Sometimes, after buying a carton of eggs from the grocery store, we arrive back home only to drop and break every single one of them. Sometimes, as we go throughout our day, we hit a pothole in the road; the same pothole we’ve hit many times before, and it finally blows out a tire. Sometimes the water heater dies, swiftly followed by the air conditioner, and then the fridge … all in a row. These instances are exemplary of life, and a knowledge that all of us know deep down. Sometimes shit happens. Minor inconveniences on the grand scale of things that aren’t dilemmas by any stretch, but nonetheless cost money and seemingly hit us at the worst times. It’s all a part of life. However, one thing that is unfortunately part of life, especially the artist’s life, is that for whatever reason, people in general don’t want to pay for art. Now, nearing forty years of age, I can still hear the exasperated words of Brenda Gentile, my former middle school art teacher. She said this one day, while shaking her head in defeat: “I don’t know what it is about art, but people don’t want to pay for it.” Indeed. The same year she made that statement, through a Partners In Education program, I did a painting for Glidden Paint. My compensation? A coffee mug. As a twelve year old kid, I didn’t even drink coffee, much less enough to justify a cup. I would’ve much rather had, oh, $500, which would’ve probably been the appropriate compensation.
All these years later, I still notice the same drudgery, only to a ridiculous degree. Often, there isn’t even a mug. People expect art for free. In contrast to Brenda Gentile’s words, a former college professor, Paul Hudson, had the following to say: “Never feel bad about charging a lot for your work. Think about what a plumber charges, and that’s to fix a toilet. Think about what they charge per hour. People are paying you for your skills. Given enough time, we could learn to do what a plumber does. However, given the same amount of time, the plumber can’t necessarily do what the artist can do.” Theoretically, Paul wasn’t wrong. However, what he fails to factor in (aside from the fact that he had lived in Paul Hudson world for a while): For most people, plumbing and running water are necessities. People need those things. They need water, food, and in most cases, a car. They don’t need art. It’s a nice-to-have. Yes, art may be what makes a certain car design sleek and sexy. But in regard to art, whatever form it takes and wherever it can be found, as much as it pains me to say it, I’m mostly in agreement with Brenda. Which brings me to a larger observation. People definitely operate within their own self-interests. It’s horrible out there for artist. Absolutely horrible. And yes, awful things happen to us all in varying degrees, no matter the profession, but I’ve noticed a very bitter harvest and dilemma for those who attempt to make a living at art. The tech field right now is booming. For every computer technician or software engineer that hops from job to job to job making upwards of $200,000 a year, there are a horde of artists who struggle, day in and day out, to literally make enough money for their daily bread. This disparity is unbelievable, and easily places most artists on the fast track of having to bend to a corporate or retail world in order to survive, while relegating their talent and art to the side (aka the dirty word “Hobby”). As a middle-aged artist, stopping for a moment to take a look around me, I see my fellow artists struggle. I see myself struggle. It’s beyond a burnt slice of pizza or being waylaid by a pothole in the road of life. It’s the artist’s dilemma. Bruno Gmunder, a publisher of art anthologies out of Germany, never paid me for the book illustration work that I did for them. The editor at the time, Harvey Redding, explained, “The artist’s payment is being published in the book. That’s the compensation. Everybody has to bend over and take it initially. So just take it until you make it.” But, again, therein lies the dilemma. What do you do as an artist when everyone says that? Does the artist finally have to put his or her foot down and say, “Well, if you’re not going to pay me, then you don’t get me.” The Bruno Gmunders of the world simply go to the next artist in line who is more than willing to do artwork for free. Even the Leslie-Lohman Gallery in New York, a museum for Gay and Lesbian art, gave me only $30 for two of my originals. It didn’t pay for the taxi cab back to my uncle’s apartment in Brooklyn. When the museum’s subsequent newsletter came out, I looked for at least any sign or acknowledgement of my name. When at last I found my name in the newsletter, my heart sank. They had listed my artwork as a donation. I could go on, but it would be beating a dead horse, or so goes the saying. The ultimate conundrum, and I imagine that this happens for many people, is that making art brings me happiness. It’s the primary thing that makes me happy. I don’t know what else to do with myself. Even given all that I’ve mentioned before, I wouldn’t trade my abilities and talents for anything, because it allows me to see the world from a perspective that others don’t. It can be lonely. Others may not see value where I see it, or find merit where I find merit, but maybe loneliness is part of the cost that an artist pays as well. If I’m eternally lost in the world at large, at least I’m not lost unto myself. At least I know who I am. Many don’t. Many are afraid. Now, for the love of heaven, please let me be lucky.
Having long enjoyed Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City, to say that I was excited to hear about a new Netflix series is an understatement. The rise and fall of the naive Mary Ann Singleton and the exploits of 28 Barbary Lane's inhabitants captured my heart several years ago with a copy of More Tales of the City on DVD that I found in a local bookstore. The cover looked interesting, and I recognized a few of the actors, cheifly Olympia Dukakis and Bill Campbell. It served as a gateway. I quickly fell in love with Mouse, Mary Ann, Anna, Brian, Mona, and the city of San Francisco as seen through the eyes of Maupin's eclectic characters. Born in 1980, I missed the boat on the initial releases of the books, but I sought out some of the more recent editions and eventually watched the other two remaining film adaptations. The three most recent novels (Michael Tolliver Lives, Mary Ann In Autumn, and The Days of Anna Madrigal) served as a cherry on top, allowing me to experience some of the books as they were published. Life was good. And then ... this ... Netflix ... why? Unlike Game of Thrones, which was plagued and hurt severely by the lack of source material in its final few seasons, Tales of the City had the books to draw from. Why not base the new television series on the later novels? When the first trailer for the upcoming series was released, complete with a smiling and beaming Mary Ann, I was a little suspicious. Why has Mary Ann not changed at all? I thought. And what's going on with Barbary Lane? Things certainly weren't this way in the books ... Then the second trailer rolled out, which drove the point home. This wasn't going to be an adaptation. This was going to be Return to Mayberry. While many will no doubt enjoy the new series for what it is, I can't help but wish for more straightforward adaptations of the books. Or, at least, Gayly-forward. Maupin was never afraid to take us to dark places with his characters. Mary Ann In Autumn was one of the most well written books I've ever read, and it pains me that the opportunity was there, as well as the original actors, and unfortunately the new film version seems to have chosen a safe path, with life as one big party (albeit with a few tears along the way). It's especially perplexing when one considers what Maupin and the original actors went through to even bring the previous film adaptations to us. The first mini-series adaptation apparently drew so much hate from conservative and religious groups that PBS abandoned the idea of an immediate sequel, making it that much harder to bring future installments to life. Tales of the City earned its spot by not playing it safe. Why go in reverse now? I get it. We need some happiness, especially given the current political climate, and especially after what seems to be a requirement that every major gay themed cinematic work must end with death, heartache, or an ocean of both. Alas, happiness may not be overflowing from a cup within the last few pages of The Days of Anna Madrigal, but happiness is there, and however bittersweet that happiness is, it's the right ending. Of course, it goes without saying that the books will always be there for myself and others to enjoy, and I imagine that it's more than a lucky thing that we were treated to three film versions that remained close to the books. And maybe I'm jumping to conclusions ... but from what I see in the trailers, coupled with the "inspired by" bit in the online synopsis, I don't have my hopes up. On a positive note, I'm sure the actors are great in this. From the trailer alone, one can see that Ellen Page and Laura Linney play off of one another well, and I'm happy that Tales of the City will continue to reach new audience members. Maybe the new series will bring more people to the book series. Though I imagine a fair share of head-scratching will ensue.
Born of the 80s, I spent many childhood afternoons rushing home from school to watch a variety of cartoons. While mornings were reserved for the likes of Casper the Friendly Ghost, Pink Panther, and Looney Tunes, my weekday afternoons were mainly filled with shows produced by Filmation. In hindsight, perhaps the most memorable of the Filmation oeuvre was She-Ra: Princess of Power. The show, one of two well received cartoons that featured a strong ensemble of female villains and protagonists (the other being Jem and the Holograms), concerned itself with the title character’s fight against the Evil Horde, an intergalactic empire bent on the enslavement of Planet Etheria. A gay subtext seemed to rest just under the surface of the series, especially in regard to certain rogue characters that were modeled on the likes of Grace Jones and Errol Flynn. Coupled with the ever-present rainbow color schemes and the civil rights movement storyline, today I see how the series could be viewed from the LGBTQ perspective if so desired. Years later, with an updated version of the series looming on the horizon, as a gay adult writer and artist, I’m hoping for even more of a substantial LGBTQ presence. And it looks like I may be in luck. Helmed by Noelle Stevenson of the Lumberjanes comic book series, just from the tone and aesthetics of the new trailer, the show, now titled She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, definitely seems to present more LGBTQ friendly fare.
The reason why I hope for this? It’s time. I would like children and youngsters of today to be acquainted with positive reinforcement and acceptance of the LGBTQ community. Families are comprised of diverse individuals. Especially given today’s political climate, along with the misogyny and hatefulness that’s so pervasive online as of late (particularly in geek culture), it’s time for love and understanding of gay men and women to enter the public consciousness in regard to cartoon show storylines. Over the years, in various interviews, both Lou Scheimer and his daughter Erika Scheimer, two of the great talents behind Filmation, expressed the missed opportunity to do this within the context of the original series. Maybe DreamWorks and Noelle Stevenson can fulfill their wish at long last … and She-Ra can continue to be a trailblazer. Some kids grow up with two dads. Some kids have two moms. Some kids grow up in places that aren’t the most tolerant. If a gay boy or girl can acquire some sort of positive reinforcement from a cartoon, then so be it. The ability to identify with a character who is like them, even if that character is fictional, would be a great thing.
