Yesterday, I spent a couple of hours trying to mentally exonerate myself for having made a statement that offended someone of whom I’m very fond. I lost the argument with myself.
In describing someone we were discussing, I started to say something, thought better of it, then decided to go ahead, but not before uttering the following: “This is going to sound terrible. But I can say this to you guys.”
Then I stumbled into the mire by following that with this, “She’s like a little old Jewish lady.” My mental image was of the Linda Richman character, his real life mother-in-law, that Mike Myers parodied on Saturday Night Live. But, of course, that’s not what came out of my mouth.
So, I argued with myself. First, I defended myself with the fact my family is multi-racial and multi-ethnic, including the Jewish ethnicity. Therefore, since my friends knew this, I couldn’t possibly be making a prejudiced statement.
What? I will blanketly say that everyone is prejudiced; all people, with the possible exception of actual saints. It is human nature to fear the unknown, and that it the genesis of most prejudice. I firmly believe that it is our responsibility as human beings to fight our own prejudices fervently.
That being said, what my own statement revealed to me was that my first reaction to the phrase “little old Jewish lady” would be Mike Myers’ caricature, in spite of the fact that I know two lovely women who would technically qualify for the phrase, but are both in reality, nothing like Linda Richman.
Secondly, the fact that the person we were discussing – gossiping about, actually – was not someone we liked. Therefore, the statement had to be negative.
At its core, the comment I made was prejudiced, although it wasn’t my intent to offend. Intent is not the determining factor here. Result is.
So, in essence, I learned a valuable lesson, one I am so surprised to have realized at this late date and after years of being offended at the thoughtless comments of others. I apologize to my friend and hope that others, who read this, may be inspired to examine their own reconceived notions about races, ethnicities and other ways of life.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
The Arts in America
Whether one is a writer, painter, sculptor, actor, musician, dancer or any other of the disciplines of creativity, it is expected by family and others that you will end up starving; making no money, existing on the edge of poverty. In reality, that perception is often true.
Great societies of the past valued art and literature. Creatives were valued. Patrons supported those who struggled to bring forth great works of inner vision. Art was a much a treasure as gold and jewels. Even the horrific Nazi regime, hardly a great society but a powerful one nonetheless, sought to capture for itself all the great artworks of Europe.
When I look around what I currently see is a great disregard for art, literature, performance in all its many forms. These things have become business endeavors but not in the sense that creativity is preserved. Instead, the artwork we seek to hang on our walls must match the fabric in our couches and cost less that a night out. The books we read voraciously, myself included, are the pulp mill works that lull us to sleep just like much of the television programming we watch. We have come to value the regurgitation of comic books into film and shun the small independent films of substance. Think? We shouldn’t be required to think in our choices of reading or viewing, should we?
Bear in mind, I make fun of myself here as much as the next woman. I’ve bought the machined artwork that matched my living room, too. I’ve reached for my Janet Evanovich novel with relish, too. Evanovich’s books in the Stephanie Plum series are fantastic fun, but really don’t stretch the brain at all. So, I try to alternate between the pure enjoyment of the easier books to read and the tougher, sometimes depressing reads of Oprah’s book selections, for example.
I personally have not supported the arts nearly enough. It is time to put my money, what little there is, where my mouth is and go see a play locally. If I feel the need to decorate my meager wallspace in Wanda, my RV, it will be with something produced by an artist who fights for her place in this world, instead of something from a giant warehouse store that blends well with the highly utilitarian space I call home.
This awareness came over me suddenly and as a result I’ve decided to do something about the state of the Arts in my own city – Sacramento. I have big plans and will happily share them in upcoming stories on my other blog – SacramentoandBeyond.blogspot.com.
See you soon, in an art gallery somewhere – if not in person, in spirit.
Great societies of the past valued art and literature. Creatives were valued. Patrons supported those who struggled to bring forth great works of inner vision. Art was a much a treasure as gold and jewels. Even the horrific Nazi regime, hardly a great society but a powerful one nonetheless, sought to capture for itself all the great artworks of Europe.
When I look around what I currently see is a great disregard for art, literature, performance in all its many forms. These things have become business endeavors but not in the sense that creativity is preserved. Instead, the artwork we seek to hang on our walls must match the fabric in our couches and cost less that a night out. The books we read voraciously, myself included, are the pulp mill works that lull us to sleep just like much of the television programming we watch. We have come to value the regurgitation of comic books into film and shun the small independent films of substance. Think? We shouldn’t be required to think in our choices of reading or viewing, should we?
Bear in mind, I make fun of myself here as much as the next woman. I’ve bought the machined artwork that matched my living room, too. I’ve reached for my Janet Evanovich novel with relish, too. Evanovich’s books in the Stephanie Plum series are fantastic fun, but really don’t stretch the brain at all. So, I try to alternate between the pure enjoyment of the easier books to read and the tougher, sometimes depressing reads of Oprah’s book selections, for example.
I personally have not supported the arts nearly enough. It is time to put my money, what little there is, where my mouth is and go see a play locally. If I feel the need to decorate my meager wallspace in Wanda, my RV, it will be with something produced by an artist who fights for her place in this world, instead of something from a giant warehouse store that blends well with the highly utilitarian space I call home.
This awareness came over me suddenly and as a result I’ve decided to do something about the state of the Arts in my own city – Sacramento. I have big plans and will happily share them in upcoming stories on my other blog – SacramentoandBeyond.blogspot.com.
See you soon, in an art gallery somewhere – if not in person, in spirit.
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