The realm of the possible

Culture Matters

LEAH GORDON. Tony Hall. Dennis “Sprang” Hall. Kamau Brathwaite. George Floyd.

In my first column of 2020, I wrote, “By all indications, 2020 promises to be complicated.” In January of last year, we were looking forward not just to a new year, but to a new decade. Yet, the world seemed to be on edge, from uncontrolled fires in Australia to drought and death in Africa.

In TT, excessive flooding again decimated the crops and profits of farmers. I took heart from the words of Barbados Prime Minister Mia Mottley, who at a Caricom meeting conjured the super powers of artists to engage youth. “Artists dwell in the realm of the possible,” she said. And I agreed with her.

What followed the ushering in of a new year could more accurately be described as venturing into the realm of the impossible. Artistic income, never certain at the best of times, disappeared. Globally, the industry faced billions in losses.

At home, I gave thanks for life and blessings. I was grateful when artists eventually received compensation for loss of income. As I sat, isolated and trying to comprehend this new reality, the keskidee who visits me sometimes perched outside the protective steel barrier. He sang for a bit and then flew away. I envied him.

Kamau Brathwaite chattered in my ears that “it is not enough to be free of the whips, principalities and powers.” I agreed, but I did not know how to free myself of the creative paralysis that loomed. Tony Hall walked past me with the chamber pot on his head and I burst out laughing. Was isolation making me crazy or connecting me with my art?

Quite naturally, artists exist between realms. In a dream, Ogun will provide the dance steps. A poem written decades before will resonate in present times – “This is the dark time/my love,” lamented Carter. Is this the reason that we are not taken seriously, because creativity seems to come so easily? Or is it fear? Discomfort that with no money, in the midst of a pandemic, we have the audacity to even talk about putting on Carnival? That we will endeavour to prove how moronic it is to ever doubt the super powers of artists?

How many times do we have to prove it eh André, Beryl, Jit, Selvon, Bradley, Astor, eh Kitchener, eh Bailey? They forget when soldiers shot into unarmed jahajis in 1884, they kept walking. They forget when they took away the bois, Joe Talmana said “no problem” and Carnival continued.

Money? Of course. It is important. We have bills to pay, children to mind and iconic television studios to manage. And when we lend you our creativity, we absolutely want to be paid for our work. On time. But money? It is important, but have we not already proved that we will dig in the rubbish and create beauty? Steal the ideas, go ahead; many more will come in the dreams and on the breath of our ancestors. Money? In the 1970s a revolutionary J’Ouvert band took over Port of Spain and shook a nation – without sponsorship.

It is better we try to put on the Carnival and fail. Leah, Sprang, Tony, Boadicea and the others will laugh at us and say “doh worry, next time.” I prefer that laugh, to the one where Brathwaite shakes his head and asks “where is your kingdom of the word?”

This was not the article I planned to write. I am concerned about the society that is being revealed as covid19 strips back our layers. A 92-year-old woman abused for decades is literally lifted out of filth and garbage. In our homes, women, girls and, increasingly, our men and boys are at risk. Vaccines are developed and Mother Earth says, “Here is another virus.” We still have businesses using thousands of plastic bags, even as scientists discover plastic embedded in the tissues of the marine animals that we consume.

As we face more uncertainty in 2021, why would we not create art? Why would we not fight for the self-expression that has bolstered us for centuries? Typically, superpowers emanate from realms that exist outside our own. They are as transient as they are formidable; as forgiving as they are reproachful. I did not plan to write this, but, like most artists, when I am told I cannot, I see it as an invitation to show I can.

I dwell in the realm of the possible; I am an artist.

Dara E Healy is a performance artist and founder of the Indigenous Creative Arts Network – ICAN