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Dec. 13th, 2008
Impressionistic Open Mic Critique
Dec. 13th, 2008 03:50 pmI feel a little weird posting this. It's not my style to comment in detail on moments like this, and it is not my intention to call anyone out. But at the same time, it bugged me enough that I wanted to say something. And good art is engaging and worth dialoguing about, right?
Heh. I just said 'dialoguing.'
I went to QOM last night, twins in tow (and also the rest of the adults in this household, plus the kids' cousin and aunt). It was nice to get out! And hear some thought-provoking writing and performance. I needed it more than I knew.
However, there was one piece...
I should note that my critique is loose because my impression of the piece is compromised by circumstance. I heard much of it from another room over, as I fed Simone a bottle and tried to keep her quiet; with a supreme sense of irony, she had begun to fuss just a few sentences into this particular piece.
I say this b/c this piece was a monologue about motherhood. Spoken in the character of the mother -- by a man.
And I have to admit that my very first reaction was, "Oh. This is kinda what it feels like to be on the losing end of cultural appropriation, isn't it?"
I wasn't angry or upset (partly because of my own feelings about the inevitability of cultural appropriation), but I was wrapped deeply in a sense of wrongness. The monologue was well-written, occasionally powerful -- and wrong. Wrong about the experience of motherhood -- from my point of view as a very new mother, anyway.
(Its organizing metaphor was wrong, too -- Indian food is *not* all the same color unless you're overusing the turmeric...)
Motherhood is not at all the same thing day in, day out. It's not a factory assembly-line type of job. Motherhood (parenthood) is more like this: every time you think you're on top of it, things change and you have to figure it out all over again.
There were other details that failed to ring true to me as well, but only in a minor-itch sort of way.
Now, I feel very weird about speaking for the community of mothers, or even appearing to do so, even a little bit. I haven't been at this very long! I am not in a position all of a sudden to act as an authority or a spokesperson.
On the other hand, I know my truth. And this piece didn't speak to it. It aspired to, I think. But it didn't succeed.
Heh. I just said 'dialoguing.'
I went to QOM last night, twins in tow (and also the rest of the adults in this household, plus the kids' cousin and aunt). It was nice to get out! And hear some thought-provoking writing and performance. I needed it more than I knew.
However, there was one piece...
I should note that my critique is loose because my impression of the piece is compromised by circumstance. I heard much of it from another room over, as I fed Simone a bottle and tried to keep her quiet; with a supreme sense of irony, she had begun to fuss just a few sentences into this particular piece.
I say this b/c this piece was a monologue about motherhood. Spoken in the character of the mother -- by a man.
And I have to admit that my very first reaction was, "Oh. This is kinda what it feels like to be on the losing end of cultural appropriation, isn't it?"
I wasn't angry or upset (partly because of my own feelings about the inevitability of cultural appropriation), but I was wrapped deeply in a sense of wrongness. The monologue was well-written, occasionally powerful -- and wrong. Wrong about the experience of motherhood -- from my point of view as a very new mother, anyway.
(Its organizing metaphor was wrong, too -- Indian food is *not* all the same color unless you're overusing the turmeric...)
Motherhood is not at all the same thing day in, day out. It's not a factory assembly-line type of job. Motherhood (parenthood) is more like this: every time you think you're on top of it, things change and you have to figure it out all over again.
There were other details that failed to ring true to me as well, but only in a minor-itch sort of way.
Now, I feel very weird about speaking for the community of mothers, or even appearing to do so, even a little bit. I haven't been at this very long! I am not in a position all of a sudden to act as an authority or a spokesperson.
On the other hand, I know my truth. And this piece didn't speak to it. It aspired to, I think. But it didn't succeed.