloud, there will be no rain; without rain, the trees cannot grow; and without trees, we cannot make paper. The cloud is essential for the paper to exist. If the cloud is not here, the sheet of paper cannot be here either. So we can say that the cloud and the paper inter-are.”
You and me, the people we don’t know, the ones we vehemently disagree with, our heroes and villains, our politicians, preachers and crooks. We’re all in this together.
Each of us affects the other in some way — in how we spend our money, in our choice to speak harshly or kindly to a stranger, in the moment we put on a mask, throw away plastic or choose to stand up for our neighbor.
If we make art that even only one other person ever sees or hears, we make an impact on the interconnected web of us all. Even if we make art that nobody ever sees or hears, it can we ourselves can be transformed by it in such a way that we move more lightly, more kindly, more boldly in the world.
I’ve learned in 20 years of talking with artists from every discipline that community is of vital importance to the growth of an artist, the creation of movements and the shared joy of audiences. Artists need people and people need art. We need each other.
Now, during the great pause, the great slowdown, we need to reevaluate how we connect and how our art forms may need to change to continue to create connection. If we can no longer gather in galleries or venues, how can we connect?
What can we learn from artists who came before? Art born from epidemics, oppressive regimes, calamity?
What can we learn from our individual sense of aloneness that is universal?
What can we do today to better inter-be?
Need help defining your voice or reaching your audience? Give me a shout. I offer consulting and services for all kinds of individual artists and arts organizations.
