For The Art Of It

Today I had one mission - rise above the fuckery that tomorrow will bring.

I knew staying off social was going to be imperative to my goal. Still I found time to pop up on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram a few times. I posted a picture or two but didn't let myself search too long at any given time. I found more fruitful distractions. While getting my morning work done, I listened to a YouTube video about qualities of the "the one". That made me feel grateful for my man and our relationship. I read an insightful article a friend wrote for a site I enjoy but stopped when I spied some foolishness in the comments. I had a few things to do in my role as consulting producer on a short film but focused on my tasks and not the film's content which could have caused me to have an inflammatory reaction. I even researched benefits of the elliptical vs. the treadmill in an effort to make an informative decision as it relates to yet again joining a gym. 

I was proud of myself for not focusing on what was happening in Washington, D.C.

But as hard as much as I focused, I knew the day would eventually come to an end and the 44th would be a memory as the country would go on to inaugurate No. 45.

I'm not here for 45. I'm not here for his followers. I'm not here for the lies. I'm not here for his ducking and diving on the sharing of his tax return. I'm not here for the conversations about what his tenure will mean for us all. I'm not here for his psychotic appointments. I'm not here for his wife's housing status. I'm not here for who is meeting with him and why. I'm not here for his weird discussions of his daughter. I'm not here for who pissed where on his direction. I'm not here for his insults and negative rhetoric. I'm not here for his D-list inauguration lineup. I'm not here for his hair and fake tan.

I simply am not.

Tonight would have been a perfect night to escape into a Shondaland midseason premiere as I am here to get caught up on what is going on in Fitz' White House. Alas tonight would not be the night as "TGIT" was placed on hold for the celebration of the fuckery. I could not watch. Not tonight. I flipped through the stations on the hotel tv and found something to appease my desire for some inspirational programming. I happened upon Spike Lee's documentary, "Michael Jackson's Journey From Motown to Off The Wall."

I didn't catch the beginning but I came in pretty early on and as usual, right on time. An A&R guy was discussing how he argued with Michael on an early song about his use of "ain't". My temper started to rise. Dude was obviously not a singer and he didn't seem especially soulful. How da fuk he gonna tell this kid who had sold so many records under the tutelage of Berry Gordy what sounds soulful? All the rage I felt for what was happening right now was focused on this dude's ridiculous comments (they always trying to tell somebody how to do THEIR thing!). Fortunately before I took to Twitter to go in, he spoke on his ignorance. He commented how he realized he was being a grammar fool and should step back and let Michael do what he knew to do.

As the doc continued, there were many clips from notable folk who had thoughts on "Off The Wall". I knew I had been led to this airing when legendary creative team Gamble and Huff jokingly commented on the lack of knowledge of the execs and A/R people. "They don't know. These guys they just don't know."

Gamble and Huff were talking about MJ's talent and musical promise. When I heard the comment, all I could think about was the promise of the new world that I am sure is about to spring forth. I don't mean the world of despair and hopelessness that appears to be brewing but the new world full of true change that's coming forth on the horizon. They too caught up. They just don't know...

I don't have time to fight against this ridicoulousnes. I'm not apathetic to it all, I just don't have time to give away my energy in pursuit of agendas that do not belong to me. I so vehemently avoided the fuckery today because that's not here to serve me. Trying to get another human to understand my humanity is futile. If you don't see me as a person because I'm black or female or have less money then I can't see you as someone worthy of my time.  This constant coverage and broadcasting of the chaos is not here to serve me. It is trying to push me into the land of fear, doubt and lack - I don't live there anymore and I'm not moving back. The crazy people who think this is an open invite to just act up are not here to serve me. They have been that way and are trying to blame the new administration for their "change of heart" when it's simply who they have always been. And, on the other side, as good as their hearts may be, the fine but aggressive liberals who are crying and seeking some epic reaction from "the blacks" are not here to serve me. Those good hearted folk are equally full of shit because they rarely rally behind shit that really matters to me. (No offense but tell me one more time why I must fight homophobia or animal rights but they don't ever say shit when these cops be shooting these babies or poorer school districts can't afford resources!) The agendas of these seemingly good hearted people don't serve me either.

The documentary reminded me of the overcoming and survival mentality of my people and in this instance, I don't mean people who simply share my race. I'm in another "tribe" and its members are those who embody spirit of the artist. True artists show up and go harder in the face of injustice, defeat and fuckery. Artist rise above and allow their artistry to speak to the situations they find important. As I look to history and all the "this is the worse case scenario" scenarios, art has never died. I'm currently speaking emotionally/figuratively and tomorrow I'll fact check this with my anthropologist BFF and fact-checking lover. But in this moment I can't (nor can my google search) recall a time where adverse conditions killed creativity. Music lives inside of musicians. Words and stories live inside of writers. Characters and the portrayal of those characters live inside of actors. The beat lives in the heart of dancers. I could go on and on but in short, art lives inside of artists.

They don't know what can come from we the artists because our potential is infinite. I'd go a step further and say our potential is so astronomical, we don't know either!

At this time, I'm directing all of my energy, focus and creativity to the pursuit of finding out for myself. And as the chorus of my favorite song from "Off The Wall" shares, I can't help it even if I wanted to...