Interlochen February, Day 4: Art Suppression Day

DAY 4
February 5
Prompt: "Art Suppression Day (ick)."

Oh good lord. This was probably the dumbest thing that Interlochen ever did, bar none. If only I'd been in the room when they came up with this one...

President Kimpton: Okay, y'all, we need a great way to kick off the New Year. The kids just got back from break and we want to welcome them home--what do we do?
Board Member #1: Ooh, ooh, I have an idea! Let's show them what the world is like WITHOUT ART!
Board Member #2: Oh, great idea! They probably have NO IDEA what that's like!
Board Member #1: I know, right? I'm sure none of them have EVER faced censorship or lack of instruction or lack of equipment before...we need to show them what that feels like or they might graduate without knowing how it is in the real world!
Less-Clueless Board Member: Uhh...guys? Maybe they already know what the world is like without art? Seeing as, you know, most of them have transferred from public schools, where more art funding is getting cut every semester and nine times out of ten, the art students are outnumbered twenty to one by jocks?
Other Board Members: ...
President Kimpton: Great idea, Board Members #1&2! Let's do it! Let's show those spoiled kids what it's like to LIVE WITHOUT ART! I'll make some speeches, #1 can cover all the art displays with trash bags, and #2 can tell all the teachers to suppress the kids all day!
Less-Clueless Board Member: But they do that already...
President Kimpton: SILENCE FOOL!

I mean, really. That's exactly what they did: Got us out of bed for an 8 AM community meeting (and SOME OF US didn't have class until 10:30 on normal days!), forced us to watch a presentation on WHAT THE WORLD IS LIKE WITHOUT ART OMG BECAUSE NONE OF US KNEW WHAT THAT FELT LIKE, and then made us listen to Kimpton, Farraday, and Wade's speeches. And THEN, we were forced to live in a pseudo-suppressed environment for the rest of the day. We were informed that "Uniform would be strictly enforced" (but for anyone who had Kullenberg or Nadji, uniform was enforced ANYWAY), "iPods would be checked for inappropriate music," "you would not see art you'd normally see," and, my personal favorite, "You would not be allowed to practice or make art the way you normally would."

Oh, really.

OH REALLY.

Is that a fact, Mr. Fancy Pants School Administrator? Well, let's see here. Normally I get my scripts figuratively torn to pieces by every teacher and student in my workshop. Then I have to listen to my AD tell me that something isn't going to work on-set, then I have to listen to my DP tell me that something isn't going to work on-set, then I have to listen to my thesis advisor tell me why I can't have the actors I want, and then I have to listen in while freshmen and first-years are given priority for crew roles that I should get first crack at--so, you tell me, Kimpton, Farraday, and Wade, how exactly am I "allowed" to practice my art usually? Filmmaking is not like drawing or creative writing or music--you can't just sit down and do it by yourself. It's a collaborative process, and in film school, when every last thing you do is graded, that goes double. So, really, you can't possibly "suppress" us any more than they usually do.

Added to which, most of the other majors at Interlochen felt the same way. I've heard the visual arts majors complaining because nude portraits are not allowed. I've heard theatre majors complaining that the same few people get the main roles every year. Film was not the only major with issues. Not to mention the fact that, as I mentioned, a lot of us were crossovers from public schools, where most art programs play second string--if they even exist--to the football team or baseball team or whatever sports team happens to be in-season. So chew on that for awhile...and then "show us what it feels like to be suppressed." Because, clearly, we have no idea. Because, clearly, that wasn't the whole reason we came to Interlochen in the first place--to escape that suppression.

But, being the artists that we are, we still rebelled--because it was just too stupid to not have SOME sort of reaction to this tomfoolery. Apparently (and oh, how I wish how I'd been there to witness this) a group of percussion majors paraded up the concourse and ripped down all the plastic trash bags covering the displays. People wrote all kinds of witty things on the paper tablecloths we were supposed to "write our opinions" on at Stone. (As Mishka so aptly informed the administration via those cloths, "You will get used to seeing the word 'bullshit'...you will fool yourself into thinking that this was a success.")

But my favorite thing that we did was make a huge banner that read "ART MOVED" and hang it over the sign at the entrance.

Here is what I love so much about that day: It did not tell us anything we didn't already know about "art suppression." It did not make us appreciate art more. But what we did--putting up the ART MOVED banner--was such a perfect, innocent, cheeky way of standing up for ourselves. It was a nice, subtle, jokey-but-no-really-we're-serious-here way of saying, "We are not going to put up with this." What with everything that's currently going on at Interlochen, I think this is something that all current students--and rebels--need to keep in mind: Don't try to steamroller the administration--but do make sure that they get your point.

Excerpt from my NaNo Novel

Because that's just how I roll. ;)

[Note 1: In December, once I start revising this sucker, I'll actually post the whole thing, probably on a standalone blog.]

[Note 2: Just a little background--the novel is about an NYU graduate film school student who decides to challenge the MPAA. This passage is from the beginning of chapter 3.]

A few days later, I have mail. Not e-mail, real mail, so rare these days, which makes it an incredible treat.

I lock the mailbox, hurry upstairs and open my prize. The handwriting on the envelope looks vaguely familiar, and when I open it up I see why: it’s a letter from an old friend, a former Collierite, currently studying at USC.

Miranda—I’ll cut right to the chase.

You don’t know what’s been going on these last few months. We need you out here, and we need you bad. We’re in the Heart of Hollywood; the MPAA has so much control it’s ridiculous. Indie directors and screenwriters are screwed like you wouldn’t believe. Dropping the f-bomb in a PG-13 film and getting away with it is considered a victory. And yet people complain that the MPAA is getting too loose, that their standards are slipping…which is in all likelihood the reason for the crackdown in the first place.

I know you’re busy, I know you’re working hard at NYU, but please, Miranda, we need someone like you. You’ve rebelled in the past, and you have a history with USC. You spoke at the film festival and blew everyone away. Please come out here, just for a few weeks. We need someone who’s got the heart, and if your speech at the festival was any indication, you’ve got heart to spare. We’re all at our wit’s end. We need a lobbyist, and I remember how passionate you can be when you care about something. You know how to get a crowd going. We’ve suffered defeat. We’re lagging. We need a rebel. We need a kick-ass woman like you.

I sent you this in a letter instead of an e-mail for two reasons. First of all, I know you love getting mail, and yes, you might consider that to be sucking up, but frankly I’m beyond caring, as long as it gets you out here. Second, there can’t be any records of our group activity anymore. We have to be careful. So if you do come out here, don’t make it public. Tell Conor and Adrienne, if you must, but no one else.

Miranda, I am begging you—no, not begging. I’m simply asking you, filmmaker-to-filmmaker, but more than that, Collierite-to-Collierite, if you will come out here. I can’t keep this group going on my own, and people are starting to drift—they don’t see the point, they think there’s no use in fighting. But there is, and I know you know that. Please help me. You’re my secret weapon. My Woman in Black. (Don’t tell me you don’t remember that.)

And for the love of God, Miranda, hurry. Our resistance is crumbling. (Did that appeal to the former drama student in you? I hope so.)

Missing you (as always),

Cooper Riley

I read and reread the letter, analyzing from every angle and squeezing every last drop of meaning that I can out of it. My instincts are screaming at me to go, to pack up and get on the next flight to California. Adrienne would approve. I know she would. She’s always telling me to “hang the bloody consequences.” If I go, she will cover for me here until I get back.

But Conor…no. He won’t like this, not at all. And neither will Callahan. In fact, if I showed this letter to Callahan, he would have a stroke, a heart attack, and an aneurysm all at the same time…and then he’d burn the letter and give me a three-hour lecture on why rebellion must be treated with caution.

“It’s meant to be a subtle buildup, not a siege,” he’s always telling me, when I recount my glory days as a Dead Poet.

Hang consequences, Miranda! Go! Go to them! No, don’t…you’ll never get work again if you do.

The conflict bats in my head like a tennis match. I can’t go. I can’t. But oh, God how I want to.

If you do this, you will regret it for the rest of your sorry career, my inner Callahan warns me.

If you don’t do this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life, Adrienne’s voice counters sharply.

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

I fish in the kitchen drawer until I find Adrienne’s cigarette lighter. It’s red, a dark, rich red, with silver carvings down one side. It fits perfectly in my hand. I’ve never held it before now.

I stand over the sink with the letter in one hand and Adrienne’s lighter in the other.

Do it.

I can’t!

Do it.

I can’t!

You can’t go. Burn the damn thing. Stop torturing yourself.

The little yellow flame dances in front of my eyes, teasing me, flirting with me. It’s hungry. It wants that paper.

Burn it. Now!

The resulting blaze lasts only a few brilliant moments—it is, after all, only one sheet of paper. I turn on the water and watch the crumbling remains of the burned letter slide down the garbage disposal. It’s not until I turn the water off and see a drop fall onto my sleeve that I realize I’m crying.

Gone. It’s gone, it’s over, I made my choice and there’s no turning back.

I am crying really hard right now

There was a tragedy at Interlochen last night. Someone chose to do something they knew was against the rules, and as a result, Interlochen lost an amazing student. A gifted performance artist is leaving one of the most unique schools in the country, all because someone thought they were immune to consequences. Someone lost a chance last night, and it could have been prevented.

Why am I being needlessly melodramatic? Because I know the person who is going home, and I will miss him more than I can express. Because I know people cross lines and realize too late that they can't go back. Because I hate feeling so helpless, knowing that these people do cross lines and that there is virtually nothing I can do to stop them.

Remember my Red Ribbon Week post? If you go to school with me, you know that at the end of October I ran around with a box of ribbons and a carefully-prepared anti-drug speech, trying to convince my friends to keep our school drug-free. This is why. Moments like these, when you realize just how heavily something as innocuous-sounding as a cigarette can do irreparable damage to a person's reputation, career, and life. No one likes to think about these things. They think that by smoking, drinking, and doing drugs they will be going against the grain, fighting the power, sticking it to the man. They see themselves as beatniks, hippies, rebels.

I will admit, there was a time when I admired the dark glamour of these kinds of rebellion. Every teenager sees, at some point or another, a person smoking a cigarette or throwing back a shot like it's no big deal, and they automatically jump to the conclusion that the person doing these things is "cool." It's natural. It's understandable. And I confess that, although I've never done anything like this, there was a time when I secretly wondered what it would be like to smoke, to drink, to "rebel." To "be cool."

But after seeing dozens of my classmates expelled for "being cool," I know better.

At a public high school these things mostly go unnoticed. If I had wanted to, I could have wandered off to the courtyard, gotten stoned, and gone to class without so much as a custodian calling me out on it. But that doesn't mean that it's impossible to see the effects of doing things like that. Going out and getting plastered at regular and frequent intervals can do astonishing things to a person's reputation, 99.9% of them negative, even if your teachers don't care.

But at a private school, getting into substances leads to serious s#@%. Don't believe me? How many posts have you seen me write about drug use, or about seeing my friends or my friends' friends get expelled? All it takes is a text message. All it takes is for your hall counselor to see you slip something into your pocket. All it takes is one time before the manure hits the air circulator. The next thing you know, the witch-hunt is on, and people are frantically clearing their phones and taking out their trash and their suitemates' trash, just in case they did or have something that might be incriminating, regardless of whether or not they've done anything wrong.

I don't know what the solution is. But I firmly believe in what I wrote back in October, about making a difference one tiny step at a time. I firmly believe that it is possible to fight the system without resorting to pot or booze. And I firmly believe that if you believe in something and you have something to say, there is someone, somewhere, who will hear you.

And right now, Interlochen is hurting because someone did not think there was any other way to say what he wanted to say than to break the oldest rule in the book.

I can't elaborate any further. I can't judge. All I can say is that I will miss him, and I wish him luck and hope that he can be strong and continue to kick ass in the arts world, with or without Interlochen Arts Academy.