INTRODUCTION
The
Losers Chorus stands on the corner singing in the heart of everyone.
Though one may not know the other, they come together in us now. Their
song is made from scraps of disjointed melodies, whispered, wailed,
that arise then disappear on a cacophonous swell of loss and longing.
Who hears them? Probably more people than I think. Sometimes I wonder
if I hear them, even after trying to imagine them and feel their stories.
And if I do hear them, read of them in newspapers (some of their names
may be surprisingly familiar to us, others forever unknown) and think
about what it is to be human and forgotten, see the bypassed infant
joy in that cheek pillowed on the sidewalk, what do I do but veer
through confusion and anger into art? I have accepted that course
of action, nurtured it, though I know it won't change the world (didn't
artists hope for that once, to some degree?), and acknowledge my limitations
(or perhaps just make excuses for myself). But what if a painting
or poem had such an effect on one person so as to make their eyes
open inwardly, and regard the human gold so wasted and discarded,
left and right? The artistic effort, however hidden or ignored, would
be a success. Is such regarding enough?--it may shine in a person's
eye even as they pull the lever in the voting booth, or as they gather
mana from the bus floor on the way home from work.
These
portraits are of members of the chorus. None of the answers about
how to live that we believe at the center of society have worked for
them. In the United States, September 1999, we don't think of them
much: I don't know all of the ins and outs of the arguments about
welfare reform, for example, but I recall that when that legislation
was passed I felt our society was turning a little further away from
the human gaze. To me this didn't bode well for anyone who was out
of anything, luck, spirit, love, not only those slipping off the edge
of poverty (although they'd certainly feel that specific reform more
than anyone). The conservative Reformation. And when national political
players begin to discuss notions like "compassionate conservatism"
then even language itself has taken a hard blow.
Some
of the characters here are from literature, some are from real life,
some from I don't know where. The words that accompany them are little
introductions, another way to meet them, to help the eyes adjust to
a more inward vision. They were written after the pictures. I believe
it is worthwhile for an artist to go a little further in helping a
viewer understand what they are looking at. Art, by its beauty or
quality of presence, will not satisfy the human desire for explanations
and meanings. Some of us are inclined to roam among our own explanations,
carry on our own dialogues with an image; others of us cannot or do
not even know that this is possible. The stories are a way to suggest
this possibility. In addition to all of these fine reasons, another
is simply that I like to write as well as paint and this is another
attempt to wed the two.
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