No President is Sacred

Last month there was a big to-do in South Africa over an art piece by Brett Murray, depicting president Jacob Zuma posing in a Lenin-style look to the future along with his penis being clearly visible.  Protesters have called it everything from disrespectful to racist, culminating in one enraged person attacking the artwork, damaging it, and closing the exhibition (or is it back already? I haven’t heard the latest)

Zuma has long been a contreversial figure, especially when it comes to sex and sexuality. He has had 6 wives and from them a grand total of 20 children. More infamously, he was acquitted of rape in 2005.  Throughout his political career in some way sex or sexuality has always been there, either in the background or the foreground. This would seem to be the grounds for which the artist chose to prominently include the president’s penis in the image.

Many disagree. They see these matters and personal and not subject to public criticism. They also feel the president of the nation deserves respect and not to be made a caricature of. But they don’t just disagree and write about it in the media and express their opinion in the many forums available to people today. They take it further and seek to have such images banned and follow that with all manner of accusation about the intentions of the artist.  Its a familiar theme in a world that has become very much about not just expressing an opinion, but stopping others from expressing their perhaps less popular opinion. Everyone is very busy being offended, and they demand someone else get in trouble for their alleged suffering.

Im neither South African nor a real artist, but I think there’s a global message in the events taking place around this work.  Therefore I’m making sure “The Spear” is available on this site… enjoy – or don’t.

Judge Rules for Plesner, For art!

 

SL
Simple Living, by Nadia Plesner

My work on this site is not normally focused on breaking news, but this one just came out an hour ago and it involves the Plesner v. Louis Vuitton case we’ve been discussing over the past weeks.  The judge in the Hague ruled today in favor of Plesner’s right to continue to show her painting, Darfurnica, and that her use of the image of a Louis Vuitton bag is both “functional and proportional.”

 

No word yet from either Nadia or the Vuitton side, but as a newfound voice for Darfur and freedom of expression, she will surely return to the podcast in the future.  Click here for the initial report by Radio Netherlands regarding the court ruling.

The Story of Darfurnica

Nadia Plesner is a concerned citizen of the world as well as an artist, and she’s deeply troubled by what has been happening in Darfur. She’s also frustrated with the lack of media coverage the topic recieves, while showbiz news has no such shortage of attention.  In her painting “Darfurnica” as well as her other work, Nadia has been depicting images of  the horrors that people live in Darfur, the political maneuvering that goes on, and images of what makes major media headlines instead of Darfur.  In part of Darfurnica, there appears the infamous photo of the ghastly thin Sudanese child, adorned in Paris Hilton style with a chiwawa in one hand and a Louis Vuitton bag in the other.

This is the story of how the painting came together, and how LV would file a lawsuit against Nadia. Demanding that she not show her artwork which contains images of their bag, and calling for her to pay an expensive penalty (€5,000 per each day the painting is shown) if she doesn’t take down her work.  The case is pending a decision in early May. In this podcast interview, we discuss the case as well as Nadia’s work in relation to Darfur.

Darfurnica
Darfurnica

Nadia’s website which includes info on her Darfur initiatives which you can be a part of,  as well updates about the case.

Art, Genocide, and Handbags

I’ve never been to a court house in the Netherlands, in my 9 years in this country, somehow I never had cause to enter one. After weaving through some of the plethora of government buildings one can find in the Hague, I somehow managed to find the courthouse, though I was somewhat surprised there was no crowd out front. Considering the importance of the case, which features an art student being sued by a multinational corporation for depicting their product in her art, I figured there would be at least a dozen people holding signs outside in support. Silly me, too many hollywood films with people behind police barricades in front of ye olde city courthouse.

Court House in the Hague

I waltzed my way in and navigated my way through very modern hallways, past doors A through G, until I found my destination, court room H. A uniformed cop sat outside the door, the lonely figure in the hallway, fiddling with his phone in silence. I asked if I could go in and he gave a nonchalant nod. As I carefully opened the door I found myself in the audience, creeping quietly to find a seat, being noticed by all among the 15 to 20 people in attendance. I choose a spot by some people scribbling in notepads, “how old fashioned and quaint” I thought to myself in a condescending technologist tone. I looked forward and studied the figures in the front of the medium sized room, 2 judge looking people behind the big desk facing me, 2 lawyers dressed in black robes, one woman standing at the little microphone going over what seems to be a prewritten text, a young bearded man to her left going through pages of notes. Just next to them I see the long blonde hair and nervous look of who I immediately recognize as Nadia Plesner. She looks sad, which is not a surprise considering the magnitude of damages (5,000€ per day since January) she faces. As I look on the left side of the room, opposite the defence, I see the profile of what looks like a very shrewd legal mind, the Louis Vuitton lawyer. Close behind him sit 4 to 5 extremely well dressed, prim and proper individuals. Behind them two ladies are gabbing away into small microphones, I recognize what has to be simultaneous French translation, I presume, for the people back at the home office. The rest of the audience sits quietly, an assorted crew of concerned faces, occasionally shaking their head in disagreement or agreement with a statement that is made up front. Many are wearing little hand written pins with slogans about supporting art, supporting Nadia, and urging “Louis” to lighten up. And finally I notice there behind all of us, taking up the entire back wall of the court room is the subject of all this activity… the painting – Darfurnica.

I happen to be sitting right in front of the image of the boy holding the chihuahua and the luxurious handbag, which I now know is a Louis Vuitton bag. He’s decked out like Paris Hilton, while all around him are conflicting symbols of death and horror in Darfur, and Hollywood gossip-news-images of the rich and famous. In between are images of influential politicians with some role in what happens or does not happen in Sudan. Above it all, the sun, just like in Picasso’s Guernica, only instead of a lightbulb inside the sun, it is the logo of Petro-China, the oil company with the most investment in Sudan.

Just when I thought it wouldn’t get too exciting and that perhaps this would all be very routine until the judge finally makes a decision, the Vuitton lawyer gets his 20 minutes. Pacing around his little podium area, often with his arms folded, with a booming voice he presented a story filled with drama, conspiracies, and even some stern looks-jabs at the “media” in the room . Looking at the judge, even he seemed half fascinated and half bored with the extent to which events can be dramatized.

After long back and forth presentations and a few heated moments (more than 2 hours later), court is adjourned. It is hard to tell what the judge is thinking, but he’s giving both sides a critical look and has reprimanded them all at different times. As everyone files out into the hall, Nadia stays in the courtroom to do an interview with the big Dutch news program. Outside the Vuitton friends are huddled with the lawyer, they’re discussing where to get some drinks before some of them fly off to wherever it is they live. They’re confident but they keep it to themselves, glancing only occasionally at the young people adorned with pins, chatting only a few steps away.

As the corporate lawyer, now dressed in a very nice suit, walks towards the exit, he passes one of the girls with supportive pins. “May I have one as well, I think these are lovely…”, the somewhat surprised and nervous girl takes a step back and holds her bag of pins close.. “No, these are for those who support Nadia. Therefore not you. I think it wouldn’t be right.” Realizing the moment has passed, the lawyer shakes it off like he was only kidding, and walks out the door.

bmtv124 La Tabacalera, Madrid

La Tabacalera
Lavapies
La Tabacalera de Lavapies has long been important site for both workers and the community around it in Madrid. So when it stopped being a factory, members of the community occupied the building and started developing social services, education, arts, gardens, eating establishments and an ever expanding list of features all housed within this large complex. The following is a brief video tour of what I saw during my few hours at La Tabacalera, an intoxicating and exciting place for anyone interested in informal, not for profit, community spaces.

Said Utah, I did not die

Bangkok posting will be postponed today as the world lost a very special person just days ago.  My idol, inspiration, and historical guide in this life, Utah Phillips, has died.  Words cannot describe how this man and his music shaped and shape my thinking and my understanding of who I am and where I’m going.

Utah did so much that meant such a great deal to me. His recordings are things I go back to almost once a month, stories, songs, history lessons.  So the news may say that my friend Utah Phillips has died, but I know better… and to illustrate and pay the highest respect to him, Ill quote my most favorite labor poem and song, which Utah so often sang:

Joe Hill

words by Alfred Hayes
music by Earl Robinson

I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night,
Alive as you and me.
Says I “But Joe, you’re ten years dead”
“I never died” said he,
“I never died” said he.

“In Salt Lake, Joe,” says I to him,
him standing by my bed,
“They framed you on a murder charge,”
Says Joe, “But I ain’t dead,”
Says Joe, “But I ain’t dead.”

“The Copper Bosses killed you Joe,
they shot you Joe” says I.
“Takes more than guns to kill a man”
Says Joe “I didn’t die”
Says Joe “I didn’t die”

And standing there as big as life
and smiling with his eyes.
Says Joe “What they can never kill
went on to organize,
went on to organize”

From San Diego up to Maine,
in every mine and mill,
where working-men defend their rights,
it’s there you find Joe Hill,
it’s there you find Joe Hill!

I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night,
alive as you and me.
Says I “But Joe, you’re ten years dead”
“I never died” said he,
“I never died” said he.