PRIVATE PROPERTY AND INEQUITY

(Editor’s introduction:  “The Sharing Project”  already appeared in this blog with its first manifestation, “To Restore Happyville.” It’s a proteiform project, a body of work that will be presented in the end as both a sculptural video installation and a feature film. Obviously, not in this blog anymore. I publish here its still configuration: 7 episodes each made with one text and one image. 

It’s an unusual art project, an invitation to rethink and question our system of values and behavior with philosophical and psychological tools. Further more, Joel Tauber merges into his family life as he did at the beginning of his art making: to experience the air he built a balloon and became a wise Icarus flying over the California desert, to really know the earth he dug a hole and lay inside. I’m proud to introduce in this blog an artist who is inspired by feelings and by the little creatures he has generated with his wife. One more artist after Rembrandt painting his mother in the act of reading; Seurat drawing the most expressive portraits of his family;  my grandfather Oreste Albertini often placing in his painted landscapes wife and sons; Bill Viola revealing the most dramatic events of his life, his mother’s death and his son’s birth; Rebecca Campbell transforming family images into symbolic portraits. Only a few of the many. Judy Fiskin and Nicole Miller in this blog, for instance. R.A.

“With nostalgia we dream a universe in which humans, instead of furiously fighting for their visible appearance, would engage themselves in getting rid of it, not only refusing to act in that direction, just making themselves naked enough to discover that secret place, within,  from which a completely different human adventure could have started to exist.” (Jean Genet)

— The Sharing Project —

1. PRIVATE PROPERTY AND INEQUITY

By Joel Tauber

It’s hard for me to share my video equipment or to let anyone into my studio. I tell myself that I would face all kinds of problems if anyone damaged my gear, and that I need peace and solitude in order to work effectively. Yet, my rationalizations leave me feeling guilty. I sense that I’m not acting generously enough, and I worry about what my behavior is teaching my kids.

One day, my son Zeke, crying profusely, banged on my door, and demanded to know why I wouldn’t share my space with him. I didn’t have a good answer. Then, Zeke showed me his secret hiding spots and offered to share them with me. He argued that there was plenty of room in his “office” for my tools and that I didn’t need another space for them.

Zeke’s generosity overwhelmed me, but I wasn’t able to accept his offer. Safeguarding my personal possessions in my own space was too important to me.

As I tried to justify my feelings, I thought about John Locke’s claim that we should have the freedom to acquire our own land and wealth and that it shouldn’t bother anyone – unless we do so excessively, or during times of scarcity.

Unfortunately, we seem to have forgotten about Locke’s restrictions, and we’ve created a tremendous amount of inequity in the process. While a few of us enjoy excessive amounts of wealth, far too many of us struggle with scarcely enough – if anything – to eat.

Gene Nichol; who runs the Center on Poverty, Work, and Opportunity at the University of North Carolina; tells me that 18% of North Carolinians live in poverty and that there are higher levels of poverty in the United States than in any of the other wealthy Western Democracies.

As I eat dinner with my wife and our two young boys in our home in Winston-Salem, I think about how there might be more childhood hunger in our city than anywhere else in our country. How can we allow that horrific reality to occur in such a wealthy place?

I was wrestling with that dilemma when I went to the Moral March in Raleigh last February. It was a big protest, maybe the biggest in the South since 1965 and perhaps the biggest in North Carolina history. I saw buses from Tennessee, Virginia, and elsewhere. There was a giant traffic jam, as buses filled with activists tried to park. Everyone on our bus was feeling antsy. They knew that there was a lot at stake, and they wanted to be a part of it.

I had taken Zeke to smaller protests in Winston-Salem, and I wanted him to experience the March in Raleigh and hear why people were protesting; but it just seemed too dangerous. Too many people had been arrested – including some people I knew – in previous Moral Monday events, and I couldn’t justify putting our young son in danger.

The crowd was large, and it was loud. Zeke would have been impressed, and he would have enjoyed seeing all of the signs. They were inventive, and they expressed people’s thoughts about a plethora of things, from the torture we’ve done in Guantanamo Bay to the wars we’ve waged overseas; but mostly the signs and chants reflected what’s happening in North Carolina right now.

North Carolina has a high unemployment rate. People need help, but we’ve decided to eliminate significant social safety nets that are essential for those who can’t find jobs. We’ve decided to cut unemployment benefits and reduce the number of weeks of eligibility. We’ve declined expanded federal funds for unemployment benefits and for Medicaid.

Is this what sharing looks like these days? Is this what we want to teach our kids?

Reverend Barber insists that the laws that we have passed are immoral. He talks about how we cannot be silent and how we must insist on change.

We were all hoping for change at the Moral March, but it hasn’t occurred yet. So, we will gather in Raleigh to march again.

Joel Tauber, "SHARE" (photo direction: Joel Tauber, shot by Kristi Chan) from the art installation and movie, "The Sharing Project"

Joel Tauber, “SHARE” (photo direction: Joel Tauber, shot by Kristi Chan) from the art installation and movie, “The Sharing Project”

Joel Tauber is an artist and filmmaker who is developing the video art program at Wake Forest University. His current undertaking – “The Sharing Project” – will be presented as both a sculptural video installation and a feature film.

http://thesharingproject.net

CIRCUS 2 : Bianca Sforni visits Federico Fellini

Rosanna Albertini about

 BIANCA SFORNI, FEDERICO FELLINI and JEAN GENET

— LOVING THE CIRCUS AND ITS ILLUSION OF DEADLY RISKS THAT TURN RIGHT —

“On n’est pas artiste sans qu’un grand malheur s’en soit mêlé. De haine contre quel Dieu? Et pourquoi le vaincre?” (JEAN GENET) You won’t be an artist without the big danger which goes along with an artist’s life. Which God would you hate? And why should you defeat him? [her? it?]

An odd burden hangs over each artist, over each of us; it takes at least two forms: the one in the mirror, we fill it daily with imagined qualities. The other is the image of us in other peoples’ eyes, the one who dances in their minds. They are both images.

Their truth fades away like clouds, never stops changing. But we all strive to shape an imaginary “us” as if we were acrobats. A tightrope-walker feels like dying before he walks on the rope, not when he falls. As Genet said, he dies before appearing.

Paris, 1992. Bianca had prepared her meeting with Federico with the same anxiety of an acrobat before the show. Six months were consumed by waiting, asking for a day, a time. Letters and phone. It was the dawn of fax machines. E-mails only for scientists in research centers.

Rome, Summer 1993. At Fellini’s door, she rings the bell. It sounds like chirping birds. They were maybe in her mind. Her folder with new CIRCUS photos tight under her arm, she is on the rope. When Federico opens the door the windows of the wall behind him spread a sweet light, slightly golden, typical of the Roman afternoons. “Bianca, ma quanto sei piccola” -he exclaims. Piccola means young, in this case. “How young you are.” Not a giant, but Bianca isn’t short neither.

He had probably imagined a tough professional photographer at the top of her career, if she had dared to be in touch with him and more, to ask him to write a text about her images taken during Circus performances. In front of him was a dreamer, a young woman petrified by fear. They talked about cats and monkeys. A bunch of cats were at home in that room, one was striped. Federico looked at the photographs and said “Yes, I’ll do it.” And he did it for sure, from up there in the sky, throwing words among the falling leaves. October 31 he left the earth.

BIANCA SFORNI, Circus 2, 1992, Hand colored gelatin silver prints, 23 x 17.5 cm Courtesy of the artist

BIANCA SFORNI, Circus 2, 1992,   Hand colored gelatin silver print, 23 x 17.5 cm
Courtesy of the artist

BIANCA SFORNI, Circus 2, 1992   Hand colored gelatin silver prints, 17.5 x 23 cm Courtesy of the artist

BIANCA SFORNI, Circus 2, 1992    Hand colored gelatin silver print, 17.5 x 23 cm
Courtesy of the artist

BIANCA SFORNI, Circus 2, 1992   Hand colored gelatin silver prints, 23 x 17.5 cm Courtesy of the artist

BIANCA SFORNI, Circus 2, 1992    Hand colored gelatin silver print, 23 x 17.5 cm
Courtesy of the artist

BIANCA SFORNI, CIRCUS 2, 1992   Hand colored gelatin silver prints, 23 x 17.5 cm Courtesy of the artist

BIANCA SFORNI, Circus 2, 1992    Hand colored gelatin silver print, 23 x 17.5 cm
Courtesy of the artist

BIANCA SFORNI, Circus 2, 1992    Hand colored gelatin silver prints, 23 x 17.5 cm Courtesy of the artist

BIANCA SFORNI, Circus 2, 1992    Hand colored gelatin silver print, 23 x 17.5 cm
Courtesy of the artist

 

il faut aimer le Cirque et mépriser le monde. Une enorme bête, remontée des époques diluviennes, se pose pesamment sur les villes : on entre, et le monstre était plein de merveilles méchaniques et cruelles : des écuyères, des augustes, des lions et leur dompteur, un prestidigitateur, un jongleur, des trapézistes allemands, un cheval qui parle et qui compte, et toi.

Vous êtes les résidus d’un âge fabuleux. Vous revenez de très loin. Vos ancêtres mangeaient du verre pilé, du feu, il charmaient des serpents, des colombes, ils jonglaient avec des oeufs, ils faisaient converser un concile de chevaux.

Vous n’êtez pas prêts pour notre monde et sa logique. Il vous faut donc accepter cette misère: vivre la nuit de l’illusion de vos tours mortels. Le jour vous restez craintifs à la porte du cirque – n’osant entrer dans notre vie – trop fermement retenus par les pouvoirs du cirque qui sont les pouvoirs de la mort. Ne quittez jamais ce ventre énorme de la toile.    JEAN GENET