dance | GILLIE KLEIMAN

Enough is enough

Fat people dancing joyously — Image credit: Beth Olson Creative

I was invited to speak at a truly lovely event on Wednesday. A gathering of people working for organisations, large and small, or for themselves, all involved in community and participatory dance or dance in education. I was really inspired by this gathering: I found the tone to be energetic and respectful and positive and professional. It was excellently facilitated and I loved hearing about great practice happening across this region of England, far away from my own, in a very detailed way. I was touched to hear colleagues speak about challenges as well as lots of successes, and reach out for help honestly and without shame.

Two of the organisational workers stood up and talked about collective work that had happened around advocacy for dance in education. This is vital work and I was pleased to hear about it, in part through a short video addressed to policy-makers. However, one of the talking heads in the video, a senior dance worker in a major dance organisation, very flippantly said that a reason for dance in education is because a percentage (which I won’t repeat) of children in schools are o*ese. This word is starred because it is a slur, a deliberately stigmatising word to describe fat people only in order to separate us as ‘diseased’ and to try to force us to change our bodies. I remind you that forcing children to lose weight is child abuse.

I was the only fat person in the room. Moreover – perhaps – I am a fat dance artist working on and with fat, very visibly, with a range of institutions across England and abroad. From that position, here were my reactions on hearing a slur about bodies like mine – bodies like mine, but belonging to children – in a place of work:

“Fuck that!”, audibly to my table
Fear and rage, boiling insides and hurt; tears
Stepping out to speak to a senior member of staff at the organisation who invited me – an organisation I’ve been working closely and positively with on my fat-related work – whom I felt very much understood why I was upset, and who apologised, promised to take down the video and adjust the language, and do further work (and I believe them)
Re-entering the space, completely distracted, ruminating on how I could possibly stand up in front of a room of people when I have had to listen to how my body is something that should be changed by taking part in my artform
A mental shut-down; an inability to speak to people cogently

I decided that when it was my turn to speak, I would use the first couple of minutes to explain why I was so upset, and then move on to my prepared material on professional dance work with non-professional dancers, an area of work in which I am a qualified expert. This is something of what I said, not verbatim:

I am hurt because I am unsafe here
I am the only fat person in the room and I have had to endure hearing a slur about bodies like mine
I do not wish to show you images I have brought to share because they include fat people and this is not a safe space to do that
It hurts me that dance is used to police rather than empower bodies and people
Anti-fatness emerges only in concert with anti-Blackness and white supremacy
Anti-fatness is profoundly intertwined with ableism
If you think you are an anti-racist or an anti-ableist and you still think fat bodies need to change, I don’t believe you are really an anti-racist or anti-ableist

I then began to try and use my notes to speak about my area of expertise. I knew nobody was listening; I could feel it. I could also feel that the social contract around my role as an objective knower of stuff and my capacity to hold space for others to engage in that was broken. I could not trust anyone any longer. How could I, when I had had to listen how one of the purposes of my artform is to coerce children to change their bodies to be different to mine, because being like me is the worst possible thing?

I put down the microphone, said I couldn’t do this, and walked out. And had a panic attack. I was looked after by a bunch of very kind people who wish me well and want to do better themselves.

I am so disappointed. I am disappointed that I was unable to do my work. I am disappointed that I was emotional in public. I am disappointed to have not been able to engage with other practitioners in a way that could have been more useful to us all.

The thing is, this is of course not at all the first time I’ve had to encounter fatphobia in my work in dance, dance research and dance education, which is the only professional work I’ve done for the past 20 years. It’s probably not even the last moment of overt fatphobia in a professional context that I’ll experience this year (with six weeks to go). What I think this account indicates, more than anything, is that I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of accepting looks, patronising comments and out-and-out namecalling in my eye- or ear-shot. I’ve had enough of fake liberalism and dance’s capitulation to fatphobic falsehoods to try and save itself from irrelevance. And I’ve absolutely, neverendingly had enough of the field using dance – glorious, wondrous, amazing, lifechanging, everyone’s dance – as a method to attack, punish, and abuse the bodies of fat people.

If you want to do better, the internet awaits your reading and listening. If you want me to guide you through what I know of ‘how not to be awful to fat people’, you can pay me. Otherwise, you and your fatphobia can fuck right off.

To higher-earners in the arts:

Image: Buster Keaton on a dangling ladder with another person below, from silentlocations.com

To higher-earners in the arts:

This is mostly directed to those of you who work in building-based organisations. I know most about dance and performance, and a bit about theatre. If you don’t work in those fields don’t think I don’t mean you. I do, but the details might be different. I trust you can do the translation. I’m also mostly thinking from the position of an independent, freelance artist.

I am not the best person to be writing this, but I am the one writing, so I suppose I’d better just get on with it. I have some inherited wealth due to an early parental death, which means I have housing security and an elderly Honda, and I am quite sure that if I was in a very difficult financial position I would have access to more resources to keep myself safe and well. This is not true for all people, and certainly not all people in the arts, and certainly not all freelance artists working in dance, theatre and performance. For the past ten months I have been working in a university and bringing in just over £2000 net a month. This is around twice to three times what I have typically earned in the rest of my career. The contract ends in less than a month.

So here it is: when I hear you saying that you couldn’t live on less than your £50,000+ salary, your £40,000+ salary, or even £30,000+ salary, or even your £20,000+ salary, what I hear is that you could not live how I do year to year. I hear that your life, with its big house and decent car and holidays and nice clothes and first-hand furniture, is better than mine, and that you couldn’t imagine having a life like mine, with its modesty and worrying. I hear that you think my clothes aren’t as good as yours, or my food, or my social choices, or my excursions, or how I spend my time. The way you spend your time is better, and you couldn’t spend your time the way I do; the way you spend your time needs more money and you absolutely couldn’t do without it. You couldn’t share your home with someone who isn’t your family. You couldn’t not buy another coat this winter. You couldn’t go to the scruffy gym. This is very painful.

Sometimes when I try to have discussions about this with people who earn more than me I see in them a sense of admiration – aren’t I good at organising my money? Aren’t I good at not ‘treating’ myself to a really nice bottle of wine? This is annoying. I’m not good at this because I’m good at this. I have no special talent. I have had serious necessity. Other times what I hear is that it’s not so much that your life is better than mine and you couldn’t do differently, but that my life is good enough for me. Somehow I am deserving of my more frugal way of doing things. But it is not good enough for you.

Let’s be clear here: I do not believe in social mobility. Social mobility is a ruse. Again: social (we mean economic, of course) mobility is a ruse. Not on a personal level; during my childhood my parents acquired more wealth so now more money than their parents. It is easy to forget that social mobility is a ruse when we see such examples. Outwith the arts, though, we still want people to do work that is typically lower-paid and that we consider less valuable. We want this work done always, whether or not you personally are middle-class or whatever. We still want people to work with our waste; we still want people to serve children food at school; we still want people to work on the factory floor; we still want people to clean; we still want people to care. This is what I mean when I say that social mobility is a ruse. We can’t all be middle-class; we can’t all be in graduate jobs when not all the jobs are graduate jobs. We don’t need or want everyone to do typically middle-class jobs, so we should hope for a better life for everyone, regardless of the kind of work they do.

I say this because when I have brought up the massive pay inequality between some non-artists in the arts (managers, directors, academics etc.) and independent workers, particularly artists, there is a sense that there is a ladder. The people at the top of that ladder have worked even harder than those at the bottom: they have maybe worked for decades to develop a career. Yes, they have put the hours in. But there are still the people at the bottom of our ladders who are suffering because of low-paid and precarious work. The people further up the ladder feel they are not exploiting those lower down because maybe once upon a time they were paid less and lived in a cramped houseshare and didn’t have much spare at the end of the month. There are several reasons why I cannot stand for this argumentation:

I graduated from my undergraduate degree in 2008 (I had been working in community dance semi-professionally since 2001, but that’s by the by). Remember 2008? The crash? Then do you remember 2010? Austerity? My entire career, pretty much, has been during austerity. There has been little public funding for the arts and state support has been shit, and increasingly so, over the decade. When the people who are at the top of the ladder were at the bottom, it was before all of that. When they were at the bottom they had more support and there was more funding. I have read the reports.
Not all the people at the bottom of the ladder will ever move from there. I think of some of my heroes, independent artists of the highest calibre, in my not-very-humble eyes, who are still scrabbling for cash month-to-month. Not everyone can climb the ladder.
However you cut it, if there is a ladder, the bottom rungs are made up of the lowest-paid workers. They are keeping the ladder from falling. You, high-earners, are literally standing on their shoulders. You think you paid your dues? Do you? FUCK PAYING DUES:
1. Paying dues means that you have to have the resources to pay. It is by nature exclusionary.
2. PAYING DUES MEANS SOMEONE IS SUFFERING! NOW! SOMEONE IS SUFFERING NOW!

I hear the arguments about high salaries being necessary to attract the best talent. I disagree. I think different people are suited to different sorts of activities and have multiple motivations for doing the work they do. If people are motivated by money then perhaps they can go and work in another sector where salaries are generally higher.

I hear the arguments about these high-paying jobs being very responsible, difficult, and demanding jobs that actually take up 80 hours a week. First, if you are in one of those jobs, you are in the position to shift the working culture to delegitimise overwork. If you don’t do this, you are making a rod for your own back, and for everyone else. Stop it. How about splitting the job in two, working less, and making space for another person to work in the arts? Then you wouldn’t need to be compensated so richly in a sector where people are suffering, trying to pay their damn dues. I don’t want to legitimise hard work as the source of money, because that’s not how it works (I can think of too many examples to make me think you can’t too), but many of the independent artists I know who are paid poorly also work very hard.

I hear the arguments about independent artists choosing to make the sacrifice of decent, stable income because they get to be liberated in their work, follow their own curiosity, choose with whom to work and so on. We get to have fascinating conversations and think the world anew. It’s really great. But we are also working in a system and are hemmed in by that; we also do shit-tonnes of admin and often more, because we don’t have the benefit of scale; we also have to meet the needs of many clients and stakeholders and partners. Further, all arts workers get the benefit of working in the arts. You too, high-earner, get to have creative conversations and dream up new ideas and think about the relationship between the arts and society. AND you get paid a proper salary.

I really want you to think about this. Without independent artists (who are currently working precariously), there is literally no point to your job. None. It is absolutely meaningless. What you do every day has no value. It is worthless. You need independent artists if you are the CEO of a dance organisation, the artistic director of a theatre, the boss of a sector support organisation. You know that there will be an endless supply of us – not because ‘we can’t do anything else’ in some romantic way, but because of a set of conditions including promises from the sector and its related HE organisations that a career is possible – so you know we are expendable. This is exploitation of the highest order. It is absolutely disgusting. If you care one bit about cultural life – about the human beings you see every working day – then you will do something about this. How dare you not do this.

(An aside: the organisations in which you work were never set up to do this. They were established to support and organise and lobby for and present artistic practice – I am certain of this in dance, because, again, I have read some of the reports, but I expect it to be the same in other fields. Because of many things (professionalisation of arts management, a dogmatic belief in and practice of trickle-down economics which doesn’t work anywhere, the way that organisations often sediment and become more conservative over time etc.), the whole thing has flipped. Now it’s the organisations – and the people earning salaries in them – who set the agenda, and artists are asked to supply goods according to those agendas. You can change this.)

So, you see, dear high-earner, this ladder business has to stop. It has to stop now. I am sorry that you suffered, that you ‘paid your dues’, on your way up this ladder. The ladder was always unfair and you managed to succeed, probably some privilege and a lot of talent and skill. The ladder didn’t have rungs for lots of talented, skilful, creative, determined people who just couldn’t get on its rungs. Now, I am asking you to use your weight to lever the ladder on its side. Yes, you will get less. You should literally be paid less for your work. You should. I am saying that. Yes, it will take time for you to acclimatise to being paid less, and you will have to reorganise your personal finances, but I am still asking you. Because underneath it all – the assumptions, your peer group’s expectations, the unjust promises that were made to you – I really, really, really hope that you don’t want to be complicit in exploiting the people around you.

I will help you do this. Contact me.

I’m a goddamn hypocrite

Fantastic stock image off the internet

As I wrote to the brilliant Selina Thompson a few days ago, and partially in relation to a conversation I had with Aaron Wright of Fierce Festival on Facebook, I am in the process of seeing the extent to which I am a hypocrite in lots of ways. This particularly pertains to my professional life. Here are a few combos, many of which are related to one another:

Everyone can make art

The only art worth my attention is made by people who know what they’re doing in my terms

—

All culture is important, including vernacular, DIY and outsider forms

I want to be an arbiter of what is important and not important along with people who think like me

—

I want how the arts are organised to completely change because the systems are unjust

I just want to have more power in the systems because I am right and know best

—

There are endless ways to appreciate and value art

My values and measures are the right values and measures

—

We need a plurality of articulation around artmaking and artgoing which includes non-professional doers and thinkers

I have had education about this so I know better for sure how to articulate everything about my field

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It is great to have people cut across disciplines e.g. architects in choreography, especially when it suits me

You can only be in or supported by a field if you know its full canon and, crucially, have suffered at the hands of its crap system i.e. ‘paid your dues’

—

An artist is a worker and should use worker-organising methods to improve their conditions (e.g. unions)

The category ‘professional artist’ should be dismantled so everyone can make stuff without it being a profession, with all the difficulty, exploitation, exclusion and creative stifling that that brings

—

I have thought in the past that the best way to deal with these doublethinks is to hold them within myself, managing myself as best I can, sort of ignoring bits and shrugging them off. Coronavirus is awful and watching an already-rotten government completely mould into a foul stink with no real hope for an alternative whilst actual human beings suffer the great, grave consequences has been terrible. Of course. Of course I would not have had life go like this. But what it has afforded me is a bit of time not to be scrabbling straight into the next thing, a bit of spaciousness in my life in the broadest way, and that has made me see not only the hypocrises in which I am engaging but also the weight of their psychical burden. I can’t go on like this. It is too disintegrating, too heavy. To overcome my hypocrisy might mean giving up a lot, probably a lot of what I am holding onto as some sort of essential value I have in myself. I have much more work to do. I’ll write more about some of this soon.

Preliminary thoughts on the Freelance Task Force

Image: Mary Wigman’s ghosts, because it’s never not relevant

I have been appointed to the Freelance Task Force. I am being backed by Jerwood Arts. Here are some very brief thoughts about that, written hastily and in a long form (There are headers for navigation/selection of what you want to read). I might change things as I go along, even after I post it. My thoughts are maybe not that important but I am finding it increasingly important to write my thoughts down; this is part mental health self-care 101, part a wish to log something of my thinking about this and other things in this moment, and part a desire to speak publicly about some of this. I think that these reasons are in any case intertwined and I am interested particularly in the personal and interpersonal and social and political impact of publicness of thought (see Virno, Arendt and so on, and I’ll certainly have to, because I can only now remember the headlines), and I intend to say more about that a bit later.

I considered applying to at least a couple of organisations once I’d seen and somewhat understood what the Freelance Task Force was becoming. I was a bit disheartened to see so few dance organisations get involved, and I hope that maybe something else is coming on that front (but I’m just guessing so don’t take that as a trade secret or anything. Nobody has told me anything). I am often involved in conversations about how the interlinked fields of dance, theatre, performance and Live Art (always capitals, right?) are organised, and I find that the way that I think is suited to considering structures, processes, and policies. I think in a way that is often considered utopian but I’m up for that and most of the time what people appear to mean by that is that it is outside of what they think is possible right now, or desirable right now, or palatable right now. I really love being part of such discussions but mostly I am driven by the need for action, and have taken part in all sorts of bits and bobs over the past decade-and-a-bit feeling a bit frustrated a lot of the time. The Freelance Task Force seemed and seems to me like a really bloody great idea and I’m pleased it’s happening and I’m pleased I’m doing it; it feels to me like a useful and unusually well and collectively resourced continuation of lots of other threads of action that have happened in my area of work. It is not unusual for freelancers to get together and try and change things, but it is unusual for organisations to get behind such actions in this way. This is good. I am hopeful.

But I’m feeling so sick about it. So worried. Here’s why:

I worry that I am not the right person

I know that each organisation involved had its own process for selection, ranging from formal recruitment processes led by HR teams to more informal conversations with existing individuals and networks. I was backed via an in-between process, where those of us who were from the relevant fields were asked if we would like to and then there was a vote after that. Originally it was going to be a name out of a hat which would have been fine, but I and others suggested we decide between ourselves. For reasons of time, I understand, a vote was the only possible way, but it’s not perfect by any means. I had a freak out as I voted, another one when I found out I had been selected (which precipitated two very long conversations with friends to help me unpick it – thanks Andrew and Beckie, you wee legends), and quite a lengthy back and forth by email and a conversation with Jon and Lilli from Jerwood before I felt I could even in my current discomfort take on this work. I have had another freak out seeing all the announcements on Twitter which is what has motivated me to write a bit. I don’t know if I’m the right person, but I do think I can contribute a lot to this action and have the will to bring my capacities and competencies to it. I do wish I’d realised or asked if it could be job-shared and I’m sorry now that I didn’t. I’ll know better for next time that that’s something I can ask about.

But to be clear: I don’t think I’m doing this because I’m special somehow. I see the congratulations being passed around and have been the recipient of some of them, and it’s nice – thank you. The ‘right person’ doesn’t exist and the ‘best person’ doesn’t exist. I’m not the winner of a prize; I was selected through a process that is one step up from winning a raffle. This is work, and work that I think could be really important if we do it thoughtfully. I want to do this work, but I don’t need to be celebrated for doing it.

I worry about the issue of representation

I have seen already on social media and on the posts of organisations language around representation – in the sense that a freelancer is representing an organisation, or representing a city or region. This is not how I have understood it at all. I work in dance and performance and live in Newcastle upon Tyne. There are few dance artists and choreographers and there are few participants from the Northeast. I have experiences of each but they are mine. I have lots of colleagues and friends who have similar experiences to me but they are also different. Jerwood has made it very clear to me that I represent only myself, not the organisation, and I think that that is good and right; otherwise the whole drive of the exercise is lost. But I also don’t think I’m in the business of representing anyone else; I do not need to represent anyone for my contribution to be helpful, effective, maybe with some insight and innovation and grounded in some common experiences. I will solicit outside information and undertake conversations as I see necessary once we begin the work, but I need to be conscious that I am being paid and others aren’t, and I don’t want to take something for nothing.

Further on the issue of representation, I don’t much like the idea of an organisation or person representing a place just because they are there. This would be a very bad idea indeed. For the past decade I have had, for instance, a very challenging relationship with the major dance organisation in my city (which has, thankfully, improved for the most part). Just because they are the only building-based dance organisation in my city does not mean they represent dance in this city or this city in danceland. Moreover, I don’t want to be a representative decided by other than that or those which I would be representing. The dance artists of the Northeast, for instance, would probably not have chosen me, but dance artists working in a particular frame might have, or artists working in the intersection of dance and live art, or maybe dance artists who have a foot in the game in academia. I’m not at all sure about any of these, but I draw attention to them to show how little I think it is helpful to take on the work of representing in this case. In a way this is rather more apparent because the organisation paying my fee is funder working nationally and across disciplines through non-state-funded means, so my ‘constituency’ is less clear. This does not mean that I do not consider myself responsible or caring for others in my field, but I think it does mean I can speak my mind and heart and be flexible and communicative about to whom I am relating in different ways depending on how the work develops.

I worry if this is the right conversation

I worry that we will get caught in the details of performance and its organisation and end up having interminable and well-rehearsed dialogues about…all the things we always talk about for which I am too wound up to list. My position this morning is that I want to zoom out as we plan our Zooms, and prepare for a bigger conversation about the relationship between the arts and neoliberal mechanisms. Without doing that we will forever be tinkering at the edges, trying to get a little bit more money for being a little bit more commercial until the possibility of artmaking to change everything for everyone completely disappears. I want to think, rather, about how to sustain a rich cultural life for everybody and what the role of freelancers is in that. This might mean all kinds of really difficult things, like dropping our desire to be the arbiters of what is culture and is not, the end of careerism, uncoupling performance from spectacle-making and showing off, stepping aside for other forms of culture to take centre stage. This can’t be anything but hard and will require a real examination of views and actions, not least my own.

I worry that I am too ‘radical’

In my circles of mostly very leftist arts practitioners who are engaged with political and critical theory and often different forms of social action, I find myself with many who share my views. This is pretty normal I reckon, and OK. Lilli from Jerwood reminded me in our discussion that people on the Freelance Task Force will be from many different sub-sectors of the field, and scrolling through Twitter I see that I know hardly anyone, when I know mostly everyone in my little corner. In this corner, I think most of the people I’ve spoken to lately are willing to change almost everything. People talk eloquently and in an informed, considered way about how to dismantle and completely change the organisations we hold dear – beloved Lois Keidan of LADA stepped down this week to allow her organisation to do something like that – and are quick and, in my view, right to connect the cultural sector to other parts of society and the economy to think about how we establish better conditions for artwork, artists and audiences to be well. I want to think forensically about what we really want to keep and what can be put on the compost heap. (I really mean what, not who, though sometimes I do think there are cultural workers who work like they’d rather work in the corporate sector and I wonder why they don’t just do that. But that’s for another time.)

For me, there’s a lot to be put on the compost heap – once all the disease and infestation has been taken out, and burned.

I worry about how we will organise ourselves, how we will relate to other conversations, and how we can disagree usefully

Related to my concern about representation comes to my concern about how we will talk to one another. This is a very big and diverse group of people. We will not want to speak about or do the same things. I’m pretty happy about this, within the worry. But I have also been part of lots and lots of different threads of work like this, and don’t want to repeat the problems. Consensus-based decision-making is unlikely to work entirely. Voting doesn’t work very well for such things. I don’t want some people to take on loads and other people to be twiddling their thumbs, wondering if they’re missing something; I’ve been on both sides in different contexts. I prefer a syndicated approach. By this I mean that we talk together and then everyone does what they need to do, supported and buoyed by the others who want to do that supporting and buoying. There might be groups of people who want to do the same action together or in a mini-chain or collective of some sort. Though I worry about this, I love thinking about such structures, and hope we can come to a solution, even if this is a shifting one.

There are other useful and difficult conversations happening about the future of our field – as is apparent, this is actually maybe twelve overlapping fields, or a corner of one, for me – which do not have the resource of the Freelance Task Force. They have a different resource: groups of smart, caring people who want to make things happen, but are mostly not being paid for their time in any visible way. I want to stay in those conversations not representing the Freelance Task Force, Jerwood, or anything at all, and also not there to sort of harvest and take back, as if the Freelance Task Force becomes another institution to report to. At the same time I think I can be asked to consider taking on some work that otherwise someone else would do unpaid as part of the paid time I have. This is a really tricky thing to manage.

I need to be able to disagree with people. Gillie, remember how you said you needed to be able to disagree with people? I must remind myself. I find it very difficult. How can we make it useful and not horrible? I don’t want to go to bed fretting all the time. Maybe this is just personal work, but maybe it will also be a texture of what we do.

I worry that the gatekeepers won’t listen to us anyway

Some of the organisations who have backed a freelancer could be considered gatekeepers. In fact, all of them could be to one degree or another, and I do think there are degrees. There are also bigger gatekeepers that are directly part of the life of dance, theatre and performance: very large institutions who are supposed to have a trickle-down influence and responsibility, key funders both state and otherwise, local authorities and the MHCLG which pass down monies from central government to local authorities, and the different governments of the four nations of the UK, including Westminster. There are less direct gatekeepers, like private landlords and their supporters who treat renters like crap, and prevent people, including cultural workers, living well; there are people, bodies and systems who make it possible for people to get state support necessary for a decent life; there are educational organisations who promise careers when they know there are none and that’s not the point of education anyway. How can we do this differently? I don’t want to pander to these people and systems but I do want to be heard.

I think I have great ideas. Of course I do – they’re my ideas coming out of my head emerging out of my unique conditions. For instance, I have been quietly trying to figure out how to get each National Dance Network member to pay a freelancer to go with them to each meeting and have a seat at the table, and have been routinely told that that’s impossible or not useful (why can’t I decide, we decide, what’s useful?). Fuel and the others have made this thing happen, and it seems somewhat similar, so it is after all possible, it’s just that the right person had the right idea and was heard by their peers. I feel quite often dismissed by colleagues in institutions, as if I don’t understand how they work or am some silly little artist. I don’t need to understand how everything works to have ideas, and good ones, to even have complaints or demands (I could write more about that but Sara Ahmed is your person on complaints and maybe Kathi Weeks on demands, and many others). These institutional workers often think they can tell me everything about my work, and they don’t know how I or often anyone does choreography and performance-making in the details of practice. But I am expected to listen and take it on, and often I do because it’s at worst well-meaning and at best fascinating, rewarding and genuinely helpful. (Actually at worst it’s a control tactic, an abuse of power, a way to drive down self-esteem and sustain an asymmetrical power dynamic but that is also for another time.)

I am very worried that the gatekeepers have lost the power to listen. I mean this on a very personal level, but I also mean that the structures have had to tighten up so much, have retreated due to scarcity and fear and the sheer volume and variety of demands upon them, that there’s no good way for things to change, no good way to slacken the gluten in the dough enough to add in another ingredient which could change the whole, make it tastier and richer and more nourishing.

—

I really want change. This initiative has arisen out of the coronavirus crisis, but has been so needed for so long. No, that’s not right. I want revolution. This task force can’t provide it, and I imagine many of us don’t want it. That’s OK, as far as it goes, but I hope that knowing what my drive is can be helpful for me and for others. As I wrote when I was putting myself forward to my peers for selection, I have no interest in finding ways to reset what has forever been an unjust and unsustainable way of making art. There are other ways and we can choose them.