I spent the last few days with my ears fixed to the voices coming from my laptop. I was listening to Help by Kathryn Stockett. For Seventeen hours I cried, laughed, and listened in great anticipation hoping for the safety of the three women telling their stories.
When you grow up in a Midwest town with the population of 10,000 and 9,900 of them are white you do not acquire a good understanding of racism and what really happened. We learned about the civil rights movement in American history, but to a seventh grader it might as well have been 1000 years ago.
There are people out there that would like you to think that the time era in which this book took place was 100 generations ago. To put this in perspective, our parents were in College when the first African Americans were integrated into “white colleges”. Our parents were watching TV when Martin Luther King marched Washington for civil rights. Fifty years may seem like forever to those of use who were not alive, but to those who witnessed the inequality I’m sure it is still fresh in their memory.
When you grow up in a Midwest town with the population of 10,000 and 9,900 of them are white you do not acquire a good understanding of racism and what really happened. We learned about the civil rights movement in American history, but to a seventh grader it might as well have been 1000 years ago.
There are people out there that would like you to think that the time era in which this book took place was 100 generations ago. To put this in perspective, our parents were in College when the first African Americans were integrated into “white colleges”. Our parents were watching TV when Martin Luther King marched Washington for civil rights. Fifty years may seem like forever to those of use who were not alive, but to those who witnessed the inequality I’m sure it is still fresh in their memory.
As an artist I continually ask myself why am I making what I am making. How does it fit into our world, socially, politically, and personally? Over the years I have become frustrated in the lack of impact I see art making in the world. I don’t care about the million-dollar price tag, unless that million is going towards a good cause. I don’t care too much for the pedestal or the museum. I care about art that opens hearts and minds to a belief that we can be better than we are. I listen to music and my heart swells. As I listened to this book my eyes opened a little wider and I understand a little more. How can I/we make this same impact?
On many levels this book does exactly what art should. Kahryn Stockett took a personal experience and shared it with the world in a way that made me think, feel, and want to make a difference. Our country has come a long way, but we can do better and it is my belief that as an artist our job is to make the rest of humanity feel like it is within our reach.
Today there is an outcry for social equality all over the world. In the 60’s and 70’s people stood up and were heard. Why can’t we have the same impact today? Where is the support from big name musicians/artists? I don’t know the answer or even where I’m going with this, but it is food for thought.
