I am proud of several things. I was single-handedly responsible for the massive East Coast syphilis outbreak, for example—oh, just kidding—but organizing Wigstock is even more important than that. And it lasted twenty years, not a bad run for New York City. For a couple of years we had terrible weather—it’s hard to clap and hold an umbrella at the same time—and we lost money hand over fist. At present we’ve stopped putting the festival on as an annual event, but who knows what’ll happen in the future. Wigstock transformed people. It allowed me to bring a lot of zany, bewigged freaks together in the light of day for a very memorable annual blowout bash—even the somber New York Times wrote that “the karma was dynamite.” And it allowed me to use my smart-ass humor—with the emphasis on ass, of course.
SUE COE
Illuminating the Truth
Sue Coe’s work shocks and upsets people, in no small part because it encompasses such shied-away-from subject matter as the Ku Klux Klan, apartheid, Malcolm X, skinheads,AIDS, labor and sweatshop conditions, war, and animal rights. Her paintings are whole depictions, rather than glimpses, of what goes on in places most of us will never set foot in because we never, ever want to go there, physically or mentally. Once Sue Coe draws you inside them, through her work, any comfortable view of the world you might have had is whisked away. Somehow, too, her work is alive with sounds. Opening her book, Sheep of Fools, I can hear the sheep boarding the multitiered, open-decked ships taking them to the markets of the Middle East; in How to Commit Suicide in South Africa I can even hear the escaping breath of the men who, because of the color of their skin, are sent plummeting into the abyss. The sounds aren’t there on the page, but I hear them; that is how powerfully she paints.
Sue believes her paintings are beautiful for reasons she explains in this verse:
Are these pictures all too dark for you?
Too much black? Too much blue?
Too much squalor?
Too much crime in this landscape of our time?
Then open your eyes, X out their lies, and work with your minds, your hearts, your sinews for a better world.
It would seem many people are keen to embrace Sue’s “better world.”Trained at the prestigious Royal College of Art in London, her work has appeared in numerous publications including the New York Times, the New Yorker, Art News, Time, Newsweek, and Mother Jones. Her paintings have been included in the permanent collections of countless museums including the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art, the Whitney, and the Arts Council of Great Britain. Yet in spite of all her acclaim, what Sue really cares about is telling the truth.
Our house, when I was growing up, was in front of a hog factory farm, and one block away from a slaughterhouse. The pigs were kept in steel sheds. In front of the sheds was a chained German shepherd; he was chained for my entire childhood. The chain would rattle and get caught up in the dog’s legs. Lights would go on in the sheds at night, illuminating our bedroom, and the pigs would start to scream. It was a very rundown place, and my sister and I were scared of the German shepherd. There were a lot of rats, and they would get the exterminator to come and put down poison. In the morning, we would find moles that had been killed, and would examine their soft fur and perfect paws.
One day, a small pig escaped the slaughterhouse, and she ran in and out of the traffic, desperate to get away. Men in white aprons, covered in blood, ran after her. Small groups of people congregated to watch, and they started to laugh and point. I asked my mother why this was so funny, and she said it was not funny, the pig was going to be caught and killed. My parents grew up in England during World War II and always told me that they didn’t know about the death camps; what the Fascists had done came as a total shock. They survived the German bombs as teenagers, and because of this, everything in their lives was related to the war. Many buildings where we lived outside of London were still in ruins, entire rooms would be exposed, showing a fireplace, and photographs on the mantelpiece, staircases intact, but no walls. Our questions as children weren’t really answered about how this could have happened, but even without their input I made the connection between the hell of the war and the hell of what was going on next door to us.
When it came time to slaughter the pigs, which would happen every six months or so, there would be a terrible noise at night. They’d whip the pigs to get them into the truck, and they would go down the road to the slaughterhouse. I wanted to know why this was happening, and my parents said this was “food” and to “grow up,” and not worry about it. Yet here we were, living next door to a death camp, but for a different species. And then I started to understand why this could happen, how we humans can develop a mechanism to deny reality. Our behaviors are learned for the most part, and we learn early on as children that some lives are lesser than others. A spider web can be torn down, a mouse trapped, a frog dissected, a deer in the garden becomes a nuisance, a rat becomes “vermin,” an undocumented worker becomes an “infestation.” If we accept that some lives are more valuable and important than others, then we can be easily manipulated by corporations into killing total strangers in wars, and slaughtering billions of other animals for no logical reason other than profit and power for a tiny minority. Therefore, why not a pig?
When I was about ten years old, I went with my friend to the door of the slaughterhouse and demanded to be showed around, as I wanted to know what was happening. The workers in the slaughterhouse treated our request seriously, they were not patronizing, and they did show us around, they showed us everything that happens in the process of slaughter. The vision of the escaped pig couldn’t be ignored; she became louder and louder in my mind, along with the sad chained dog, the mice that were kept in the school laboratory, the fishes in plastic bags, won as prizes at the fair, the old elephant at the traveling circus.
This experience as a child sent me on my lifetime’s mission that was to be an artist, and to reveal what was being concealed. To get into places that have closed doors, and to give art the potential of changing the world, not just reflecting it. Truth is beauty, to me. If the art is honest, and shows the reality, then it is beautiful. As an artist, I have drawn in slaughterhouses, stockyards, prisons, AIDS hospices, night courts, and sweatshops. A pencil is not threatening to people, they can see what I am drawing, and can witness the process, and if they want the drawing, they can have it. I think that people don’t want to go into slaughterhouses, because they say “there is nothing I can do about it,” but what they really mean is they don’t want to be a witness without power, because that would put them in the same position animals are in for their entire lives. To witness shocking events is to be traumatized on some level, and what artists do who depict these scenes is retraumatize the viewer. It’s a way for the viewer who cannot gain access to a slaughterhouse, or prison, or miners’ strike, or women’s shelter, or canned hunt, or be in a war, all those sights we are denied by the mass media, to access that information at their own pace, without being told what to think. It’s a way for the artist to share that vision and for the victims not to be alone; their voice is heard, even if it is by only one other. When I drew women in prison who had HIV/AIDS, I was frightened of the women, but then I realized that it was their lives that were frightening, not them. It only took a few moments to comprehend that I could be in their shoes, a few moments of reality to undo the propaganda we are fed.The seemingly conquered and oppressed are always kinder than the conquistadors.
Art does not happen until the viewer allows it to happen. If the viewer can observe in the work an investment of time and struggle for meaning, then there is a trust in the content. A simple pencil drawing can become the greatest tool for change in the world if it puts life before art. Art is a way of slowing time down, not speeding it up; it is the nature of art to be about progressive change, to grow alongside social justice struggles. There are very few great artists in history who we can say side with the ideology of fascism.
SUSAN COHN
A Focused Lens o
n Life
When Susan Cohn was pregnant, she decided to make a film about the birth of her daughter, Annabel.The result, The Baby Shower, became an award-winning documentary. Bitten by the filmmaking bug, Susan founded Jalapeño Productions, and went on to film Green Fire: Lives of Commitment and Passion in a Fragile World, which highlighted ten women who were granted environmental excellence awards by the United Nations Environment Programme. She has never stopped making films. She is also an author whose books include Green at Work: Finding a Business Career That Works for the Environment and Finding Your Way with an MBA. Her orientation is social justice and the creative arts, interests that have led her to be a board member of the Alaska Conservation Foundation, a foundation that works to conserve the ecosystems of Alaska and keep its communities sustainable and vital, and to serve as a policy advisor on Design Arts funding for the National Endowment for the Arts.
What started out as a little diversion has blossomed into a most satisfying occupation. Susan Cohn’s curiosity has not only taken her behind the camera but has opened countless other eyes and allowed filmgoers to accompany her on her exploration of unfamiliar worlds and other people’s thoughts and cultures.Susan belongs in the book for proving that enthusiasm is sometimes all you need to develop a lifetime’s journey.
Through documentaries, I believe that voices from underrepresented peoples or subcultures that have value but no feasible platform can come to life. And that all of society can benefit from such exposure.The more we can increase our knowledge and understanding of one another, the greater chance we have at being happy and productive. I tend to pick my subject matter based upon what I’m curious about, where my own questions are leading me. For instance, when I became pregnant with my first child I made a documentary about my baby shower. I came to realize that, yes, there are streamers, frilly dresses, and silly games involved, but beneath that there’s a ritual of wisdom being passed down; that women steadfastly gather to help the mother (in this case, me) find grounding, peace, and strength in her new life. They do so by sharing their stories, stories of joy and stories of sorrow.
I’m also particularly drawn to individuals who are struggling to make a positive difference in this world. Early on, I made a documentary for Environmental Weekly (PBS affiliate distribution) about several women who’d been granted environmental excellence awards by the United Nations Environment Programme. More recently, I made a documentary about Richard Nelson, an activist anthropologist who’s working to save the Tongass National Forest in Alaska. After college, I lived in Alaska teaching the Inuit people about organic gardening, so once more the draw to the subject matter was personal.
One of the most enjoyable and most bizarre documentaries I’ve made involved ultraruns. This is a modern marathon, where people run 100 miles in thirty-six hours or less. The elite runners do it in less than twenty-four. I found them fascinating: How did they train their bodies to endure such a grueling race, how did they train their minds, did they eat as they ran, were there bathrooms along the trails, did they run straight through day and night? Luckily, my former husband was one of them! So I brought along my camera and a crew to several key races and found a way to answer my questions. I often have no idea what the ending of my films will be, but here, additionally, I wasn’t even sure of what I was going to say. It was only through delving into the subject matter and trying to understand these people without judgment that the film came alive. I still receive e-mails about Running Madness. While sometimes thinking these runners are nuts, people are nevertheless inspired by the power of the human spirit.
I began making documentaries after writing my first book. Writing requires a lot of time spent alone, and although my book sold well, I felt that I wanted to stretch my artistic capacity into a visual medium. I had taken photography classes at the International Center for Photography in New York City and knew I had talent at framing and giving life to objects, plus after so many months shut away in my room, I thought a more collaborative environment would be fun. Friends in the business told me not to go to film school but rather to hire good people to work with me and, in a sense, apprentice to them. I took their advice, and for The Baby Shower, my first documentary, I hired filmmakers from NYU and a consultant who worked on feature films.All in all, I invested about $5,000, whereas film school costs about $40,000 and that’s not including the money it takes to make a film! Together we created a documentary that went on to win at festivals and obtain distribution. This got me started. And with a bit of luck—and let me emphasize luck has a lot to do with everything in this business, along with connections—I was able to build my career from there.
Nowadays, documentaries can be made cheaply with the advanced technology available. And with highly watched Web streams such as YouTube, film-focused organizations like Witness (an international human rights organization that provides training and support to local groups to use video in their human rights advocacy campaigns), and the continually blossoming film festivals around the country, the odds of having your documentary seen have never been greater. These new communities create forums for better communication and a wider view of the world.
I believe in the old adage that if you change the mind of one person you can change the world. This isn’t to say that documentaries should only be made about conventional social injustice. They can be about anything from some peoples’ obsession with cats to mermaids to the use of scent in Proust’s novels, whatever the filmmaker chooses. If it’s done with intentionality, passion, and curiosity, it will impact the audience and encourage greater insight and empathy for one another. It’s this increased kindness toward each other, based on increased knowledge of any aspect of human nature, that will bring about profound change.
HIS HOLINESS THE DALAI LAMA
Don’t Worry, Be Happy
Tenzin Gyatso, His Holiness, the fourteenth Dalai Lama, is the spiritual and temporal leader of Tibet. He is believed by his followers to be the manifestation of Avalokiteshvara, the Bodhisattva of Compassion. He was born into a large farming family in the province of Amdo in 1935, and is said to have been watched over by a pair of wild crows, considered a potent omen. At the age of two, he was recognized as the reincarnation of the thirteenth Dalai Lama when regents from Lhasa organized a search party that led them to his village, based, as Tibetan tradition dictates, upon a series of visions and signs.The men tested him by placing some of the thirteenth Dalai Lama’s relics on the ground in front of him. At the sight of the objects, the child cried, “They’re mine!”
In 1950, at the ripe old age of sixteen, he was called upon to assume full power as Head of State, due to China’s increasing military threat. Before he was out of his teens, he was entering into talks with Chairman Mao, and later, in hopes of finding support for his country, with Prime Minister Nehru. By 1959, he was forced into exile, having to cross the Everlasting Snows on foot and at risk of being shot, after the Chinese occupation of Tibet. I was living in New Delhi at the time and can remember that there were suddenly Tibetan refugees everywhere. Our dinner-table talk was of the revered man who considers himself “just a simple monk” (he went on to win the Nobel Peace Prize).Over the years, I grew to admire his advocacy of respect for all sentient life, his belief in altruism and unlimited compassion, his championship of harmony and understanding between different religions, and his view that all of us desire the same things: happiness and freedom from suffering. One reason, and there are many, that it is a delight to include his essay in this book is that he is a joyous person. And a very practical one. He points out that there will always be suffering and that if a situation is “fixable,” there is no need to worry, and “if not, there is no benefit to worrying.” He smiles and laughs because he knows he is doing all he can and that fretting serves no purpose! His contribution to this book is perhaps the most succinct and important message of all.
Compassion is one of the principal things that makes our lives meaningful. It is the source of all lasting happiness and joy. And it
is the foundation of a good heart, the desire to help others. Through kindness, through affection, through honesty, through truth and justice toward everyone else, we also ensure our own benefit.
The necessity of love and compassion is the real basis of my religion, my simple faith. To put them into practice within a secular framework we don’t need a temple, church, or other building, nor any complicated philosophy. Our own hearts and minds are where we work, while the only doctrine we need is compassion. So long as we put this into practice in our daily lives, so long as we have compassion for others and conduct ourselves with restraint out of a sense of responsibility, there is no doubt we will be happy.
PIERRE DULAINE
Helping Children Find Their Feet
If you have seen the documentary film Mad Hot Ballroom, or the feature film Take the Lead, starring Antonio Banderas as Pierre Dulaine, you have some idea of the impact this gifted dancer has had on children in the New York City Public Schools system. From shy bookworms to cocky delinquents, when children discover that they can move to music and start enjoying the experience, a transformation is often in the works despite their fierce initial resistance.
One Can Make a Difference Page 5