"My Sister, Guard Your Veil; My Brother, Guard Your Eyes" Response
By Lila Kalick
"The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of" and "Death of a Mannequin"
I thought a lot this week about the role of artists and writers in society and about the notion that the things these individuals make can last beyond their historical moment. With all that is happening these days -- in the news, in the world -- it can be hard to keep perspective beyond the present day.
It seems me that there is a hard question that we need to ask ourselves as artists: Can we live in our imaginations exploring the space of what things "can be?" Should we?
A lot of what I'm learning is that we don't have to disengage fully with the world in order to make things that last, but it is somewhat helpful. Ultimately, if we disengage enough in the current moment, ignore minutia, and focus on the bigger picture, I think we'll (or at least I'll) be more effective at making art that is transformative and that creates the change we want to see in the world.
Reading Azar Nafisi's story "The Stuff That Dreams Are Made of" took me deeper into this line of inquiry. The essay speaks eloquently about the revolutionary and democratic potentials of literature and the creative imagination. One place I found this particularly moving was when Nafisi discusses Carlos Fuentes's analysis of the fatwa:
"As Carlos Fuentes states, the ayatollah had issued a fatwa not just against a writer but also against the democratic form of the novel, which frames a multiplicity of voices -- from different and at times opposing perspectives -- in a critical exchange where one voice does not destroy and eliminate another... America's extraordinary literary heritage kept reminding me, throughout those years, how heavily genuine democracy depends on what we might call a democratic imagination"(Nafisi, 6).
This passage for me highlights a link that I very much agree with, and that keeps me going in the face of the overwhelming news of the moment: that the imagination is linked to change, and that novels can be tools of democracy. I've thought about this before, but never seen something like this so clearly articulated.
Also, the essay helps underscore not only how novels can be tools for democracy, but vessels (along with other artistic forms) for creative resistance. In the face of the injustice happening in Iran, Nafisi talks about how Iranians had to "rescue our confiscated identities. To restore our identities, we had to resist the oppressor though our own creative resources"(Nafisi, 7).
In "Death of a Mannequin," Mehrangiz Kar also discusses resistance and how symbols like mannequins in storefront windows or soft and colorful fabrics implemented in traditional Muslim dress can reflect meaning that is either helpful or hurtful to overcoming oppression in a society. The mannequins described in the story demonstrate an increasingly tough road for the continued existence of femininity in Iran. As the mannequins become increasingly sexless, they reflect Iran's repression of women.
"The revolution and the war washed away all the gleeful colors of our lives... Mannequins resisted for months before losing their free-flowing her; for a while, they had even tried to content the martyrs by wearing small triangular headscarves" (Kar, 33).
Mannequins in this essay reflect the violence implemented on women's bodies and identities by the revolution. In contrast, the women resist by re-draping, dying and interpreting traditional Muslim dress so that it can maintain parts of their former individual identity. Though the pace of change is slow in Kar's pronunciation, these minor shifts in dress reveal a presence of resistance, which in itself is a powerful symbol. This very much mirrors what Nafisi talks about with the novel, and the role storytelling can play to imagine and create new realities.
Ultimately, it seems that both processes, creative resistance and creation itself are necessary to overcome and survive current oppression and develop a future that is more just and inclusive. Both of these essays in their discussion of form and of symbols was helpful in making that clear.
The artists/writers in each serves as a witness or observer of the times. They may not fully engage in the moment, but their contributions help give us a sense of how things were in the hopes of creating a new way that things "can be."
"The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of" and "Death of a Mannequin"
I thought a lot this week about the role of artists and writers in society and about the notion that the things these individuals make can last beyond their historical moment. With all that is happening these days -- in the news, in the world -- it can be hard to keep perspective beyond the present day.
It seems me that there is a hard question that we need to ask ourselves as artists: Can we live in our imaginations exploring the space of what things "can be?" Should we?
A lot of what I'm learning is that we don't have to disengage fully with the world in order to make things that last, but it is somewhat helpful. Ultimately, if we disengage enough in the current moment, ignore minutia, and focus on the bigger picture, I think we'll (or at least I'll) be more effective at making art that is transformative and that creates the change we want to see in the world.
Reading Azar Nafisi's story "The Stuff That Dreams Are Made of" took me deeper into this line of inquiry. The essay speaks eloquently about the revolutionary and democratic potentials of literature and the creative imagination. One place I found this particularly moving was when Nafisi discusses Carlos Fuentes's analysis of the fatwa:
"As Carlos Fuentes states, the ayatollah had issued a fatwa not just against a writer but also against the democratic form of the novel, which frames a multiplicity of voices -- from different and at times opposing perspectives -- in a critical exchange where one voice does not destroy and eliminate another... America's extraordinary literary heritage kept reminding me, throughout those years, how heavily genuine democracy depends on what we might call a democratic imagination"(Nafisi, 6).
This passage for me highlights a link that I very much agree with, and that keeps me going in the face of the overwhelming news of the moment: that the imagination is linked to change, and that novels can be tools of democracy. I've thought about this before, but never seen something like this so clearly articulated.
Also, the essay helps underscore not only how novels can be tools for democracy, but vessels (along with other artistic forms) for creative resistance. In the face of the injustice happening in Iran, Nafisi talks about how Iranians had to "rescue our confiscated identities. To restore our identities, we had to resist the oppressor though our own creative resources"(Nafisi, 7).
In "Death of a Mannequin," Mehrangiz Kar also discusses resistance and how symbols like mannequins in storefront windows or soft and colorful fabrics implemented in traditional Muslim dress can reflect meaning that is either helpful or hurtful to overcoming oppression in a society. The mannequins described in the story demonstrate an increasingly tough road for the continued existence of femininity in Iran. As the mannequins become increasingly sexless, they reflect Iran's repression of women.
"The revolution and the war washed away all the gleeful colors of our lives... Mannequins resisted for months before losing their free-flowing her; for a while, they had even tried to content the martyrs by wearing small triangular headscarves" (Kar, 33).
Mannequins in this essay reflect the violence implemented on women's bodies and identities by the revolution. In contrast, the women resist by re-draping, dying and interpreting traditional Muslim dress so that it can maintain parts of their former individual identity. Though the pace of change is slow in Kar's pronunciation, these minor shifts in dress reveal a presence of resistance, which in itself is a powerful symbol. This very much mirrors what Nafisi talks about with the novel, and the role storytelling can play to imagine and create new realities.
Ultimately, it seems that both processes, creative resistance and creation itself are necessary to overcome and survive current oppression and develop a future that is more just and inclusive. Both of these essays in their discussion of form and of symbols was helpful in making that clear.
The artists/writers in each serves as a witness or observer of the times. They may not fully engage in the moment, but their contributions help give us a sense of how things were in the hopes of creating a new way that things "can be."
I also took note of Nafisi's statement about the need to "rescue our confiscated identities." A friend of mine at UCSC talked about re-membering as an active process of putting our bodies back together and/or regaining possession of them. I think literature can be immensely helpful in that, can help us rebound spiritually from even very deep trauma--which naturally a patriarchal society would fight tooth and nail.
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure I agree though that a writer or artist can disengage with the times and still be effective. I think what we're seeing for example in the U.S. is a redefining of what art can be and what potential the role of writer/artist has to generate real change. As much as the process in Hollywood plays on racist and classist tropes, it is also an example of people known to the public only as artists who have chosen to step up and claim their own positionality, and use it to change the world around them. In so doing, I believe there will be reverberations into all professional situations. This is not a new process, though--most of the authors I most admire, from Barbara Kingsolver writing about environmentalism to Arundhati Roy to Toni Morrison, have written very specifically and deliberately with the intention to create change. Generating collections of essays has become normalized for fiction writers to use to speak about their specific political platforms. I think this is a way to engage directly with world events.
Hey Lila,
ReplyDeleteNafisi made me question a lot of things: humanity, imagination, society, and - just as she did with you - my role as a writer. Should writers and other producers of creative works be free to go wherever their imagination takes them or do we have some sort of moral duty to address the world's countless problems through our work? I already think artists are confined. They have to abide by criminal laws or face judicial consequences. I don't disagree with this, but since artists are already not completely free to follow their imagination, should some degree of freedom be vehemently held on to, or should we accept a moral role? These questions may be something artists ponder their whole lives.
-Erin
Hi Lila,
ReplyDeleteI'm interested in your comment, "Ultimately, if we disengage enough in the current moment, ignore minutia, and focus on the bigger picture, I think we'll (or at least I'll) be more effective at making art that is transformative and that creates the change we want to see in the world." The U.S. media and social media feed us a constant stream of information (or misinformation) about the world. The topics that we dwell on as Americans are largely determined by where the media has decided to focus its lens. I think the key to making transformative art is to focus on minutia, but to make sure it is the minutia (or lets say details) we are choosing to focus on rather than letting it always be determined by the current political conversation. Because so much is missing from the current American political conversation, as these stories remind us.
You talk about serving as a witness or observer. I came to Mills to write a book that bears witness to my friend's struggle with patriarchy and access to education. She wants that story told, and she spent six months recounting it to me in great detail so that I could bring it here to workshop and try to turn into a book. However, people have found the story problematic--or more specifically, that the person bearing witness (me and my white privilege) is problematic. Which brings up the question of representation, of who should bear witness and engage in certain kinds of creative resistance and who should not.
I agree with you that both essays are about creative resistance -- how it can be actively channeled through literature and dress, and also how innately human it is. I like how, in both tellings of the Iranian revolution, the women's resistance reads like both a choice and something even more organic than that. Like, it's not just that women were heroic and fought back, but it's also that, of course, they fought back -- their civil liberties were on the line. I like thinking about the novel, a form that already existed, as both a vessel for democracy, as well as long-standing evidence of how democratic our imagination has always been...
ReplyDeleteHello, Lila
ReplyDeleteYou pose a very complex question about the artist in community and where their work is positioned in the larger context of society and contemporary moments. There are many challenges of expressing one's self during trying times; on top of this, it can be daunting to create when you are apart of a group that is being oppressed during those times. How can an artist transcend this moments so they can better create and flow? How can their art speak on its own without having to address identity or the contemporary currents surrounding it? I think artists can transcend the troubles of the moment, and even for brief times, move past identity and group politics, in order to enter realms of the creative. Sometimes personal identity and political surroundings can stifle creativity, and when this happens, I I think artists--and even just humans--will find a way to create and express. Once the work is expressed, created in the outer spaces from politics and the confines and conventions of the groups we belong to or assigned to, the work will come to exist in the larger context of society. Maybe it will transform the group or positively impact the times, maybe it will only be a reflection of them, but it will exist and make an imprint nonetheless.