artactivismworkshop

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Support

Kate Amrine (Trumpet, MM ‘17) :: 12/2/2016 Art and Activism Workshop :: At our final session for 2016, shortly after the presidential election, we had many things to discuss, especially in terms how to best promote diversity and marginalized groups. Although the theme of our session was women composers and performers, the underlying message was for support and awareness. How can we increase support and diverse representation for young classical musicians of color? How can we encourage more women to pursue collegiate studies in composition when there are less women teaching at universities? We certainly didn’t solve these problems in one meeting, but through our conversations, we opened the door towards greater support, recognition and awareness.

Before our session, we examined the writings of three composers: Amy Beth Kirsten (The Woman Composer is Dead), Alex Temple (I’m a Trans Composer. What the Hell Does That Mean?), and Ashley Fure (Reflections on Risk). Each composer described their own relationship to being a woman composer and considered whether or how this impacts their work. Some composers, like Ashley Fure, embrace the label “woman composer,” yet recognize the difficulties with speaking out about inequalities in the music world. Others, like Amy Beth Kirsten, do not want to be limited by this description or have anything to do with events that focus on gender. We also discussed an interview with Björk, in which she describes how women artists are expected to only write about relationships and “womanly things.” When women artists write about other subject matter or other personal ideas, we often need to say something five times louder just to be heard and recognized, yet men are still falsely credited for our work. In the same way that we are trying to increase awareness of women in STEM fields, the same work needs to be done for women composers and performance, who often face questions like, “you created the electronics yourself?” and “I thought you were just a singer”.

Much of the conversation was spent evaluating the comments on Amy Beth Kirsten’s article and the realizations that Ashley Fure had in her experience at Darmstadt. Because of the issues with being pigeonholed – as a woman composer, activist composer, or Persian composer – we questioned whether we should make these distinctions, and whether they are more beneficial or hurtful. Despite the various opinions on this, in the articles and in our discussions, nobody disagreed about the lack of gender and racial diversity among composers and performers. The Metropolitan Opera just programmed an opera by woman composer for the first time in over 100 years, and frankly this is so embarrassing! How did we let The Met go that long without recognizing that perhaps there was a lack of representation? Even the recently announced programming for the NY Philharmonic's next season only includes one piece by a woman and six living composers.

After discussing these issues, we addressed possible solutions and ways of increasing representation. Anonymous score submissions and blind auditions are great, because they allow us to simply focus on finding and promoting excellent music. If we want to better represent women composers and artists of varied genders and racial backgrounds, I don’t believe it’s possible to do so silently, or by hoping that we are seen as composers/performers and not composers/performers who are women for example. It is very easy to not want to be defined by our appearance, gender, or race, yet most of us don’t have that luxury. We should be celebrating our differences and increasing support for these groups, because until there is more equal representation and support for these artists, we haven’t solved the problem. On the other hand, calls for scores and other programs that target certain backgrounds are only helpful if we have people who are applying and meeting the criteria. In an interview about her new opera at the Met, Kaija Saariaho reflected on how tired she was of being asked questions about gender, and wished “that we could speak about my music and not of me being a woman.” While insightful and understandable, even Saariaho recognized that her statement needed to be revised after realizing that women are still facing the same issues and lack of representation today that she faced many years ago. When speaking about these problems and gender barriers, Saariaho declared, “maybe we, then, should speak about it, even if it seems so unbelievable. You know, half of humanity has something to say, also.”

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Activism in the Aftermath of Election 2016

Sonia Matheus (Oboe, BM ‘20)

:: 11/11/2016 Art and Activism Workshop :: The results of the 2017 Presidential Election sent chills down my spine. I was petrified, mortified, and terrified for the future. Still in mourning from the event days before, I arrived at Judah Adashi’s Art and Activism bi-monthly workshop on the Friday of Election week, prepared for a typical class discussion on an aspect of art and activism. But the Trump election was the elephant in the room, and no one had the courage to initiate that conversation. Adashi immediately felt the tension and questioned whether we should discuss the originally assigned topic, or dive into the issue on everyone’s minds. Without haste, we discussed what would happen to national arts funding, minorities and immigrants in the United States, and how to take action. Questions like, “Why don’t I see students visibly outraged? Where are the riots? Am I the only one on campus that feels afraid of the Trump voter? What’s going to happen to me as a Latina in the arts and in America?” that raced through my head just hours before, were shared by everyone during the session. Our impassioned discussion made it clear that from then on we would focus on activist topics with direct correlation to the national political crisis. Since then, we have homed in on art and activist intersections that embrace the uniqueness of people and celebrate the diverse issues of advocacy that effect change through various art forms. While this sounds similar to the original intent of class, the election initiated a sense of urgency to honor and uplift all issues that Trump deems unworthy—including disability rights, environmental advocacy, and mental health issues. What we discussed that evening not only validated my concerns, but also opened my eyes to the newly revealed country I was living in, and instilled a drive to use my creativity and passion for social justice and my thirst for knowledge to help construct a culture of resistance against this new and frightening political system. The election pulled away the curtain to reveal a country still horribly burdened by misogyny, chauvinism, xenophobia, and racism, and I was haunted by the repercussions. As a daughter of a Venezuelan immigrant father and a Jewish mother, it shook me to my core that people could hate me, my family, and my community just because of our skin color and heritage. I was furious that the Trump voters had the privilege of ignoring his bigoted remarks because they were white and didn’t have to strive for inclusion. I didn’t have the privilege of ignoring his human rights stance — I embody the qualities he attacks! While the election session of the workshop gave me a safe space to engage in social justice issues and voice my anger, I wanted more — I wanted to understand how citizens had allowed Trump to take office, and I hoped to take concrete action against a system that I found corrupt. Throughout the school year I searched for student-run events and talks at Peabody and Homewood and around Baltimore that would offer a platform for voicing theories on the evolution of this newly revealed America, as well as empower concerned citizens, like me, to take action. My first stop was a panel at MICA that featured a professor, a MacArthur Fellow, and a renowned photojournalist discussing the artist’s role in a revolution. The speakers were justly angry, and passionate about taking a stand through their art. One speaker mentioned how grateful he is that the true, ugly America is now revealed for all to see, because it pushes people to initiate steps towards change, especially with the help of visual and political art. Amidst their powerful words, I found hope that art still has a purpose in Trump’s America, yet I felt excluded and unsure how, as an oboist, I could use my talents to make a difference. Following the MICA panel, I went to a JHU Forum of Latino faculty speakers who discussed Latinos’ place in post-election America. Every school and division of Johns Hopkins, except Peabody, was represented on that panel. I yet again felt excluded when they urged students to use their racial diversity in their fields of study — such as medicine and language arts — to enact change. I again found myself wondering: “What about the classical music world? What am I, a musician, to do?” In February, I attended a talk at the Homewood campus hosted by the Foreign Affairs Symposium. Junot Díaz, a Dominican-American teacher, writer, artist, and activist came to discuss his upcoming novel and an array of complex race relations in America, especially in the Latinx, immigrant, and African-American communities. I was instantly captivated because he so succinctly described my frustrations as a Latina artist living in America. I lacked confidence in my ability to effect change after the election because I had witnessed a growing divide within my communities. For instance, in my music world I knew some musicians that just wanted to stay in practice rooms, while others wanted to compose anti-governmental symphonies, and various sects within the Latinx community kept tearing each other down in order to feel better about their place in Trump’s America. I felt lost within my worlds, and Díaz directed me towards a unique path I could forge on my own. He emphasized the importance of unity in any community where people want to enact change and shed light on their hardships. He attacked people who criticize friends with the same background but who appear to have distinct privileges. For instance, he thought it was futile and “conveniently heroic” to spout comparisons of privilege by saying, “I have it worse than you because I’m a Black, transgender man and you are only an Asian, bisexual male, but you have it worse than a Native-American woman.” Rather, he urged us to examine our own privileges, no matter what socio-economic or racial background, explaining that in order to fight our common oppressor we must elevate others. He also pressed those who consider themselves marginalized to stop centering whiteness as the root of their problems. This notion changed my entire outlook. I realized that instead of trying to uplift my Latinx and classical music community, I had been dwelling on our devalued status in Trump’s America, which had promoted more in-fighting in my communities. Díaz explained that centering whiteness as the root of our problems would lead to stagnation, and result in a wall around our community built from the bricks our oppressors had handed us. Instead he urged us to practice positive activism that strengthens community. He further stressed that instead of scapegoating, we must use our individual advantages — whether as a gifted composer, speaker, instrumentalist, or marcher — to unify, overcome oppression, and effect change. I’m still regaining my pre-election level of emotional stability and the optimism that validates my role as an oboist, Latina, and activist in America, thanks in large part to the support I have found in the Art and Activism workshop. It has given me a safe, non-judgmental space to discuss my passion for addressing social injustice via the arts, and has encouraged me to seek additional sources of inspiration around Baltimore. The accumulated knowledge I’ve gained throughout the school year has formed a path towards my ultimate goal, which is to turn theory into action — art into activism.

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Listen.

Sarah Thomas (Violin, BM '17)

:: 10/28/2016 Art and Activism Workshop ::

By the time we reached our third Art and Activism Workshop session, we figured out that no amount of time is enough to talk about everything we want to work through. So we’re getting used to jumping right in, and five minutes into our talk in late October, we found ourselves discussing a particular politically focused recital Lior had recently performed, recognizing that we as humans strongly dislike being told what to think, and reflecting on how that dislike may cause the dismissal and discomfort that is often a reaction to political art. But what if political art is really an invitation to participate together in reflection, to question, to grieve, and to listen to a perspective that is not our own?

We spent most of our time that evening focusing on the work of John Luther Adams and Anohni, who both dare us to listen.

Adams gave us a springboard for our discussion with this article, in which he talks about the process of shifting from full time activist to full time artist. After 30 years spent in Alaska as an environmental activist, he rerouted his life and took on the role of a full-time composer, writing supposedly non-political music with titles that scream “LISTEN TO THE WORLD!” This raises a lot of questions, and we asked them. How can he just stop being an activist? If he isn’t writing political art, why the provocative titles? Why does he need to point out that his art isn’t political? Why NOT write political art? Is this denial just fear of the negative associations that can come with political art?

There is a theme that seems to run through JLA’s article - a call to listen. He was immersed in the sound of the arctic for 30 years, and there was so much to listen for, but so much that is vulnerable to changing climate and unconcerned people. As he listens, he finds himself distracted by the troubling evidence of the beauty he hears being slowly destroyed. “I do my best to refocus my attention, to return only to listening. Yet how can I stand here today and not think of these things?”

Before our session, we all listened to Adams��� piece Become Ocean. This piece is huge. It occupies over forty minutes of time where we are called to listen intently, to search for textures in the music, to let ourselves be still and breathe and live and think. The invitation to do this for forty minutes is a rare one, and the space for our minds to breathe is precious.

The last part of our session focused in on Anohni’s work, and the brutal experience of her Academy Awards nomination and subsequent rejection. (She shares an incredibly thoughtful response to this here, and the dignity with which she writes about her story as a trans performer is very moving. I could say more, but it won’t do justice to her retelling - so read it.)

We took the time to re-listen to Anohni’s song “Manta Ray” during the session, and the beauty of her voice was as captivating as ever. She captures an ethereal, transcendent sound that, while intense and full of political meaning, is not aggressive. It draws us in and requires us to listen to the combination of sound and lyrics that forms such a poignant and slightly unsettling atmosphere. The very end of this awesome article on Anohni’s album “Hopelessness” digs deep into the effect of her music. “The world Anohni describes on ‘Hopelessness’ is unrelentingly awful; it is our world. But at the center of it is a transcendent voice singing against heavy machinery, daring you to listen to the words coming out of your own mouth.”

We can talk about music and listening all day, but the real question here is how any of this is meaningful in regard to change. Unfortunately music can’t change policy, art can’t bring social justice, and listening is only the first step in getting anything done. But it is the first step. And if art can draw us to a place where we have the space to take that step and listen - to silence, to the world around us, to other people - maybe it can prepare us to start taking responsibility.

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In the Trenches

Sean McFarland (Composition, MM ‘18) :: 10/14/2016 Art and Activism Workshop :: Session 2 of Art and Activism was largely productive, I thought. The group narrowed its focus more than in other meetings and it felt like we quickly dove into the trenches of philosophical thought involving politics and art. Some of these topics helped me think about serious subjects that I frequently feel in the dark on. Below, I have summarized our meeting with some personal interjections. The session began with introductions from Kate and Lior, who missed our first meeting. Lior essentially began our discussion by talking about the program that he is working on. Lior’s piano program involves music from Beethoven to Rzewski, and we learned about the political relationships that exist in the pieces that he is performing. Lior asserted that his program is one that he is working on regardless of audience, and that it is music he wants to play and thinks is important. This is hinting at a notion that we will touch on later. Sonia enlarged the scope of the discussion by asking the question, “how much should politics and art involve one another?” This foray led to a number of different comparisons, and the group came to a relative conclusion that it is difficult and potentially impossible to take politics out of art - to even have a non-political piece is a political choice in itself. Daniel then took the opportunity to bring up a point which I find is rarely discussed in these kinds of topics. He questions the general intent of those making political works of art. In our current era, where political art receives significantly more attention than art that is not, are there ulterior motives for making political art? Is it possible that some artists are using political art exploitatively for personal gain? We discussed a couple of programs that favor political art in which artists could somewhat capitalize on this trend. -- I personally wrote a piece over the summer that dealt with the shooting at Pulse Nightclub and I wavered back and forth on this point for a long time. At the end of the day, having a performance of this work has certain repercussions that exclusively affect me, my image, and my work as an artist. We as a group deliberated the minutiae of the conflict between myself and the subject that I am writing about and came to the conclusion that the most important responses to this thought are to “know in yourself where your values lie” and “if you know that you know that you're doing it for the community, do it anyways - a (greater cause) is at stake.” -- This situation of intent has direct parallels to a racism allegation that was swept under the rug recently at Baltimore OrchKids. We agreed that it's very hard for POC to start these programs on their own, but once they are started by whites in power, there is a fork in the road as to how they use their privilege to support the black community. We all agreed that Orchkids should deal with racism allegations more expediently and transparently than other organizations because of the system they are attempting to employ, and this is where organizations show their true colors. The group talked about how generally “good” organizations such as Orchkids, or the larger Peabody community, miss out on opportunities to improve themselves by refusing to acknowledge pervasive racism inherent in the structural framework of an organization. -- This point of conversation was immensely helpful to me, because my Arts & Activism project is to start an arts venue with a similar mission to Orchkids. Understanding racial framework of an organization, and how this directly leads to institutional racism and other disappointing circumstances is something that I hadn’t considered fully, and now feel more comfortable in my position in how to address conflict resolution and the structure of my organization to more accurately reflect the goals of my project. -- We continued by succinctly examining the whitewashing of certain musical genres, notably jazz and its development into rock. We discussed how the artistic contributions of POC are often not viewed on an individual level as the accomplishments of several different artists, but rather as a monolithic group. This led us to a brief dialogue on the archetype of the white-male-hero artist, and how POC are often not given that same treatment of individual achievement. The group acknowledged that it is not the responsibility of the oppressed to solve oppression and that you can’t assume that all POC have similar experiences and the same viewpoints. Our discussion concluded humorously enough with the items that were actually on the agenda, David Little’s New York Times article, his piece Soldier Songs, Ted Hearne’s Katrina Ballads, and a new piece in the same vein by Donnacha Dennehy. A quick aside to discuss Kanye’s famous “George Bush doesn’t care about black people” quote somehow seemed to conclusively tie everything together that we discussed, and end the mostly serious discussion on a lighter note.

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Activism

Jamie Leidwinger (Composition, MM ‘18) :: 9/30/2016 Art and Activism Workshop :: Activism noun  ac·tiv·ism \ˈak-ti- ˌvi-zəm\ 1. a doctrine or practice that emphasizes direct vigorous action especially in support of or opposition to one side of a controversial issue

Whoa there, Merriam-Webster – those are some aggressive connotations, don’t you think? When I read your definition, the image in my head is of angry people picketing and lobbying. Yes, some activism is like this. Some, however, is not. Let’s take off the white surgeon’s gloves of objectivity here and dig into the mess of reality: people are complicated. Behind an individual’s set of beliefs are stories and experiences that inspire people to take action for those and that which we care about. I much prefer to think of myself as someone “taking action to effect social change” than someone following a “doctrine” or “dogma” to pursue a single end-goal for an “issue.” The ways people take action also differ wildly from the stereotypical image of picketing and chanting – this was evident a thousand times over in our first workshop session.

We began this first session with all intentions of giving brief introductions followed by discussing the boundaries and intersections between music and politics. If music is political, is it created by choice or is it inherently so? To what degree do they mingle? How does this impact our own approach to art? Instead of examining through David T. Little’s artistic lens, however, we instead explored these questions from our own personal and artistic perspectives.

For the entire two hours, we shared our backgrounds, projects, and asked questions of one another. These turned into some touching, revealing moments, some of which were incredibly vulnerable – conversations and sentiments incredibly difficult to convey in a text-based medium like this one. The forces behind each of these platforms for change are an incredibly diverse set of perspectives in the group: from international to domestic and strongly tied to heritage, from those with experience fighting for social change to those dipping their toes in for the first time, from privileged backgrounds to less-privileged backgrounds.

In the words of Mark Ruffalo at my undergraduate commencement, “I’m here to tell you ‘activist’ is not a dirty word… and I’m here to tell your parents that as well.” It was heartening to be in a roomful of people, many of whom had not previously met, listening so attentively and understandingly to one another. For me, change begins with understanding the stories and struggles of others; only then can we decide how to act. Everyone has a story to tell, and it is our job to listen with open ears and without judgment.

[artactivismworkshop]

Art and Activism Worskhop

Judah Adashi

In late 2015, I received a grant in connection with the Johns Hopkins Berman Institute’s “Exploration of Practical Ethics” program. The purpose of the grant was twofold: first, to fund a new piece I’m writing about the unseen violence of solitary confinement in America, specifically the tragic story of Kalief Browder. The second part of my proposal involved the creation of a biweekly, two-hour workshop at the Peabody Institute, focused on contemporary intersections between music and social justice. I’m happy to announce the ten participants selected for this workshop!

-Kate Amrine, trumpet, MM ‘17 -Gregory Goldberg, horn, BM ‘19 -Joey Guidry, bassoon, BM ‘18 -Alec Kipnes, double bass, BM ‘18 -Jamie Leidwinger, composition, MM ‘18 -Sonia Matheus, oboe, BM ‘20 -Sean McFarland, composition, MM ‘18 -Daniel Sabzghabaei, composition, MM ‘17 -Sarah Thomas, violin, BM ‘17 -Lior Willinger, piano, GPD ‘18

I was thrilled with the number and quality of applications; it was hard to choose among so many students passionate about engaging with the broader world through music. I was especially moved by the diversity of applicants and ideas. The selected participants are a varied group, with regard to their backgrounds, their majors, where they are in their studies, and above all, their project proposals, which include:

-a debut album devoted to female composers and performers a thesis on ethics, protest and censorship in music

-F**k the Stigmas, a concert series destigmatizing and educating about mental illness

-research on the intersection of hip-hop and sociopolitical conditions in Baltimore

-a podcast examining the idea of Music and Place, also documenting our workshop

-musical settings of Latino activist poetry

-a non-profit arts venue for all ages that doubles as a community center

-a song cycle reflecting on the history of the hijab for the women of Iran

-interactive musical experiences with Baltimore’s homeless population

-If Music Be the Food, a concert series that collects food for the Maryland Food Bank

The workshop will be loosely divided into a fall seminar and a spring practicum. During the first semester, we’ll consider the role and responsibility of 21st century musicians in addressing sociopolitical issues of our time, by way of readings, audio, video, invited guests, and group discussion and activities. The second semester will focus on the development and initial realization of student projects. In lieu of academic credit, each student will receive a $500 honorarium in support of their participation and their projects.

I couldn’t be more excited about this new initiative, taking place just as Peabody moves towards making community engagement more central to what we do. The workshop gets underway later this month. In subsequent posts, students will blog about each of our workshop sessions. Please stay tuned!