“A choir is made up of many voices, including yours and mine. If one by one all go silent then all that will be left are the soloists.
Don’t let a loud few determine the nature of the sound. It makes for poor harmony and diminishes the song.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration
There is a lot of hand wringing and whining on the internet regarding gun violence, police brutality, bullying, torture, religious violence, prejudice and in general the brutal nature of society. I am not a scholar or a social scientist but it is evident to me that all of these things have been part of human experience for some time. My introduction to this behavior was subtle a first and it just became part of my life. Early on my father used teasing, spanking and bullying as a way to disciple me and “teach me a lesson.” His techniques were not unique, many of my friends during the nineteen forties and fifties had the same experience and few were “spared the rod”. In Catholic school we were told of the horrors of hell and that we would be tortured for eternity if we did not shape up and “fly right”. We also were served a daily dose of quilt and the need for repentance. Our playground was a hot bed of teasing and bulling. We also all played cowboys and indians and killed a lot of “redskins” and played with cap guns, our weapon of choice. We had lot of violent toys, bb guns, tomahawks, slingshots and many of my friends killed birds and some use their bb guns on animals and humans. Saturday theater matinee’s were filled with good old western justice with shoot outs and an occasional hanging. Before I had a family, I witnessed two wars and saw scores of war movies that glorified killing. My children were brought into the world during the Vietnam war and a new batch of war toys was given to the public. As I write this I can hear that old refrain that the good old days produced strong adults with a good sense of right and wrong and the kids of today are coddled and spoiled. We complain that video games are making them violent and they have no respect for authority. If your parents were raising you now, vs. decades ago, they’d be subject to these influences, too.
It is evident to me that most Americans like or tolerate violence in some form. You might enjoy the quarterback throwing a “bomb” or a great tackle rings a players bell. Perhaps you like secret agents dispatching a few bad guys with explosives. Watching a boxer get his “brain rotated” might be something you enjoy. A vengeful pitcher “beaning” a player to get even might be your cup of tea. You may also get your fix of violence and bigotry from soap operas, reality shows, or police dramas. Some simply enjoy bad behavior over and over on U tube. I can’t forget about videos of racing accidents that are often slowed down so we can see someone die in slow motions.
What a surprise. Everyone is now decrying the violence of society. At seventy-five, I am becoming resigned to the fact that we cannot overcome the propensity for violence,
revenge, and prejudice. I do not believe marches, committees, religion, as it is practice today, or science will help us climb out of our prehistoric cave into the light of knowledge. We are already serving time in Dante's hell. Allegorically, the Divine Comedy represents the journey of the soul towards God, with the Inferno describing the recognition and rejection of sin.
Our journey of of the dark cave of despair and toward our god and the rejection of violence, will only happen with enlightenment and leadership. Like the enlightenment or Age of Reason, from the 1650s to the 1780s, the cultural and intellectual forces in Western Europe emphasized reason, analysis and individualism rather than traditional lines of authority. It was promoted by philosophers and thinkers and it challenged the authority of institutions and practices that were deeply rooted in society; there was discussion of ways to reform society with tolerance, creativity, cooperation and reason.
Human cooperation, even more necessary than violence for survival, has evolutionary roots as deep as those of human conflict. Groups may fight because of environmental pressures or resource scarcity, they may also have strong incentives to expand trade relations and build alliances that benefit both parties. The capacity for peaceful and cooperative relationships was surely more essential for the survival and success of the species than bellicosity. Violent resource competition and population density certainly influenced human evolution, predisposing us to competition and violence. But those same pressures can predispose us to cooperation as well.
Competition and Resource Scarcity
And NUH is the letter I use to spell Nutches,
Who live in small caves, known as Niches, for hutches.
These Nutches have troubles, the biggest of which is
The fact there are many more Nutches than Niches.
Each Nutch in a Nich knows that some other Nutch
Would like to move into his Nich very much.
So each Nutch in a Nich has to watch that small Nich
Or Nutches who haven't got Niches will snitch.
Dr. Seuss - On Beyond Zebra (1955)
The unexamined life is not worth living.
Socrates, in Plato, Dialogues, Apology
Greek philosopher in Athens (469 BC - 399 BC)
Finding the starting point for your chosen profession is not easy. We often miss the simple decisions that lend us to our place in this world. It may have been something buried deep in our subconscious or an event that was transformative. Trying to identify this elusive nexus has helped me understand more about the meaning of self and consciousness.
Very deeply imbedded in my mind is a warm memory of my Mom making small boats and hats out of paper scraps. We would sit on the floor, put on our hats and sail the boats on a sea of wooden flooring, around cliffs of furniture and landing on the edge of a carpet island. The island was patterned with lush floral images and teeming wild imaginary animals. We would travel the world and evade sinister pirates and terrible storms. That small connection to the past is imprinted on my mind. It is the basis of my interested in manipulation of material and creative imagery. Throughout the years, I would amuse my students with this simple paper folding. I would create voyages for them using nothing more than simple materials and mental creativity. We would put on our creative hats and explore the world. When I fold scraps of paper to make boats for my grandchildren, I am transported back to those wonderful adventures with my mom and students. That early exposure may have been the cornerstone of my artistic foundation. Many more creative bricks were added each year of my life.
Another brick was placed in the foundation when I was in seventh grade.
My mom gave me a large scrap of brown wrapping paper and challenged me to make a picture. It was near Easter, and my mom suggested that I make a picture to celebrate Easter. I decided I would make a picture of an Easter bunny. Since I was attending Saint Mary’s Catholic grade school, my mom suggested that this secular image would not be appropriate. Undeterred by political correctness, I proceeded with the pagan symbolism. However, a simple decision changed what could have been an embarrassment into an artistic triumph. I added a basket filled with eggs decorated with Christian symbols that the bunny was offering to the heavens. The manipulation of materials and creative story telling showed me the way and solved the problem. My mom kept that picture with her for many years. She shared the picture with everyone and I remember how carefully she would unfold and spread the tattered image on the floor for all to see.
Rediscovering the bricks that support my creative mindset is an ongoing projects. Bits and pieces of images are revealed that contain codes the mind keeps under lock and key. Examining the symbols within my spontaneous drawings and paintings continue to reveal secrets from the recesses of my unconscious mind.
I attended Belleville West High School from 1953 -1957. It was the start of an educational odyssey that ended at Belleville East High School in the spring of 1994. No one had more influence on me than my high school art teacher. Miss Marjorie Murray was my mentor and started me on my journey. She was a small “schoolmarm” looking women, soft spoken and intensely involved in her teaching. Her background was simple but her passion for teaching was a complex mix of small town attitude and an awareness of the world of art. She was an accomplished watercolorist and a scholarly advocate of design education. She finished her career at Belleville Area College. She established the college art department and spent many hours developing the program. When I returned to Belleville to teach she welcomed me and became my biggest fan. She help me get hired as a art teacher and a night school instructor at Belleville Junior College. She passed away quietly a few years ago. No fanfare and just a faded memory to some. She lives in my soul and is forever responsible for my art teaching career. Thank you Miss Murray.
When I was about eight years old I began to help my dad build homes. He built five homes in the Belleville area and I worked with him until I was about eighteen years old. My dad has some general knowledge about construction but most of his expertise was obtained by on site training. His dad, who was a signal maintainer on the Illinois Central Railroad, built his family home using a Sears Roebuck kit home. My dad grew up around tools and electrical equipment and he was trained for an electricians mate rank in the Navy. However, he did get demoted for fighting and lost his stripes. He had a natural aptitude for anything mechanical and he was always curious how things worked. He spent many hours tinkering with old machinery and electrical equipment. After he returned home from the Navy he had a series of jobs that help him hone his mechanical skills. He eventually received an electricians apprenticeship at Scott Air force bace in Belleville and began his career. He had jobs at the Armour meatpacking plant and Ober Nester Glass Company in East St. Louis where he worked in the electrical department. He ended up as an electrician foreman at Granite City steel blast furnace in the 1950’s.
My dad process for building a home was one dictated by the times. He bought the plans from a Pollman mail order catalog. I remember being fascinated with the catalog and blueprints and I spent hours trying to figure out the architectural symbols. Searching for a lot would be the next step. After purchasing the lot, he would use it for collateral to get materials on credit. Building loans were not readily available and this was a way of paying for materials as you built your home. This was a common practice after the second world war. Although it took the world quite awhile to recover from the affects of World War II, the 1950’s were more of a prosperous time than in times past. Vast improvements in housing were made during this period and a priority was placed on building homes for war veterans and their families.. Many young veterans started to move the suburbs near Belleville and build homes. When he finished building, he obtained a loan from the local building and loan and paid off his lumber bill.
Construction began with roughing in the plumbing and pouring the house footing foundation and a concrete slab for the garage; he would then build the garage and install wiring and plumbing. We lived in the attached garage until the home was finished. My dad would work his regular job, as an electrician at Granite City Steel and work on the house when he got home from work. When I was young I got him water and tools and cleaned up the building debris. As I got older I started to doing framing and roofing. I also helped pull wires, tiled floors, hung drywall and I did some finish carpentry.
Living in the cramped garage space was very difficult and challenging. My dad would build a simple bathroom with a shower stall in one corner. Near the bathroom he would fashion a kitchen area with a portable gas burner for cooking. My mom washed the dishes in porcelain pan that she filled in the makeshift bathroom. She created rooms using furniture with passages between the furniture and moving boxes serving as as doorways. When my dad worked the midnight shift at the steel mill it was difficult to keep quiet while he slept. However, playing outside was great fun. The yard was just dirt and rocks and the large piles of dirt from the foundation were great for digging tunnels. I would burrow into the hills and create my own little world. My brother and I would spend hours playing in the dirt. There was also many building scrap and I would turn the odd pieces into forts, guns, wagons and all sorts of strange sculptural items. I also stepped on a few nails and had to get my annual tetanus shot. I slept on an old army cot and my brother slept on a feather bed on the garage floor so he could easily get in and out of bed. This would be our home for about six to eight months.The winter was particularly difficult because my dad did not insulate the garage. Only the sheathing and siding kept out the summer heat and winter cold. He did leave the windows and garage door covered with siding until the house was finished.
Moving into the house when it was finished was very exciting. Watching the house rise from the surrounding farm land was amazing. We saw an entire community spring up before our eyes. Those early days of construction and play were an important part of my early education. I became quite proficient in electrical wiring and plumbing. Between drinking binges and problems with anger and depression my dad managed to build some fine homes. He was a stern and sometimes cruel man troubled by his fate. However, I do thank him for those early lessons and childhood adventures, played out in a wonderland of dirt, rock and debris.
