Current Exhibition : Aron Hill: Mule with Transparent Pack and Rocks & Other Works
Oeno Gallery, Ontario Canada 11 May 2024 — 9 June 2024
WORK / LABOUR
CRAFTCARE, a cultural devotional
“For centuries “generalization,” as operated by the West, brought different community tempos into an equivalency in which it attempted to give a hierarchical order to the times they flowered. Now that the panorama has been determined and equidistance described, is it not, perhaps, time to return to a no less necessary “degeneralization”? Not to replenish outrageous excess of specificities but to a total (dreamed-of) freedom of the connections among them, cleared out of the very chaos of their confrontations.” Edouard Glissant, in Poetics of Relation
Drawing from my experience as a foster parent, nurturing a child and forging relationships with their birth mother and community, I am intrigued by how the resulting works of art and craft can be enriched through a practice centered on decolonization, prioritizing labor rooted in care and love. Sophie Lewis defines love as "to struggle for their autonomy as well as for their immersion in care, insofar such abundance is possible in a world choked by capital." This definition emphasizes the abundance of care essential for nurturing individuals and communities.
This exploration leads me to question how care-based labor can foster a therapeutic reality that cultivates a reciprocal relationship between art, craft, and the world they inhabit.
Informed by Marcus's concept of defamiliarization and non-essentialist Queer theory, which challenges fixed identities based on sexuality, gender, and social categories, I aim to engage with transformative approaches to traditional practices and societal norms. E. Franklin Dukes’ advocacy for “responsibility” over “rights,” and Gabriel Levine’s insights on profaning entrenched rituals, further inspire this writing..
Levine's work, particularly articulated in "Art and Tradition in a Time of Uprisings," proposes queering traditions and vernaculars as a means of fostering personal and collective healing. By challenging binary distinctions such as oppressed/oppressor and embracing fluid, socially constructed identities, we can reshape our worldview.
This holistic perspective resonates with my approach, encouraging a more organic and less rigid worldview. I naturally navigate formal systems and institutions by queering and profaning conventional separations, such as child/parent dynamics, foster care relationships, and the intersection of social work with embodied art practices and domestic art-making.
Origins
We live in a world where competition and consumption dominate, often overshadowing our capacity for care and leaving little room for nurturing practices. Reorienting ourselves toward care disrupts our current reality and encourages us to look towards the horizon and beyond.
Art and craft can mirror this shift and remind us of a different reality. If the practice of care is our labor, then art and craft become the tangible outcomes of this labor, serving as a reciprocal force for nurturing and reconnecting us with our heritage as creators. As the Orphic Hymns beautifully express, 'For thou art the nurse of all things, O much-loving Gaia (Earth), who dost feed all things that are in the world, whatever be the nature of the things that walk upon the holy earth, and all things are full of thee.' Furthermore, it is through the laboring of care that reminds us that we are ultimately not attached to this world, as highlighted in the passage from the Book of Romans: “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.” (Romans 12:2)
Work in order to labor
In her 1964 talk entitled "Labor, Work, Action," Hannah Arendt wrote that “the blessing of life as a whole, inherent in labor, can never be found in work and should not be mistaken for the inevitably brief spell of joy that follows accomplishment and attends achievement.” Arendt carefully distinguishes between the concepts of work and labor, highlighting that although they have different etymological origins, our cultural usage has mistakenly made them synonymous. Simply put, work involves creating the external artifacts of our environment such as shoes, temples, blankets, and paintings, while labor encompasses the essential activities of survival, including giving birth, feeding, and caring, ultimately culminating in death.
Labor through collaboration can produce works that, while secondary to the labor itself, serve as objects capable of reciprocating affect and contributing to positive feedback loops. These works are not intended to fill an emptiness or result from commodification processes. They differ from what Heidegger describes as "producing," where humans manipulate nature for their own ends. Instead, the products of labor arise from practices rooted in relationality rather than individual attempts to (re)present nature.
Culture arises from care, not solely from the production of artistic endeavors. Attempting to suggest or believe that culture arises solely from artistic endeavor is a characteristic of our current form of mass entertainment. Mass entertainment often believes it can achieve profound effects, such as alleviating pain and suffering, by simply presenting itself to the public, detached from relational activity and ready to be consumed.
Consider the verse found in Christian scripture where it says that faith without works is dead. I propose rethinking this verse by replacing "works" with "labor," thus reading that faith without labor is dead. This verse can then speak to where the source of culture lies, which is labor, or more specifically, care. Faith then emerges out of labor—it is what manifests after the labor of care is performed. Artists create artworks that serve as statements of faith. Faith encompasses worship and praise—things that reflect labor. Although it may seem counterintuitive to consider faith in this way, I believe that at the center of all acts of faith lies care, not the other way around. Understanding this sheds light on how various individuals and groups approach faith depending on their exposure and commitment to care.
Consider how groups of displaced people, unsettled by war or other violent events, feel the need to gather and seek strength in their faith. Often, the traumas they experience result from a lack of care by those displacing them—colonizers, developers, or other exploitative forces. Absence of care leads to societal trauma, documented as PTSD, which becomes a generational issue. Those experiencing trauma struggle to care for themselves due to disrupted continuity of care, leading to high rates of drug and alcohol abuse and suicide within affected groups. This negative feedback loop persists for generations. Often, individuals seek healing in aspects of their faith, yet no amount of faith can help without a foundation of care. This is a contentious issue among more conservative and fundamental religious groups, which, as is obvious, is why religious wars can erupt.
In some communities where generational trauma persists, new generations emerge and reestablish relations, fostering a practice of care that leads to new expressions of faith. These new expressions often diverge from older generations' beliefs, being more liberal, tolerant, and less hierarchical. It's important to clarify that the practice of care referred to here is best described by author and activist Sophie Lewis. She defines love as 'to struggle for their autonomy as well as for their immersion in care, insofar as such abundance is possible in a world choked by capital.' Autonomy in this context signifies the challenging task for caregivers to refrain from controlling those in their care. Engaging in caregiving, especially if we have trauma, makes it difficult not to exert control out of fear stemming from our own experiences. Allowing others to develop without control requires courage and creativity.
Lineage and family
In her provocative manifesto, "Abolish the Family, A Manifesto of Care and Liberation," writer and thinker Sophie Lewis argues that the nuclear family is a source of harm within our society, where dangers are most concentrated. She views the family as a colonial construct that upholds capitalist structures, pinpointing patriarchy as the underlying ideology pervading our culture. Lewis challenges traditional notions of kinship and care, offering a radical reevaluation.
In the opening pages of her book, Lewis ventures to define love, stating that "to love a person is to struggle for their autonomy as well as for their immersion in care, insofar such abundance is possible in a world choked by capital." This poignant definition encapsulates her perspective on relationships and care. Later in the book, Lewis emphasizes that "we have to accept that human beings are actualized neither in work nor in reproduction," highlighting her critique of conventional frameworks of fulfillment.
We enter this world at a specific time and place, our existence shaped by circumstances beyond our control. Sara Ahmed explores the concept of "compulsory heterosexuality" in her book "Queer Phenomenology: Orientations, Objects, Others," where heterosexuality is enforced as the norm, essential for maintaining a straightforward lineage. This orientation establishes a method of inheritance, whether material possessions or beliefs, easily passed down within reproductive family structures.
Ahmed suggests that we can actively reorient ourselves through an act of queering, challenging established norms. This effort represents a form of labor undertaken by our bodies to cultivate new habits and actions, diverging from constructed norms and opening up new horizons. This laboring process inevitably shapes our beliefs and perspectives.
Practice in the form of labor serves both reflective and prescriptive functions in shaping orientation. Orientation refers to one's developed direction, whether nurtured or intrinsic, shaping how one looks and points in life. Labor is reflective because it demonstrates an orientation, akin to the flower of one's labor rather than the fruit, symbolizing the visible manifestation of one's essence.
As we labor, the effort becomes a positive feedback loop that strengthens our orientation. Sara Ahmed describes this as the process of making something "effortless" through diligent work. She explains, "History 'happens' in the repetition of gestures, which is what gives bodies their tendencies”. Labor makes this repetition disappear: if we work hard at something, it seems 'effortless’.
Repetition and developed habits can be intuitive, varying in degrees of intentionality. Labor creates and directs us towards others, whereas work primarily produces tangible objects that may inadvertently separate us from others. For example, a shelter provides survival but also erects barriers. Understanding the nature, composition, size, and location of such constructs reveals their impact on others. These questions apply to all forms of artifice, guiding us in understanding their effects.
Present Practices
Many religious and spiritual traditions emphasize the importance of present being and mindfulness, encouraging individuals to exist fully in the current moment. Even practices that have been appropriated by Western culture emphasize a sense of nowness. For instance, the Christian tradition speaks of the Kingdom of Heaven being "at hand," emphasizing a present-oriented perspective rather than a focus solely on a future goal or destination.
In her book "Democracy in the Political Present," Isabell Lorey draws inspiration from Walter Benjamin's concept of "now-time" when discussing the significance of the present. Lorey defines presentist democracy as an expanded and infinite present, where present-day struggles connect with past ones. This approach brings fragments of history into focus, forging connections with silenced narratives affected by violence, with the potential to challenge domination such as sexism, classism, racism, and colonialism.
Lorey envisions action emerging from immersion in the present, driven by emotion and affect. This emotional dimension, often critiqued in academic contexts, is addressed by Paulette Regan in her book "Unsettling the Settler Within: Indian Residential Schools, Truth Telling, and Reconciliation in Canada." Regan responds to accusations of presentism as a way of silencing authentic historical narratives. She cites Canadian sociologist Roger Simon, who advocates for an ethical insurgent remembering that requires emotional vulnerability and openness to feeling the past deeply.
This immersion into a "now-time" entails breaking away from linear notions of time dominated by patriarchal inheritance and family lineage. It extends beyond familial boundaries, inviting a profound engagement with historical affects to inform the political present. In today's educational landscape focused heavily on STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Mathematics), there is a risk of losing appreciation for the present due to increasing disconnection from the past.
Immersion in the present, rooted in connections to history, resembles deep listening to music—an experience that transcends linear time and engages the senses fully.
While one can approach music intellectually, profound listening occurs when one intuitively feels and becomes immersed in the flow of the music. Deep listening involves a knowingness or remembrance of previous notes and elements of the song, allowing for constant intuitive comparison and contrast. Rather than dwelling on past notes, deep listening involves immersing oneself in the continual nowness of the music.
Certain spiritual practices advocate for untethered thoughts, where memories of the past are manifested in the mind without attaching to the present moment. This helps dismantle the illusion of linearity. Similarly, "now-time," which relates to past struggles, is not tethered to those struggles, enabling free action and movement.
Tethering, or attachment to the past, acts as a limitation and burden that inhibits movement. Overcoming fear, a central goal of meditation, is crucial as fear acts like a giant chain, hindering present practices and potentiality associated with "now-time." Knowledge of the past does not stem from fear; rather, fear undermines the fabric of relationships essential for overcoming domination such as sexism, classism, racism, and colonialism.
Establishing a "fabric of relations" rooted in allyship and generosity stands in opposition to fear-based dominance. Sexism, classism, racism, and colonialism thrive on fear, which acts as their glue, holding oppressive systems together. In contrast, a fabric of relationships embodies resilience and flexibility, unlike the stiffness of glue.
Hospitality
The Book of Job, found in Hebrew scriptures, presents a peculiar narrative where God allows Satan to test Job's persevering love. Gustavo Gutierrez, in his book "On Job: God-Talk and the Suffering of the Innocent," explores how "the satan" doubts Job's "disinterested love" for God, suspecting that Job's devotion stems from the blessings he receives. According to this view, Job's love is transactional, based on what it provides him—his blessings—suggesting that without these blessings, Job would turn away. Despite this doubt, God remains confident in Job's disinterested love and permits Satan to inflict suffering upon Job by taking away his family, possessions, and health. Throughout these trials, Job never turns away.
The concept of disinterested love is complex, as love itself is elusive and difficult to define. Sophie Lewis's definition of love as "to struggle for their autonomy as well as for their immersion in care, insofar such abundance is possible in a world choked by capital" hints at the notion of disinterest within the context of a capitalist society. Disinterest implies unconditional love that welcomes and values the Other without expecting reciprocity.
Isabell Lorey views hospitality as a form of radical inclusion and democracy. She discusses Derrida's concept of the "break of the gift without reciprocity," emphasizing disinterested love for the Other—a challenging notion in a capitalist society where reciprocity often governs relationships. Hospitality, as a creative practice, counters constructed hierarchies and embodies present democracy in "now-time."
The constructed image of the nuclear family home, depicted as an idyllic and glowing space, can be tantalizing—a deceptive illusion meant to uphold societal cohesion. However, this private and locked space often functions as a site of patriarchy and despotism rather than democracy.
Infinite totallity
A vibrant and healthy habitat requires care simply because it hosts multiple beings living side by side. Beings must take care to avoid self-destruction and harm to others. Care is a reflection of relationship, not merely a reaction to suffering, as we often associate care only with times of desperation and trouble. While care is crucial in such times, it could be argued that more baseline care would reduce troubles and desperation overall.
I wonder if practicing care involves removing barriers that disrupt the continuity of dynamic relationships between individuals in an environment. Many advocate for increased freedom, often linked to having more options and choices. However, consider watching fish swimming in a creek: the fish's freedom to be itself comes not from having more options, but from a cared-for environment. The water must be free of pollution, and the waterway unobstructed. This concept can be seen as a return to essential nature, although it's important to note that nature has sometimes been used to justify obstructing the continuity of Others.
There is concern that certain gender and sexual theories, especially trans affirming intervention is merely providing dangerous options for confused individuals. Instead, opening up sexuality and gender through considerate queer studies aims to remove barriers rather than provide additional options. A less obstructed environment allows individuals to express their absolute selves, embracing the complexity and nuance of queerness as a return to infinite totality.
"Infinite totality" refers to a state of being or existence that encompasses all aspects of reality, without limitation or boundary. It suggests a comprehensive and all-encompassing view of existence that transcends individual or finite perspectives. The term implies boundlessness or endlessness, indicating that the totality being described is not restricted by constraints such as time, space, or specific conditions. When combined, "infinite totality" describes a holistic and inclusive understanding of existence that embraces diversity, complexity, and interconnectedness, acknowledging the unity and interconnected nature of all things beyond fragmented parts.
Abolishing Separation
To be profane is to show little or no respect for the sacred or holy. It involves defiling the consecrated spaces established by those in power, such as priests. Profanity describes the act of disregarding the prescribed separation between humans and the sacred, behaving in a manner that appears to defy formalized religious norms. Throughout religious history, there are numerous examples of teachers and prophets who acted in profane ways to restore faith relationships with their gods. For instance, Jesus overturned the money tables at the temple, performed miracles on the Sabbath, and openly criticized the religious authorities of his time.
A practice of care seeks to abolish normative separations. In a world "choked by capital," where the pursuit of financial wealth and materialism is elevated to the status of the sacred, individuals are compelled to compartmentalize their pursuits to maintain religious order. If one's labor practice begins to blend with their work, there is a risk that labor might critique the work, or vice versa, revealing that the two cannot be reconciled. This dissonance is contributing to the destruction of our world.
Vacuous Work / Plastic Work
Alienation from land or place involves a disconnection from the specific space one occupies and the knowledge embedded within a community. Indigenous thinkers emphasize land-based knowledge as arising from one's specific place, inherently differentiating it from others'. While universal themes and truths exist across all places, the specifics vary. For instance, dietary habits differ significantly between coastal and prairie dwellers, reflecting the deep connection between individuals and their environment. Being attuned to the land and nature fosters an understanding of what true allyship entails. Despite differing uses of nature based on environment, a generous and non-exploitative approach remains consistent.
This specificity extends to other aspects of one's time and space when it comes to the practice of care and labor. Within our current cultural context, some artists—often white males—express a sentiment of feeling left out or behind, despite acknowledging and even supporting marginalized groups' actions. Is this a matter of being left behind, or failing to keep pace?
The work of many artists, myself included, can become vacuous, especially in light of the imperative to care for and meet our communities' needs. While traditional forms of art like painting and sculpture were once referred to as "plastic," the term takes on a deeper meaning when applied to the artist themselves. The artist should exhibit extreme plasticity, creatively responding to their specific land and space—the environment that calls for care.
Isabell Lorey explores Nietzsche's concept of "plastic power," a force that actively shapes history in the present. Lorey emphasizes that this plastic power is contingent upon the environment and surroundings—the very "horizon" that influences both external and internal plasticity. The practice should be plastic, fully responsive to specificity and the historical present.
Culture
The word “culture” is rooted in the concept of cultivation or tending to growth. It is closely linked with our contemporary notion of care, although etymologically speaking, culture comes from the Latin colere, meaning to tend, cultivate, and care, while care is derived from the Germanic chara, meaning grief or lament. When understood together, culture could be considered an act of tending to that which might be grievable.
Philosopher Judith Butler contemplates the grievability of life, categorizing lives into three distinct groups. First, there are lives deemed ungrievable—those toward which violence is allowed or tolerated because their loss matters little or nothing to us. This category signifies extreme inequality. Second, there are lives that, when lost or destroyed, become grievable—lives we have shown little care for while living, yet we experience grief when confronted with their death. Lastly, there are anticipatory grievable lives—lives that we sustain and care for during their existence.
Of course, these categories are not clearly delineated in our hearts or minds; they may even shift and change over time and in different contexts. Butler posits the ideal of the third category as aligned with non-violence, stating:
“… we might approach equality and cohabitation on new terms, starting from the presumption that all lives are equally grievable and trying to see how that matters both in death and in life. In life, the potentially grievable life is one that deserves a future, a future whose form cannot be predicted and prescribed in advance. To safeguard the future of a life is not to impose the form that such a life will take, the path that such a life will follow; it is a way of holding open the contingent and unpredictable forms that lives may take.”
Therefore, if we believe that a life is worth safeguarding, we must also believe in its sovereignty—a complex freedom that involves tending to and caring for others, inherently dependent on mutual care and relationship.
Understanding culture in this way provides a solid foundation for practice. Care, when viewed as a practice, becomes the genesis of culture—a genuine source of social dynamics that transcends the mere production of replaceable and imitable cultural artifacts. Culture is deeply rooted in cultivated relationships that are fundamentally anticipatory of grievability. The outcomes of these intuitive and intentional relationships can manifest as products, albeit secondary ones, evaluated primarily by their capacity for reciprocal care. In essence, products resulting from care practices must foremost reflect and reciprocate care sensibility. What is care sensibility? It embodies a boundless, queer sensibility teeming with potential, inherently critical of its place within a framework that seeks to undermine it. It is irreplaceable and generously embraces the Other. This description might seem idealistic and vague, intentionally so, as attaching specificity would risk easy commodification.
Common-wealth
Does this cultural product engage in a positive feedback loop where the maker, and sometimes the Other, receive critical feedback about their practices? Or is this manifestation, labeled as "work" (as distinct from labor), merely an assertion to be consumed? Martin Heidegger writes, “As long as man is wholly absorbed in nothing but purposeful self-assertion, not only is he himself unshielded, but so are things, because they have become objects. In this, to be sure, there also lies transmutation of things into what is inward and invisible.” With each cycle or loop, a ‘transmutation’ can occur. Tending to each loop propels us beyond, entering a queer space with a more elegant and nuanced appreciation.
In discussing the Greek and Roman approaches to culture, Hannah Arendt highlights that our understanding of culture is primarily shaped by the Romans, who viewed culture not from the perspective of its producers but as caretakers of the natural and inherited. Unlike the Greeks, who saw culture as a political manifestation through human interactions, the Romans emphasized the preservation and guardianship of culture. However, both these perspectives were limited, as they often excluded voices based on status or gender.
Arendt suggests that for the Greeks, art production was distinct from politics, reflecting a certain compartmentalization. Despite valuing art, there was distrust toward artists' political capacities. This complexity in viewing culture resonates with Marx's notion of the common wealth of society.
In their book titled "Politically Red," Eduardo Cadava and Sara Nadal-Melsió write, “If culture is a site of production that detaches itself as an object, the common-wealth is a site of collective production without limits. It is culture on strike because it is culture from the perspective of the producer, not the consumer. It breaks culture open in order to show its fissures, to expose its incapacity to be what it promises to become- among other things, a mask for capitalist violenc and barbarism.” Cadava and Nadal-Melsió see this collective production as a form of massification. I understand this, as related to the formation of culture, as the gradual layering and accumulation of artistic production.
This reflection on Marx's ideas suggests that culture emerges from a form of production centered on the unquantifiable collective understanding of history and care, contrasting with the consumption of goods by the bourgeoisie. Culture, in this view, arises from limitless relational interactions rather than the acquisition and sale of material goods by the wealthy.
Greek and Roman
The queer space I referred to earlier is more aligned with the Roman "care" approach, but exponentially more radical and inclusive. Additionally, the political aspect becomes somewhat of a byproduct, as every act, body, and thing holds a political entity in a social setting under some authority structure. Arendt concluded that the Greeks feared that artists or "men" as “homo-faber,” due to their "mastery" over raw material, posed a threat to the state—a theme prevalent in the history of crafts, exemplified in modern times by Bauhaus, where each student needed mastery over materials to produce. In 1971, social theorist Murray Bookchin wrote, “The craftsman dominates the tool; his labor, artistic inclinations, and personality are the sovereign factors in the productive process. (...) The craftsman guides the tool, not the tool guiding the craftsman.” Thus, the artisan/craftsperson, unlike the politician who only "acted" or performed as personality, felt liberated due to the sovereignty gained through their craft. As Arendt suggests, “let his opinion of the value of the political be known.”
It's not a stretch to consider that many colonizers recognized the threat sovereignty posed when attempting to subjugate people. Indigenous groups possessed strong cultures involving crafts and orientations that granted them a sense of sovereignty; thus, cultural genocide was deemed necessary for settling and colonization. The challenge of politically ruling individuals who felt a sense of sovereignty was and is real. The Greeks were correct in their fears. An increased sense of sovereignty corresponds with decreased alienation, freeing individuals from psychological dependence on nationalism. Care, in many ways, stands opposite to alienation. Craft historically involves handmade objects, with the body intimately connected to the labor process. Similarly, consider the care of the Other in this manner. Understanding culture as the result of a caregiving craft means understanding culture in opposition to all forms of alienation.
Auto-theory
Lauren Fournier characterizes autotheory as tied to a politics of radical self-reflection, embodied knowledge, and sustained, literary nonfictional writing, emanating from a self that has been, and continues to be, suppressed and repressed by patriarchal and colonial contexts. Autotheory, as an embodied practice, has thrived in feminist discourse, partly due to women traditionally shouldering the bulk of life's labor—care of family and home. Although tremendously undervalued and unpaid, this work was often less alienating than factory labor, at least in practice. However, the modern construct of home can also be profoundly alienating, socially isolating individuals from their community and extended family.
Out of necessity, many women embodied a living theory through their daily work. Even those working in artistic or academic fields outside the home often faced social pressures to manage household and childcare responsibilities, leaving little room for intellectual reflection compared to their male colleagues. For some, this led to a lived theoretical intuitive experience—a practice that emerged from labor division and hierarchical structures, in part as a refusal of patriarchal domination.
Sara Ahmed invokes queer phenomenology when discussing the "labor of philosophy," noting the fantasy of "paperless philosophy" as essential not only to the gendered nature of philosophy but also to challenging the disappearance of political economy and the labor underlying philosophical work, including domestic labor. Ahmed's phenomenological approach directs attention to the labor and craft of care, which counters and challenges societal norms like compulsory heterosexuality—a dominant social order obsessed with straight reproductive lineages.
Within domestic environments, signs of heterosexual reproductive lineages abound—happy family photographs, heirlooms, and wedding gifts serve as evidence. The house itself, a private dwelling, is passed down through generations. Ahmed contemplates how queer desire acts by bringing other objects closer, objects that might not be allowed near within straight ways of orienting the body. I believe that firsthand experiences and knowledge can be reoriented, engaged, and unalienated through personal labors of queer desire—simple acts of caring for those who do not fit within conventional straight lineages.
Refusal
Fournier's concept of "radical self-reflection" resonates with queer theorist José Esteban Muñoz's exploration of Herbert Marcuse's 1955 work Eros and Civilization. Marcuse uses the myth of Narcissus to contrast Prometheus's "performance principle," which describes the conditions of alienated labor endured by modern individuals. While Prometheus suffered repetitive torture, Narcissus becomes captivated by his own reflection—an act of radical self-reflection that is both non-reproductive and non-productive.
Muñoz interprets Marcuse's notion of the "Great Refusal" as queer because it signifies a rejection of normative love that sustains repressive social orders. Muñoz expands queerness beyond sexuality, describing it as a rejection of the performance principle that defines our work, pleasure, selves, and relationships.
It's intriguing to consider the mirrors in our domestic spaces as akin to Narcissus's reflecting pool, although modern mirrors are primarily associated with femininity. Despite Narcissus being male in myth, his fascination with his reflection challenges heteronormative behavior. Similarly, Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray presents Dorian Gray in a feminine light. This flamboyant reflection, culturally linked to femininity, represents a form of queer self-reflection. The mirror, a tool for self-adornment, historically embodies these ideas within the modern home and domestic practices.
Mercy
The seven corporal works of mercy are:
1. Feed the hungry
2. Give water to the thirsty
3. Cloth the naked
4. Give shelter to the homeless
5. Visit the sick
6. Visit those who are imprisoned
7. Bury the dead
The seven spiritual works of mercy are:
1. Instruct the ignorant
2. Give counsel to those who are in doubt
3. Admonish the sinners
4. Be patient with those who have wronged us
5. Forgive those who have wronged us
6. Give comfort to the afflicted
7. Pray for the living and the dead
Caravaggio's Seven Works of Mercy (1607) depicts the corporal works of mercy rather than the spiritual, serving as an altarpiece originally displayed at the church of Pio Monte della Misericordia in Naples. Caravaggio's focus on earthly matters over heavenly ones is evident in this painting, as he rarely explored depictions of the spiritual realm. His naturalism was both literal and physical, yet in this work, we see a winged figure of Mary at the top of the painting surrounded by otherworldly bodies. Originally intended to be divided into separate panels for each act, Caravaggio combined all seven acts into one crowded image.
Of particular interest are the last two acts. The concerns of hunger, thirst, shelter, warmth, and sickness are primary bodily needs, whether experienced in isolation in nature or within a bustling city. In contrast, imprisonment and burial are outcomes of institutional confinement. Caravaggio's portrayal of visiting the imprisoned shows a woman offering her breast to a man for nourishment, inspired by the ancient Roman story of Pero sustaining her father Cimon in prison to prevent starvation—an act historically connected to Juno feeding Hercules. The depiction of burial features two men caring for a body: a priest holding a torch and a gravedigger carrying the body. This scene is based on the story of Tobias from the Apocryphal book of Tobit or Tobias, where a devout Jew buries slain exiled Israelites.
Starvation
The queer lens allows us to transcend the shallow and often repulsive contemporary interpretation of what some viewers might see as a sexual act between an old man and a young woman. History teaches us that this is a misinterpretation, as the act of nursing and the breast were not viewed with sexual connotations in antiquity as they are today. Instead, the queer lens reveals the body as an extension of the self, exploring intimate relations beyond traditional norms. Queering this painting offers a stranger and perhaps more profound understanding of relationships, and in fact, this act of queering may bring us closer to Caravaggio's original intent. It is often the case that anarchic and queer shifts in perspective return us to the spirit and intent of the artwork.
This particular act of mercy responds not merely to the body in nature but to the body within the context of institutional structures, such as the prison. The prison is a human construct, and thus an 'unnatural' act like breastfeeding one's father becomes necessary to profane, to challenge the separation imposed by the institution. This is akin to the provocative act in Catherine Opie’s photograph Self Portrait / Nursing (2004), where Opie is depicted breastfeeding her child with the word 'pervert' scarred onto her chest. This work recontextualizes mothering, echoing historic depictions of Mary nursing the Christ child, introducing a new and unconventional sense of care.
Prison
Caravaggio fled Rome to avoid a death sentence after being convicted of the murder of Ranuccio Tomassoni. In Naples, he enjoyed some protection from the legal consequences of his actions due to his connections with influential figures. Throughout history, the term 'prison' originates from the Latin 'pris' or 'prize,' implying something taken. This notion aligns with the practices of settlers, colonialists, invaders, or even seemingly innocent visitors or tourists, who take 'prizes' as a testament to their presence and conquest of the exotic.
The philanthropic association Pio Monte della Misericordia commissioned Caravaggio to paint the Seven Works of Mercy. Remarkably, this association enjoyed a degree of autonomy from religious oversight, granting them the freedom to pursue their initiatives independently. This autonomy provided Caravaggio with the opportunity to create a more progressive and unconventional painting. Both the association and Caravaggio operated without censorship, unlike some of his other commissions where his innovative subject matter faced opposition from the church. One well-known example was his portrayal of a prostitute, possibly his lover, as a model for the Death of the Virgin (1602). This deliberate act of provocation reflected Caravaggio's own beliefs about Mary, which challenged the ecclesiastical authorities of his time.
A prison can symbolize all human institutions, which are perceived in our society as both human creations and integral to human development. It forces an examination of these contrasting perspectives. Physically, the body experiences confinement and restriction, while the mind retains autonomy for independent thought. The institutions that confine individuals often appear as protective constructs with necessary boundaries, despite their constructed and arbitrary nature. The limitations encountered reflect privileged positions within society. The 'prison' referenced is not solely the administrative control but encompasses present circumstances and constraints. José Esteban Muñoz proposes that 'the future is queerness's domain,' suggesting that queerness embodies a desire transcending present constraints. The current 'here and now' resembles a prison, with a liberated future characterized by queer relationships challenging conventional structures. This work represents the deconstruction of societal norms to create space for new modes of existence. Despite societal roles as 'toilers,' individuals exercise agency in shaping labor toward a collective pursuit of freedom.
Profane
The practice of many traditional crafts often involves an intimate knowledge of materials, cultivated over time as artists explore the capabilities of various materials and experiment with new combinations. Unlike certain other traditional arts like painting and drawing, which often focus on representing central subjects on surfaces, crafts such as textiles, ceramics, and jewelry are creations where objective and subjective qualities are intertwined. Here, the material's inherent qualities and what it depicts or represents are not separated; they are integrated. Craft inherently possesses a queering quality, challenging established boundaries. Drawing on Walter Benjamin, Gabriel Levine discusses the act of profaning elements of traditional practices as a means to disrupt ritual and established separations. In Levine's insightful book, "Art and Tradition in a Time of Uprisings," he explores how queering traditions and vernaculars can promote healing for individuals and societies. Craft has the power to challenge binary separations like material versus subject or utility versus art, offering new perspectives on the world. From my interpretation of Levine's work, I perceive and engage with the world more organically and informally. Queering and profaning the separation between care-giving and embodied art practices, as well as the division between domestic and art-making realms, aids in navigating the formal and rigid systems and institutions in our society. By breaking down these separations, we begin to adopt a more Indigenous worldview, less influenced by dominant modern and colonial perspectives. Wahinkpe Topa (Four Arrows) and Darcia Narvez discuss in their influential book, "Restoring the Kinship Worldview," how colonizers rely on explicit-order concepts that fail to capture dynamic reality. They emphasize the harm caused by perceiving the world as static and full of isolated objects, highlighting the importance of understanding the interconnectedness of all things. A queer worldview embraces this interconnectedness, recognizing the sentience and consciousness inherent in all beings and rejecting hierarchical divisions.
Defamiliarization
Philosopher Craig Leonard, in his book "Uncommon Sense: Aesthetics after Marcuse," discusses defamiliarization as a rejection of the limitations imposed by the reality principle and a refusal to overlook possibilities. Leonard quotes Marcuse, who views this movement as exemplifying a revolutionary "meta-language" by negating social norms and established habits. It is art's role to queer the world around us—not merely questioning social habits, but rendering those habits ineffective. If we consider the biblical "fall of man," where humans gained knowledge of good and evil, defamiliarization lifts us out of this binary world. In practice, art doesn't just imitate life; life itself becomes an art form, shaped by the practice of care. This practice requires defamiliarizing norms, categories, habits, and labels considered "normal." The notion to "abolish the family" aligns here, suggesting that the root of defamiliarization is within the family, where typical care practices often fall short. Family, synonymous with the familiar, must crumble for radical practices to emerge. Even art and craft making can succumb to familiarization and habituation, given their tendency toward rarity and insularity, which can limit internal and external scrutiny.
Leonard suggests that, in a Marcusean sense, "In a Marcusean sense, 'minding about' is equivalent to the attentiveness that is concurrent with defamiliarization aesthetic experience. Structurally, therefore, defamiliarization, as a technique of care, is the heart (kardia) of praxis, techne, phronesis, and poietike (art in general) due to its practical and ethical attentiveness." Marcuse points to the embodied response of shuddering when faced with defamiliarization. This shuddering, as interpreted, represents a value-neutral response and marks the beginning of an intuitive endeavor rather than a cathartic one. Marcuse argues that cathartic responses endorse and reinforce the familiar by operating within its structure. In contrast, the shudder signifies an acknowledgment of the Other—a state of "minding about" and a potential initiation of care. When Carolee Schneemann unraveled the interior scroll from her vagina, it was an act driven by intuition. She expressed, "Trusting intuition may make me seem crazy. But it's tapping into everything you know, people! Intuition is not some obscure, feminine notion."
Intuition
Carol Schneemann also asserts, “Dealing with actual lived experiences—that’s heroic for a man and trivial exposure for a woman. A woman exploring lived experience occupies a realm that men seek to denigrate as domestic, encapsulate as erotic, arousing, or supportive of their own position.” Art and craft involve a profound engagement with something that has been distanced from ourselves. Leonard argues that “care does not automatically arise from the familiar but emerges from an attentive, defamiliarizing inquiry that leads to an understanding beyond common sense.” In Noam Chomsky and Mary Waterson’s book Consequences of Capitalism, they challenge the notion of common sense. Common sense has been constructed to normalize a specific way of thinking and acting. For instance, how we work, perceive dominance, educate ourselves, consume, construct our social lives, or view others. Chomsky discusses how the modern idea of being employed under a boss is relatively recent, contrasting with historical norms where people often worked for themselves, highlighting a form of alienation where our bodies are commodified for labor. Our society emphasizes formal education to secure the right schools and jobs, exemplified by a friend's acquaintance lamenting her preschooler's abnormal childhood due to COVID mandates. However, this notion of a 'normal' childhood is exceptional and historically uncommon. Harold R. Johnson's Peace and Good Order criticizes the failure of the Canadian educational and justice system to achieve justice for Indigenous peoples, rooted in a constructed common sense shaped by colonial males. Changing these entrenched institutional processes is challenging. The question of effective institutional critique from within is nuanced, involving those who catalyze change within institutions and external forces pressuring those in power to enact change.
The creation of any product, particularly in our contemporary world, is fraught with ethical dilemmas. Regardless of how sustainable, upcycled, recycled, locally sourced, or biodegradable a product or its materials may be, it represents another human manifestation that has inevitably come at the expense of individuals and/or the environment. The rare exception might be objects entirely made from found materials, though even these are not immune to ethical considerations depending on how they are exhibited or presented. Galleries, museums, and digital platforms all have spatial, environmental, and social impacts, from server electricity consumption to broader cultural implications.
Navigating and implicitly supporting these platforms is a complex issue that may exceed individual influence. So, should we completely abandon the creation of objects? I come from and still live on the Prairies, known today as Canada, where many Indigenous groups once lived before settler colonial activities confined them to reserves, perpetuating negative effects of colonialism. There is a perception that life in this area was harsh for Indigenous peoples compared to those on the West Coast, leading to a less developed artistic culture.
While less nomadic lifestyles might justify creating larger, more permanent physical artifacts, a capitalist, Euro-centric, colonial worldview places physical artifacts at the pinnacle of cultural hierarchy. Physical items can be commodified, traded, collected, and stolen, unlike non-physical or ephemeral cultural practices such as ceremonies, oral traditions, dances, or somatic rituals, which exist outside capitalism, especially when they are no longer practiced.
These non-physical manifestations could be considered ineffable, rooted in sacred crafts that defy easy categorization. While physical artifacts respond to and embody essences beyond descriptive language, they are often more easily defined by form and material existence. For example, the symbolism and ceremony within the shelters of Plains Indigenous people, like the tipi, where each pole carries oral tradition meanings, demonstrate a form of relational aesthetics. The profound significance lies in a deeper, complex relationship with nature that points toward the ineffable.
Ineffable
The ineffable could be viewed as the defamiliarization discussed earlier by Marcuse, with the additional lens of the sacred. This perspective allows for an exploration and exposure to something beyond our current reality system. In his book "Magic and Technic," Francis Compagna suggests that our current reality system heavily relies on descriptive language for existence. According to Compagna, this reality system blinds us to the ineffable - the essence of things.
Compagna proposes a spectrum of existence, with tangible reality at one end and essence at the other, acknowledging that reality systems fall somewhere along this spectrum. The "magician," as he understands it, is a reality therapist who works to bring about a new reality.
Sacred or ceremonial objects prioritize the symbolic over the familiar, contrasting with everyday objects. Craft often straddles these two functions, its position on Compagna's spectrum of essence and existence fluid and challenging to categorize from a Eurocentric capitalist perspective. Art, on the other hand, is typically easier to categorize due to its adoption and control by markets supported by complex cultural and financial institutions. The arts are assigned "market value," while craft remains more peripheral due to its domestic and relational foundations.
Therapy
Consider the artist as a magician, a practitioner akin to a "reality therapist" aiming not to enhance the current reality but to usher in a new, yet unrealized one. This craft involves looking toward the horizon to recreate. The practitioner understands that the ideal isn't an upgraded version of the old reality, but a transformation into something entirely different. Art and craft, as manifestations, should serve as symbols pointing toward the horizon. The discussion should move beyond whether the work is descriptive or prescriptive and delve into its symbolic efficacy. This efficacy can be viewed relative to both the viewer and the maker/practitioner. The latter plays a primary role, as the work should engage in a positive feedback loop where creation leads to self-therapy—a new reality of magic and the ineffable.
Compagna writes, "Ultimately, everything within Magic’s reality-system is a symbol: from the individual entity to every object defined as such, and importantly, broader narrative aggregates spanning from one’s existential narrative to societal structures and institutions." The practice of craft is a delicate and sensitive approach to the life it is immersed in. This "safeguarding" serves as a warning against heavy-handed and exploitative approaches. The "living element" can be understood as the focus of care. The practice of care is ineffable, requiring symbolic gestures and expressions to safeguard both the caregiver and the one being cared for. It resists definitive and categorical language and descriptions—for instance, refraining from sweeping generalizations like "addict," "support worker," or "indigenous." When integrated into the act of making, it resists the limiting classifications of "artists."
t's important to discuss scale—specifically, human scale—as it pertains to practice in general. In addition to exploring ratios of 1:1 in relation to power, the ineffable is experienced and pursued at an unalienated, unmediated human scale. This occurs through personal and performative activities, such as caregiving, which give rise to craft manifestations that reciprocate. For me, the emphasis on the domestic realm in craft is crucial. Although often seen as private, the domestic sphere holds significant public consequences, as it's where new realities emerge through acts of care.
For instance, when engaging in embroidery—an activity easily picked up and put down while tending to someone (like a child or elderly person), and resilient to being disturbed by a toddler—it can serve as a material manifestation of the labor involved in care. If approached with a view that seeks an ineffable and magical reality, the resulting "craft" becomes a reciprocal object that provides therapy for both the self and the community, leading to an orientation that can be observed and adopted by others. While this scenario may seem idealized, it's not unattainable when pursued intuitively and intentionally (with critical awareness).
In this context, a private act becomes public by beginning at "home" within a human scale, devoid of power dynamics, and extending outward into the community. Scale also refers to the distance between the sometimes private practice of care and therapeutic craft. How mediated is this practice? That is, is the distance from the object of care within a human-scale relationship, and is the distance between the crafted object and its relational context also within a human-scale, face-to-face interaction?
Here, I think it's important to discuss what therapy actually means. From the Greek, therapy originally meant "to minister to" or "healing." It can also be understood as "to attend to," which aligns closely with the concept of care. This "attending to" requires attention, meaning one must be aware of their surroundings.
Indigenous
First, the term "indigenous" as it applies to classification is a colonial construct. It's a Eurocentric generalization of peoples encountered by colonizers, simplifying diverse groups into a single noun by the dominant group—the one doing the naming. This simplicity is a form of abstraction, aiming to make things easily understood, whereas individual Indigenous representation is about the particular. As Mexican artist and curator Francisco Guevara notes, "most terms used to explain the social, cultural, and political complexity in the Americas are inventions, including ‘indigenous’ and ‘indigeneity’ (also a term to racialize time and space)."
I use the verb "to indigenize" from the perspective of a settler colonizer, but not in a general sense. Instead, it's within the context of personal practice that pays "attention" to a particular place, space, and time. This attention helps attend (provides therapy) to both the individual and the other, and any relationships involved. Indigenizing is not about appropriating local practices, but rather about closely attending to those who have lived and gained embodied knowledge of a particular place.
To emphasize, this paying attention is about relationships—face-to-face interactions that serve to eliminate separations. This concept relates to the idea of queering and profaning. In his book "Art and Tradition in a Time of Uprisings," Gabriel Levine discusses profaning certain elements of traditional practices as an act that breaks down ritual and established separations. By challenging seemingly binary separations like the oppressed and the oppressor, or the blessed and the cursed, we can begin to see and experience our world differently.
In my own interpretation of Levine's work, I experience my world more naturally and less formally. I think of queering and profaning as challenging separations such as child/parent, child/foster child, foster parent/biological parent, social worker/embodied art practice, and domestic/art making. This helps me navigate the formal and rigid systems and institutions in our society. Eliminating these separations reflects more of an Indigenous worldview and less of the dominant modern/colonial worldview.
In their best-selling book "Restoring the Kinship Worldview," Wahinkpe Topa (Four Arrows) and Darcia Narvez argue that "Colonizers use explicit-order concepts that do not fit dynamic reality." They assert that the idea of a static world full of separated objects has caused endless problems, as experts isolate fragments of reality without considering their impact on the whole. The kinship they speak about involves the entirety of nature. The queer view of the world encompasses all as one, including things that seem lifeless and other to the colonial eye. This understanding is holistic, seeing all as sentient, conscious, and non-hierarchical.
Sovereignty is intricately linked with Indigenous movements, not only because they seek self-rule and empowerment but also because they emphasize a level of care that counters our current form of capitalism. As our large and increasingly deregulated financial markets detach from specific places and times, they transcend national and cultural boundaries, becoming less attentive to both human and non-human entities, and therefore less Indigenous. Capitalism's success depends on ignoring borders and boundaries, neglecting the sovereignty and well-being of many specific groups of people.
One consequence of extreme globalization in financial markets is the inability to live sustainably within the means of one's particular place. It becomes challenging to provide appropriate care for people and the environment when many are blinded by the extraction of resources and caught in an inhumane cycle of work and consumption. For example, consider the demand from affluent Northern countries on impoverished Southern countries for fruits and vegetables. We in the North insist on having fresh pineapples year-round, regardless of the season.
Instead of living within our means and considering what we can reasonably produce, we rely on others. It's a difficult task, but we've surrendered to fulfilling every desire regardless of the cost. Being attentive means recognizing that part of the solution is consuming less and more creatively—embracing degrowth, slowing down, and adopting the caring approach that many Indigenous cultures have exemplified for thousands of years towards their environment.
Fantasy
Continuing with the theme of indigenization, I want to explore it in relation to one of its possible opposites—fantasy. I define fantasy as a state or performance heavily reliant on separation. Fantasy can manifest anywhere and may or may not be constructive or destructive. Living in a state of separation often leads to absence or vacuity in practice. Fantasy is typically only accessible with a certain degree of privilege. For instance, spending time at a resort requires disposable financial wealth, access to credit, mobility (such as a passport), and time. With these privileges, one can experience, albeit temporarily, a separation from certain aspects of society.
To delve deeper, consider Shannon R. Stratton's discussion of Mildred's Lane, an arts residency in Northeast Pennsylvania. Mildred's Lane is described as an "art complexity," hosting a summer residency program where participants pay to engage in three-week programs, social Saturday dinner events, and artist-directed projects. The Mildred's Lane website reveals that all of J. Morgan Puett's work—from her off-site exhibitions to homeschooling her middle school son—is channeled into the "complexity," articulating a lifestyle turned into a world that integrates every aspect of her life seamlessly within it.
Stratton avoids using the term "fantasy" but emphasizes the rendering of a future that doesn't yet exist. Despite this, she highlights privilege in her conclusion, stating, "Mildred's Lane is the ultimate project (or enterprise, to use Berardi's terms). It is a work made possible only by an abundance of time, freedom, and pleasure in every experience; the privilege to find pleasure in and aestheticize domestic labor that, for many, is simply the dreaded chores squeezed between jobs, children, and other responsibilities.
In both the resort scenario and the artist residency, separation is relied upon to facilitate a temporary fantasy. In these cases, what becomes absent is anything "indigenous" in the sense of specific time and space, as these are strategically contrived to varying degrees. Individuals visiting these places may seek to refresh their home-based practices, which is valid and can be constructive. However, there is a danger in cultivating a practice solely based on fantasy. While I'm uncertain how this manifests at resorts, within the residency model, it's all too common to witness practices that are entirely removed and separated from care.
Campagna quotes an Epicurean saying, "Vain is the wisdom of that philosopher which does not heal any suffering of man." Philosophical theories should serve the philosophical life, which involves addressing and alleviating human suffering.
Now is a good time to clarify and redefine some terms. Practice could be considered the therapeutic indigenized labor of care, with resulting work serving as a reciprocation (positive feedback loop) for the practitioner. This "work" both informs and expresses the labor of care.
Kindness
Kindness is essential in challenging the ingrained orders of capitalism. This isn't because capitalism is inherently unkind (though it often is), but because kindness can counteract the competitive nature that underpins capitalism. It diffuses the sense of urgency to compete through production and serves as an interruption in the infrastructure that reveals its existence.
Art, therefore, is not merely a description or observation of this infrastructure as reality; it actively embodies kindness on all levels. It inspires and functions as a form of therapy through care. In terms of production, art involves attention to sustainability and the sharing of work, acknowledging its place within capitalism.
Infrastructure itself is neither inherently good nor bad; it is a reciprocal structure within our reality. Therefore, it's crucial to redirect and interrupt this infrastructure to harness its potential in producing a new reality.
This new reality could be described as a form of "worlding," according to Campagna. Worlding emerges at the end of a civilization, culture, or age, intended for those who follow or the self that emerges next. Campagna writes, "what remains of a civilization is primarily its ability to help future generations deal with their own existential limits vis-à-vis the disquieting presence of forces like necessity, power, death, and the ceaseless crumbling of meaning."
Campagna views trauma as a profound modification within one's fundamental metaphysics. Trauma occurs at the threshold between the limits of a subject—the borders of what a subject can call 'myself' or 'my own'—and the eerie presence of what transgresses these limits. Trauma redefines the idea of world and self constructed until that point.
Competition
Worlding is what a creative practice aims to achieve. However, the problem arises when the pre-existing world interrupts this process. The all-too-common and challenging-to-counteract characteristic of the dominant system, which preserves itself, is competition. Competition is the pervasive ethos of this current reality—the prevailing world.
Edouard Glissant writes, “Anyone who wishes to intervene in modes of Relation (coloring, balancing, changing them perhaps) will find his action on unsure footing because of this indeterminacy between active and neutral relays. This is why such and intervention “in Relation” can only really happen “in a place,” one simultaneously closed in on its components and open to its returning echos.
Care, then, is not only a counter to this ethos but also the foundation of a new world. Crafting this new world involves direct action in the form of care—face-to-face immersion in care, fostering non-competitive relationships that recognize the other as the self. Kindness, not competition, is the essential path toward crafting a new world.
When we encounter competition in our world, we should view it as a moment of failure—a failure to create, to be creative. Consider the "art world," where competition is pervasive and often disturbing. It represents a devious form of endorsement and collaboration with the reality system it pretends to challenge or resist, ultimately upholding and preserving the status quo.
For instance, the commonly used non-competition clause in contracts is not recognized as an act of kindness but rather a temporary pause in an ethos of competition—a ceasefire to regroup and prepare for the next challenge. Contracts impose boundaries to ensure a favorable future outcome for the involved parties, putting competition on hold for predictability.
Campagna draws on the tradition of the grotesque from Roman art (like Nero’s temple), where normal boundaries blur, opposing things merge or shift into one another. This continuous and unbounded identity defies stagnation, as one cannot cast out the other without affecting oneself. The fluidity of identity along an emerging continuum resists competition.
The disruption of this continuity of identity often leads to self-competition. Consider the joyful process of self-discovery in children, interrupted by competitive forces or ideologies. The modern obsession with self-presentation, particularly on social media, epitomizes this competitive individualism, fostering a continual cycle of one-upmanship through curated self-documentation, profoundly impacting individuals on multiple levels in our algorithmic, competitive online platforms.
Compartiment
Returning to craft, the mending and therapeutic potential can resist and help us turn away and build a new reality - one that sees competition as the old god of the world that can and should be ridiculed and destroyed. At the risk of sounding overly basic, it is the craft of kindness (the opposite of competition) that is an enabling force, helping us see ourselves as constantly and grotesquely morphing into everything and everyone. Our current reality is much more content with categorical separations - compartments and classifications. Although it appears that our daily life practices are melding - for example, our work can be done more easily at home because technology has increased our ability to communicate better - however, as philosopher Franco “Bifo” Berardi suggests in his book “The Soul at Work, from Alienation to Autonomy”, it is not only our body that is put to work, it is our very soul. He writes, “the consequent enslavement of the soul. Putting the soul to work: this is the new form of alienation. Our desiring energy is trapped in the trick of self-enterprise, our libidinal investments are regulated according to economic rule, our attention is captured in the precariousness of virtual networks: every fragment of mental activity must be transformed into capital.” Our un-indigenized attention is focused not on our time and space and first-hand experience but rather on something virtual, something very alien. The boundaries of work and the work compartment haven’t thinned nor crumbled but rather broadened in order to encompass more of who we are. These walls have, in fact, become more like a slithering snake that winds its way around, finding more minute areas and details to engulf, thus shutting off and separating more and more areas from each other.
A parent can easily step into a compartment during playtime with their child by merely looking at their phone or checking an email. This is by no means a grotesque morphing of one thing into another but rather a more profound segregation of one’s practices. The opposite would be continuity of care - a practice that follows the ever-changing other (definition of love) with complete attention and not compartmentalized attention. All things not only affect one another - all things are one another - the all! Anthropologist Jean-Guy Goulet reports about the experience of the Dene Tha stating that, “The Dene Tha differentiate between ndahdigeh, ‘our land,’ and echuhdigeh, ‘the other land,’ and their respective inhabitants, but they do not do so in the way Euro-North Americans may oppose the natural and supernatural, the field of science on the one hand and the field of mysticism, magic, and religion on the other.” Goulet reported that the Dene Tha spoke about travels to these different lands as one might speak about travels to another town. This would be a consistent theme within much of the indigenous worldview. This bridge that easily connects this and that, the physical and the spiritual, does so in a way that not merely sets compartments closer to each other but rather opens them up to one another - merging them into one. I acknowledge that this may be quite an assumption and bold interpretation about indigenous experience; however, there are still many who are far from their indigenous roots and who have participated in colonialism (present) like myself and have experienced this morphing - this grotesque, this decompartmentalization. It seems that as one lives less separated from the other (both human and non-human) and with more attention and less distraction (competition), one is able to sense the merging with all. The plain of existence is vast and immersive.
Resisting
I want to return to the example of the parent who responds to their email during a time of play with their child. It needs to be clear that this entire discussion isn’t about time management. It is not about priorities, nor is it about work/life balance. I am speaking about two entirely different realities. The problem is not that the parent should put their device away in order to be more present (this may help); rather, it is about the very nature of the reality that the parent finds themselves in. The reality has an ethos of compartmentalization - it is ruled by separation and alienation; it needs to be in order to continue. So, is there a solution, a better way to live if not merely about time management, priorities, etc., as thousands of self-help and life optimization books layout for us? Maybe these are strategies that can effectively bring about a new reality, though I doubt it as, again, Satan cannot cast out Satan. These manuals suggest a way of navigating an existing reality in order to cope. Is it then too bold to suggest full-out abandonment? Is that what is being promoted? The labor of a practice of care and its reciprocating production build a new world and open a new reality that does exist, has existed, and will continue to exist. To somehow instruct using language to describe using language as opposed to first-hand immersive experience is futile. So, it is the communication that speaks to experience using symbols and metaphor and signs that might stand in for the self-help books. The point here being is that there is no way to use a form to describe the formless. Again, to Federico Campagna in his book “Prophetic Culture” where he describes a prophet as having, “the ability to contemplate the multiple dimensions of reality derives, in part, from their everyday practice of breaking down their immediate surrounding into multiple layer, to which they assign varying degrees of (non)allegiance.”” This everyday practice of “non-allegiance” pushes one into a new world by resisting attachment, remembering that we “are in the world and not of the world”. In a similar way, the notion of familial ties that bind are ones that are about allegiance, so, to care and love for the other is one of “struggling for another’s autonomy” and not for their allegiance. Allegiance is an important ingredient for our current reality as it serves in competition. One must know whose side they align themselves to in order to win.
I want to delve into where Campagna points when he describes prophetic culture as akin to the Orthodox Christian notion of theosis - becoming divine. It may be important not to confuse the panic of competition with the urgency of theosis. Both are complicated feelings, and both are deeply felt in the body. They both require a response of some sort in order to fulfill the soul's need. If the panic of competition is the intrusive and mass beating down of one's door, then theosis is the gentle knock by the universe - the "one" asking for an acknowledgment of unity. And if panic leads to mutually assured destruction, then theosis’s urgency will lead to mutual care. It might be important to summarize here. A practice of care is labor, and works can result from this type of labor that serve as reciprocal "things" that might serve as therapy. The therapeutic acts as a creative positive feedback loop for the "maker" and potentially a symbolic post for the community. The attentive participation rooted in care pushes us toward and opens up new realities through the act of creative worlding, which is akin to theosis, becoming divine.
The Political
A question may arise for some: does this "divine" pursuit ignore existential needs? For example, where does the political play a part in this reciprocal process if there is no explicit political content in the produced work? Consider someone who practices care by helping elderly prisoners and also produces artwork in the form of watercolors based on a particular view of the forest seen from prison windows. These watercolors contain no overt political messaging accessible to the average viewer. However, they serve as therapy for the artist and potentially for viewers who have developed a relationship with the artist (including possibly the prisoner). In this simplified example, we recognize the political in the act of care—the face-to-face relational practice with the prisoner—rather than in the artwork. This example bypasses the competitive values of the current reality system in several ways. First, visiting the prisoner has no financial benefit, and the relationships potentially developed counter the judicial system's obsession with separation and isolation. The artwork is secondary but still vital to the artist and serves as a focal point for the viewer who is in a relationship with the artist—a kind of evangelizing mechanism.
Apart from face-to-face relational care as a political act, is there not also a need for direct political involvement? I would argue that direct political involvement often serves as symptom management or harm reduction, which, while necessary, is not effectively achieved through art or craft alone. This is a contentious point, but I maintain that politics are a necessary evil (as Thomas Paine suggested) and are often symptomatic. I am interested in effecting real change through care practices. Political activism is essential for managing these symptoms, but it can be argued that it is ineffective as it relies too heavily on the institutional frameworks it seeks to critique. In their essay titled “Infrastructur, Ideology, Hegemony” Mather Poole writes that ,” any institutional form (such as an artwork) that seeks to question its own institution character only further entrenches its position as such, because it not only presumes the freedom to do so (because it can, since it is already a valued part of a hegemonic system), but as Beech shows us, this presumption further lifts (assumes) the already-instititutional question-asking subject into its institutional hegemonic position, re-entrenching and re-affirming this hegemonic position.” Poole refers to artist Amanda Beech’s questions of art’s ability to “to do something” because of its political limitations.
Panic and Dreams
The current reality we live in makes it tremendously difficult to provide care, primarily due to separation. Our loved ones are often not within arm's reach, and the illusion of scarcity of time exacerbates emotionally draining situations. Competition has led to unbearable isolation precisely when face-to-face interactions are most needed—such as in childcare, elderly care, and caring for the sick and imprisoned. We are in a chronic state of panic partly due to our addiction to devices we are unable to part with. None of this is new—it has been well studied—and the increasing evidence shows that the non-human scale at which we live is exacerbating our mental health crisis, while our sense of futility and isolation is hindering the development of effective care practices.
I want to consider our dreams. In many indigenous cultures, dreams have a direct and continuous relationship with animals, serving as helpers, guides, or spiritual identities. It's no wonder these dream entities are most prevalent during vision quests, where participants immerse themselves in nature—often starving themselves to seek guidance within the natural world. From personal experience, I've noticed that when I spend time immersed in nature, away from technology, I dream about it. Similarly, I dream about work when I'm deeply engaged in work-related matters. This highlights that we dream about what we give attention to and what we experience. While I don't claim this always to be the case, nor do I wish to limit the profundity of dreams as mere reflections, it makes sense that as individuals and cultures have their land and traditions taken from them, their religious practices begin to fade. I bring up dreams because of my interest in addressing separation and compartmentalization, particularly concerning care. A practice that dismantles compartmentalization must turn to dreams for a sustainable new reality to emerge. In our society, very little value is given to caregivers—often overworked, underpaid, and regarded as part of a "lower class." In our society when we encourage dreaming among caregivers, it is likely to be for upward mobility, seeking better job opportunities, or a way out of low-paid positions to fit better within the competitive ethos, as opposed to, a dream of a more value and more effective care practice.
Competition
Competition permeates our world, extending even to those who lack dominance and who are marginalized. By trapping the voiceless, oppressed, traumatized, and marginalized within a game where winning and losing are at stake, the marginalized become further alienated from themselves. Consider the complex settler/indigenous relations where efforts toward sovereignty and decolonization are made. Despite good intentions, these efforts often operate within a competitive ethos. The struggle for land, children, and rights frequently results in resolutions centered around financial compensation, which does little to solve the problems exacerbated by competition. In contrast, the original treaties were less about titles and more about sacred agreements that entailed significant holistic responsibilities.
Compartmentalization is a reciprocal state of competition because not only does competition rely on a degree of separation between those involved, but it also intensifies the distance and separation by perpetuating territorialism, fueled by the illusion of resource scarcity over which they compete—the winner takes all, and the loser regroups for another attempt or fades away entirely. There is a suspension that occurs not only in the act of caregiving but also in the resulting product, if there is one. This suspension can be understood as the willingness on the part of both the caregiver and the receiver to not only suspend competition but also justice.
The suspension of competition is easier to grasp as it simply entails refraining from engaging in dominant capitalist activities and instead focusing on activities that respect the autonomy of others. The suspension of justice is more subtle. In their creative and engaging book titled "Politically Red," Eduardo Cadava and Sara Nadal-Melsió write, "According to Scholem, the force of justice lies in its strike against the very principle of action that underpins the law. If the law assumes that every action can be traced back to an intentional subject, and if this assumption is what enables it to assign guilt and retribution, what preserves its judicial and law-positing power, justice suspends judgment, action, and execution altogether."
This concept of justice as a "strike" against the law challenges the idea that justice is inherently tied to law and supports dominant capitalism through acts of judgment that serve profit rather than individual well-being. Therefore, the suspension of justice as judgment is, in many ways, a suspension of adherence to a system that values individuals only as means to generate profit.
Both the act of care and the resulting craft are suspensions that hold us in a middle ground between normally separated elements and keep judgment at bay. "Justice is instead a form of suspension and delay that interrupts the law's causality, undoes the distinction between guilt and innocence, and breaks down the logic of the relation between doer and deed." Separation requires distinction, so undoing this distinction allows us to enter a new state of being that transcends our current reality system.
Some art not only points to this but also actively participates in this suspension. It could be argued that any investigative activity also suspends judgment. Therefore, artwork serves as evidence of this suspension and invites viewers to participate in it. Not all artwork suspends judgment; some explicitly engage in judgment as propaganda or advertisement, often using exploitative techniques. In such cases, the danger lies in creating divisiveness through oversimplified abstraction of complex issues, even when the positions taken seem constructive or anti-capitalist.
Kinship
Speaking about Lu Märten’s work, Jenny Nachtigall and Kerstin Stakemeier write that "Art enables a sensuous-aesthetic relation to one’s material world (i.e., work) that once was socially comprehensive but that atrophied in industrial capitalism and was condemned to a degraded existence as art.”
In an endnote in the chapter entitled "Community Building and Refusing Trauma Porn," written by Dorian J. Frazer, Dayna Danger, and Adriende Huard give a short explanation of praxis as it relates to artist and activist Dayna Danger. It states that, “Praxis is described as action that exceeds philosophical or theoretical confinement. While theory is often behind action, praxis describes the action one can put into the world, an action that here, in the case of Dayna Danger’s combined community and art work, changes the world that it works upon.”
Danger’s photographic artwork often incorporates traditional formal elements. The photos appear staged and highly produced, possessing intrinsic power both formally and conceptually. Danger’s ongoing series "Big’ Uns" features antlers in place of where a leather harness would attach a dildo or other prosthetic to the wearer. Those who are photographed are collaborators who face the camera and the viewer as empowered beings. Danger’s use of collaborators underscores the importance of artwork that does not merely end with the thing on the wall. Danger works not only with collaborators but also with community, blurring the line between art and activism and queering kinship. This blurring and queering seem to thrive within an Indigenous worldview, which has been continually ignored by a colonial worldview.
Wahinkpe Topa (Four Arrows) and Darcia Narvez describe the Indigenous worldview as “not a matter of perception or conception alone, but of experiencing and being. It is more of a ‘worldsense’ because it involves dozens of senses and a coordinated way of moving through the world.” Performance, making, building, community engagement, looking, listening, and collaborating are what make Danya Danger’s practice a creative endeavor—it is a “coordinated way of moving through the world.”
A number of Indigenous writers and speakers have emphasized the true spirit that an agreement like a treaty originally entailed. In many ways, this was a treaty of peace and relationship. Elizabeth Carlson-Manatha, in her book Living In Indigenous Sovereignty, states that, “Treaties are important agreements around the relationships between Indigenous and settler peoples. Indigenous perspectives on Treaty relationships provide guidance towards framing these relationships around kinship.” She emphasizes that this is not only about politics but also about the making of relatives within these agreements. Carlson-Manatha stresses that these “kinship bonds must be carefully nurtured”. This profound perspective helps us not only understand our dramatic historic failures but also our individual potential to enact forms of decolonization through relationship building.
Daniel Heath Justice, in their book Why Indigenous Literature Matters, writes that, “‘human’ is a learned process rather than simply a state of being, so too is kinship—more so, even.” The example of care is embedded within the community through continual and creative practice. Later, Heath Justice writes, “kinship, like empathy, is as much an act of imagination as it is a lived experience.” Here, they point to a horizon that is beyond our current reality system—a horizon where kinship requires imagination to incorporate all aspects of the human and non-human world. Care is the vehicle that will carry us into this new world.
