Letter From the Editor: I Don’t Have Anything to Write
By Jessica Pierotti
For the first time since April, I don’t have anything I want to write. Or maybe I have too much to write but not enough time to untangle the threads of my thoughts. Selecting one to focus on feels as daunting as actually focusing on anything.
I guess this is the slump I have been fighting off. The “holy shit, we’re still in a pandemic” slump. Plus the, “fighting for a revolution amidst this disheartening and terrifying goddamn election” slump - and the, “fuck, there goes my unemployment” slump - and of course, the classic but uniquely depressing, “here comes winter” slump.
I’ve been running on rage for a few months now, and I swear, it's not performative. This is my coping mechanism - to study, to research, and to rant. The funny thing is, I am truly enraged while being generally optimistic. I have long labeled myself as an optimistic pessimist. The writing I have done so far, has been consistently focused on how dire the circumstances are, as well as how incredibly impactful stepping up together to make change could be. I don’t believe in denial or willful ignorance. I don’t believe in turning away - but if we are going to stare into the void we also need to believe in the capacity for transformation.
But the slump(s). They are oh so real.
***
As my energy begins to shift, I find myself occasionally stalled out and frustrated. On good days this takes the form of being more contemplative, and attempting to think further into the future. Making plans requires some level of blind faith, like booking plane tickets with a lover 6-months out. While Drawstring begins to gain strength, I concurrently question how to maintain and grow it responsibly. How can this, or any project, continually push to be more adaptable, anti-racist, and para-institutional? How can we avoid falling back into producing content, or building structures that echo that which we are trying to escape?
These questions are immense, and I am impatient. I want answers now. I want change now. I want to UNDERSTAND now. Yet I am increasingly aware that impatience is mainly a manifestation of ego and hubris. Not knowing, waiting, letting things come organically, requires a certain release of control - an acceptance of potential failure, of fallibility, of never-knowing. Sometimes it is about the process of looking for the answers, more than the answers themselves. As a white woman entering into active rather than passive activism and study of race in America - a desire to dive-in and understand and serve is useful, but can also be superficial and self-important. There are some things I can never know, or do not have the right to know. I can never completely undo the way my privilege has shaped me. I can never be “absolved” of the harm my whiteness has caused and will continue to cause. Luckily, we don’t exist in a vacuum, and my weaknesses can be subsidized when in community with others.
***
My dear colleague recently wrote to her students (which I then borrowed and wrote to my students), "There will be inevitable areas in which I, too, fail you.” I have never in all my years within education, had a professor tell me this. What would it have been like if they did? This statement does not absolve one of responsibility for failure. It is in fact, in the ideal, taking even greater responsibility for it through acknowledgement. What would destigmatizing failure in our culture look like?
In many ways this is already active in the theory of art education. We teach students to try, to experiment, to fail. We teach them that the works on the wall are preceded by piles of trashed projects and balled up scraps of illegible notes. We encourage students to accept harsh critique, and then move on to something new with their heads up and a lesson under their belt. Yet, we often fail to take this out into the world - to be actively critical of ourselves, our peers, and our institutions in the same way. Generally educators ask their students to be vulnerable, tell them that the classroom is a safe space, while the greater community of art and education is a harsher and more competitive battlefield, entrenched in white supremacy and capitalist exploitation.
Students compete for funding. Hundreds compete for a single art school teaching position. Professors compete with other professors. Artists compete with artists – stealing ideas instead of sharing them, or using copyright laws to guard against thoughtful re-use. Artists compete for shows in a limited number of exhibition spaces instead of finding their own ways to exhibit outside of these competitive venues. Artists conceal opportunities from their friends as a way of getting an edge up on the capital-driven competition. Gallerists compete with other gallerists and curators compete with curators. Artists who sell their work compete for the attention of a limited number of collectors. Collectors compete with other collectors to acquire the work of artists. This is a treadmill made from decomposing shit that is so devoid of nutrients that even its compost won’t allow anything fresh to grow.
- Marc Fischer in “Against Competition”
Not all corners of the artistic community look like this, but even if you’ve built a creative Eden, these words nonetheless ring true. If this is the general state of the environment young and hopeful artists are met with it’s no wonder that they calcify and struggle with vulnerability and community building. If we are always armed for battle, how could we have a hand free to reach out to one another?
***
Community has been on my mind since early in the pandemic. The first piece I have ever written to the public was posted on March 17th. I was responding to the overdrive of productivity propaganda swirling through social media as we entered isolation.
“...now confronted by this crisis, [it’s important] that we focus on staying calm and healthy, and maybe plotting the overthrow of our current government. Not to create a new competition. Not to be in competition with one another, but to be positive and supportive for one another.”
Unlearning concepts of competition, independence and freedom - that in reality only make us weaker and less free - will be a lifelong project. None of this is fast. There is no place for impatience with your own personal growth, or your communities' growth. There are no shortcuts, and there are no recipes either. As we’ve seen, the “just add water” communities of academia or our workplaces are too often incredibly unhealthy. In contrast, "We know perfectly well that one can build their own community - and though more challenging, it has the potential to be a much more inclusive and radical one at that.” Some of us may already have a strong community that embraces care, criticality and growth. Some may have all the ingredients but they haven’t quite coalesced yet. While some have communities that are toxic and in need of overhaul, others may just feel disconnected and unsure where to start.
Learning to see each other as collaborators, not competition, will come through practice. Connecting with people deeply is challenging and vulnerable. Letting people watch you fail, and accepting their help is even harder. As I bring this argument forward, I do not intend to depict myself as transcendent from the culture of competition. I have failed at this, driven by fear and insecurity. I have lived deeply under the spell of the false scarcity narrative. Most notably while in Grad school, so incredibly raw for the entire two years, I often failed to show up for and support my cohort. I regret this, but at least understand now. One can believe in something while still struggling with how to live it.
But you gain trust on a large and small-scale the same way - you keep showing up, and listening, and humble yourself whenever possible. Building community will be slow. Individually, I am a work in progress. My impatience and desire for immediate gratification is my ego looking for a win - foolishly believing there is a finish line. So now I will lay down and accept the slump, accept the phases of reflection between the phases of action. But I’m still laying on the couch with my laptop perched on my belly, pushing and prodding at ideas, and encouraging them to materialize. We can reject a culture of competition and productivity, and still produce. It’s ok if sometimes you don’t have anything to write.
Introducing Drawstring LEARN
In a first small step to build greater engagement and community through Drawstring, we will be presenting some low-cost educational programming on a range of topics. The first of which will be a Writers Workshop for Non-Writers, hosted by myself…a non-writer. We are building out more programs with some really talented folks and we can’t wait to share them with you in the coming months. If you are interested in getting involved and/or would like to pitch a piece of programming, you can learn more and submit your info here.