A Face Without Lines

I did the drawing on the right as another meditation on age and beauty. It's titled: "A Face Without Lines is Like a Book Without Words".
I've always loved the elderly. My grandparents were my special guardian angels. They taught me about my ethnicity and the original language that has nearly been gutted from my family by anglo-American culture. I know that my experience was very unusual, especially in the U.S. where most kids don't grow up around their grandparents, and I'm still grateful for that opportunity. I'm realizing now, that they also taught me to value aging.
Women, of course, are more sensitive to cultural prejudices against aging than men. After all, there is a tradition in Hollywood to cast the youngest starlet as leading lady opposite an aging actor. Richard Gere, Harrison Ford, now George Clooney: all seem to have a phobia about love scenes with a woman their own age (on or off screen).
The only bias not considered politically incorrect, in fact, is derision toward age. Sure, it's against the law to say that a person is fired or not hired because of age, but it's not against the law to do it, as long as it's done for another, permissible, reason. Listen to advertising. Products for hair color, and especially make up and face creams openly warn us of the debilitating signs of AGING. With so many people of all ages looking for mates, AGE is the single most marginalizing or discrediting feature. It's true our culture hates fat, too, but body size is alterable, age is not in our control.
If humans didn't learn through experience, if we didn't change and evolve over time, we'd live in a world of Barbies and Kens. How would we destinguish ourselves from the masses? Youth, itself, would lose its meaning. What I advocate is a culture-wide multi-dimensional understanding of beauty. Why should we idealize skin with the light-reflective quality of ceramic glaze?
Imagine a world in which the title of my drawing were printed on billboards and in print ads across the Internet. "A face without lines is like a book without words." Lets believe in that. Let's encourage our daughters to get smarter, wiser, and more compassionate.
I remember discovering Confucius and Radhakrishnan in college. It was as exciting as science fiction. My face was young and fresh, but my mind was excited by what is ageless in the world. Then, reading Jung's Memories, Dream, Reflections for the first time, I realized that the mind itself was a vast universe.
Developing my skills as an artist took me deeper into the study of line, and that's when I understood what makes the aesthetics of visual humanity most interesting. Line can be read like words. Some lines are dark, gouged by time into canyons of anger or hatred. Some lines are playful, they develop through the habits of laughter and play. There are worried lines, sorrowful lines, loud lines, and quiet lines.
Each of us has our own book imprinted into our faces and our bodies. I think it was Lincoln who said, 'Anyone over forty is responsible for his face'. Our habits write our story. Take a look in the mirror; don't be afraid. Read your story. What will be written there tomorrow?

I said I'd post a photo of myself so here I am with my dear friend Morrie Turner. Morrie Turner is one of the lesser-known heroes of the civil rights movement. He was the first nationally-syndicated African American cartoonist in America. His endearing Wee Pals cartoon strip was the first to depict people of color, making Morrie not only a pioneer, but an inspiration for young cartoonists of all colors. The wisdom that comes through the children in Wee Pals is equal to that of the Peanuts gang, and the strip often takes on issues of race with amazing charm and candor. If you are a reader of the Oakland Tribune, you're familiar with Wee Pals, but you may not know much about Morrie. To learn more about this talented, modest, and genuine man, please go to: http://www.creators.com/comics/wee-pals-about.html.
In the photo, we were at the San Francisco Library where a special exhibition celebrated Morrie's illustrious career. I'm so proud to call him a friend, and I'm sure you will be glad to know about his unique and creative contribution to the world.

Your face

I just did something I hadn't done for a very long time: I Googled myself. First I saw a terrible picture of me, God only knows where it came from, and then several pictures of beauty queens half my age who share my name. Frankly, I am not well represented by any of those images.
I realized, then, that I don't have a picture of myself anywhere. There is not one here, nor one on my Facebook page (that's a new thing), and not even a portrait on my website. Frankly, I don't trust cameras, never did. This drawing I did a while back represents what I really believe about our face: it is not contained within itself, it spills forth through our words, our smile, our kindness, our impatience, and our attitude.Our face is a representation of who we are, and that's not just about two eyes, a nose, and a mouth.
People have told me that I am photogenic, I translate that to "lucky". Women are, after all, valued by their looks, and only as I grow older do I understand how tenuous that value can be.
We live in an age-ist, sexist society. . .ah, now I'm sounding feminist . . .and women know this personally, men only agree with it when they are intellectually savvy or it somehow touches them on a personal level (like someone saying, "Hey, what's an old man like you doing with a 25 year old girl?").
It's kind of a game for me, I think, because I look quite good for my age. Being a dancer, I stay in shape. I pay attention to Olay commercials, wear sunblock and moisturizer, and night cream, etc., etc. I walk that line between "I'm an intellectual, an artist, and a writer, I don't have to worry about what men want to see. I know that the male gaze has been the controlling factor in advertising, fine art, and pop culture for centuries, and I'm smart enough to be in charge of my own self-esteem. And on the other side of that fine line I live with the woman I've been, young enough to get attention, second looks, and long gazes. Sure, they felt good (most of the time), but the depth of personhood I have now, after forty (okay, after 50) could not be traded for anything.
I will put a photo on my Facebook page as soon as I figure out how to do it, and then I'll even put one here too . . .just as soon as I get one that looks. . .good enough.

Bravo, America!

It's wonderful to feel patriotic again. I had actually forgotten what it felt like, until the night of Barack Obama's election. Joy and peace reigned in the city of Oakland that night, in a way I have never seen it before.
When I decided to write a blog entry about this happiness, though, I found that it was amazingly harder to write about than my complaints and disgust with the previous administration. The darker emotions are such powerful muses that they seem to write about themselves; I hardly have to do any work at all. But happiness, now there's a slippery fish!
I'm sure that our new president will give us plenty of things to complain about, we can't imagine he will please all of us all of the time. So when he does, I'm sure to speak quickly, and hopefully with some eloquence and critical wit. For now, I am just happy to breathe in the autumn air and kick colorful leaves along the curb.
Mostly I'm writing today to say "Bravo, America!" Thank you, thank you, for recognizing a good and intelligent man. Thank you for discerning the subterfuge of some, and the inadequacies of others.
Maybe the film industry played a part in teaching folks how to judge a good performance from a bad one. Then, thank you Tom Hanks and Meryl Streep and Al Pacino, along with those other nameless film professionals who taught us to recognize bad acting when we see it.
May the great creative spirit who goes by many names bless our country, and our planet.

Debate, what debate?

The longer I live, the more fascinated I am with the human mind. I wonder if there aren't some physiological factors that determine the vast differences between opinions and observations. I mean, is it possible that the shape of our ear canals, for example, make words sound different to each of us. . .so much so that they take on different meanings? Our current presidential election campaign is a good field of study in this regard. What makes one person hang rapturously on every memorized cliche that comes out of Sarah Palen's mouth, while another person wonders whether Sarah hasn't begun mocking Tina Fey, and is waiting for everyone to get the joke.
During that so-called debate, for example, I thought she might have been auditioning for Saturday Night Live, (hey, T.F. watch out or yer gunna be out of werk here darn soon).
But seriously folks, it wasn't Saturday Night Live, it was only Thursday, and God knows she wasn't funnin' us. The wise cracking, repetitious, self-determined monologue we heard from Mrs. Palen was only punctuated with peripheral dialog from the moderator and Palen's opponent. She listened to him just enough to pick up the key words that set her off on the next rehearsed, commercial-like message.
As a person who grew up learning to debate in actual forensic competitions, and who has taught and prepared students for the rigors of forensic debate, I was dumbfounded to see that poor facsimile of a debate qualify as part of our process for selecting national leadership. If the debates are truly for the sake of informing the American people, it seems to me that the moderator should have been able to request or direct Governor Palen to answer the question at hand.
Clearly, Senator Biden had prepared to debate a peer. He had given his adversary the highest respect in planning for an exchange of ideas and factual counterpunching. What he was given in return was a person of limited knowledge and experience who was groomed to combat reason with slogans, falsehoods, and innuendo. The press was waiting to catch Biden disrespecting his opponent because she was a woman, but when that woman disrespected him, her bad manners and wise-cracking comebacks were hailed as political accuity.
Of course, I must give her credit for her pre-debate strategy. She did such a brilliant job of preparing the world for a Burns and Allen experience through her television interviews, that all she had to do was stay at her podium repeating campaign slogans to win kudos from the press and Republican viewers across the country.
So I am still wondering if there isn't some physiological component to the vast difference in human comprehension. I know about nature and nurture, but there still seems to be a missing link in determining what makes us look at the same cow and argue about whether it is a black animal with white spots, or a white animal with black spots. At least we agree on the name.