In New Hampshire, this is what counts as graffiti. Full vacation set here.

Sometimes during yoga class, after an intense meditation session, the instructor will ask us to talk to another person for a few minutes so that – I am assuming – we can come back to a more present state of mind. The other day, we did this long, and, might I add, extra hippy-dippy mediation, and I ended up in conversation with an older, smiling woman next to me.

What did we talk about? Her bright blue glasses, the frames of which she had bought at a vintage store in the neighborhood. Her children, in their early twenties, who lead dramatic lives. Our Labor Day weekends. For her: shopping, walking, the city was empty all weekend and she liked it that way. Eventually, she asked me what I did for a living. She thought I could be a student. I wish I were still that young, I joked. Everyone looks young to me, she said.

I told her I was a writer, and her response to that was so quick I could only assume she had said it before, and that she believed it to be a true thing she had learned in her life, that it was part of her acquired wisdom. It has stuck with me for the past few days. She said, “Artists do such little harm in their work.”

I didn’t like that idea at all.

Look, I know what she meant by it, or at least I think I do. This lady was definitely not trying to insult me post-meditation. She meant that we don’t destroy anything. We don’t work for oil companies, and we don’t pull any triggers. We don’t manufacture crap, not fast food, nor polyester. We don’t feed cows any horrifying hormones. We scribble in our notebooks and paint in our studios and strum our guitars sadly on street corners.

Art is a low-impact job. Sure, we’ve killed some trees to print books. We are guilty of noise pollution at late night rock shows. Spray paint on city blocks, art or vandalism? We are hard to blame for the world’s ills because we are too busy living in our own heads.

Doing little harm. How safe and boring. How defensive. At least you don’t fuck anything up, was what she was saying. But that is not how I think about my life, my work. Shouldn’t the point of everything we do as artists (as people, come on!) be to make a difference? I’d almost rather do harm, rather than do little harm, as long as I’m doing something.

For god’s sake, don’t artists get credit for inciting a revolution or two?

I will not spend my life doing little. I will actively try to achieve something. I will make a difference. And I will leave a trail behind, so you will know where to find me when someone needs to be held accountable.

It is fall, and I am inspired.

(09/11/11) | 2 Comments »