ART FROM THE STREETS

Yesterday, I watched Layton Blaylock's documentary Art from the Streets. This award winning film, released in 2006, by Inferno Films, documents the work of the Arts From The Streets (AFTS) organization in Austin, Texas. Part of the larger ongoing effort in Austin to provide opportunities for the homeless, the AFTS project, which began in 1991, provides open studio space and supplies twice a week for homeless people to express themselves in art. Once a year, an art show and sale occur, where the homeless display and sell their art, with all proceeds going to the homeless artists.

In Jung's 1960 letter to Sir Herbert Read, Jung overcame his negativity toward art--particularly "modern" art--and proclaimed that the "Coming Guest" speaks through the artist as mouthpiece. [See my Dreams as Angels for further discussion: http://ralockhart.com/WP/dreamsasangels.pdf ]We know that much of the contemporary art world has been "captured" by the ubiquitous dynamics of money. All the "news" iin the art world is about money and essentially an avoidance of "content." Can we "read" art for the content relating to the "Coming Guest"? [See my Fictive Purpose of Dreams for further discussion:
http://ralockhart.com/WP/fictivepurposeofdreams.pdf ] Even in the documentary, there was little focus on the content of the art. The focus was on how the sale of the art was helping the homeless to better themselves. There is no gainsaying the obvious value and benefits of this. Nonetheless, the content becomes "invisible."

As you may know, for many years I have made it a habit to encounter "street" people: the homeless, the crazies, the drugged and all the other unpeople we see ever more present in larger numbers. I have taken to using the expression "unpeople" after reflecting on how street people are treated very much the same as the unconscious and its manifestations. [Paco and I are talking about this in Dreams, Bones, & the Future: Queries & Provocations. Watch for occassional excerpts from this here.] In my encounters, when I am asked for money, I ask for dreams. I always try and offer back not only money but some comment. In my work with this very rich material I will record these encounters in diminutive vignettes or poems. Always I am trying to "hear" the message of the Coming Guest in these encounters.

Here is an example from my book in progress, Dreams from the Street. What do you think the Coming Guest is saying here via the dream?

Buffalo Bill and the Slithering Sidewalk

Sporting a Buffalo Bill mustache, a goatee, cascading hair
topped by a weathered leather hat of much the same breed,
one expects a handsome vest and matching chaps with fancy
boots to complete the ensemble, not a tattered blue sweatshirt
over a frayed red tee, old patched corduroys hugging ground,
broken tennies that weren’t a match; a left leg limping to boot.
But this was not a fashion ramp; it’s a newly surfaced market
parking lot and he was asking me, with hand out, and pleading
eyes, and rasping voice, if I could spare a couple of bucks.

He was new to the lot and didn’t know what I do when asked.
No, I say, I cannot spare, but I am in the market for dreams.
You have a dream you can tell me, sell me for a couple of bucks?
Taking a step back, he says, You serious? Dead serious, I answer.
OK, then. I’ll tell you the dream I remember when Jango shook
me awake this morning. Jango? Yeah, I slept with her last night
and woke her up moaning and groaning something awful, she
said. That’s her over there in the black tights. Did you tell her?
Yep. What did she say? She said I better get off all the junk.

You sure you’re gonna give me?Yes, I interrupt. OK, then.
What I saw in my dream was the sidewalk, and it was moving
like something was under the sidewalk, long like a snake or
something, something slithering along, but still under and not
coming out nowhere’s I could see. The sidewalk was moving
as far as I could see. It was creepy and I guess it got me scared
or something to make me moan and  groan and waking up Jango
and all. That’s all there was. Pretty silly dream, I’d say. You think
it’s worth two dollars? Not silly at all. I handed him two dollars.

He stood there looking at me, standing perfectly still, staring.
Jango’s man asked, almost whispering, What’s it mean?

Ah, now that, I charge for. But for free I’ll tell you that’s not
the question. The question is:

What are you going to do now, now that the snake is moving?