Bang Your Drum– 1995
“In becoming forcibly and essentially aware of my mortality, and of what I wished and wanted for my life, however short it might be, priorities and omissions became strongly etched in a merciless light and what I most regretted were my silences. Of what had I ever been afraid? To question or to speak as I believed could have meant pain, or death. But we all hurt in so many different ways, all the time, and pain will either change, or end. Death, on the other hand, is the final silence. And that might be coming quickly, now, without regard for whether I had ever spoken what needed to be said, or had only betrayed myself into small silences, while I planned someday to speak, or waited for someone else’s words. And I began to recognize a source of power within myself that comes from the knowledge that while it is most desirable not to be afraid, learning to put fear into a perspective gave me great strength.
I was going to die, if not sooner then later, whether or not I had ever spoken myself. My silences had not protected me. Your silence will not protect you.”
― Audre Lorde, The Cancer Journals (1980)
I mentioned the Exiles series the other day when writing about my recent cancer diagnosis. It was a series that was my painted response to my mom’s short, painful battle with metastatic cancer that ended with death in November of 1995. It was a deeply personal series, obviously. It still creates an ache as I look at much of the work from the series.
I thought I’d share the piece above from the series, Bang Your Drum, and an early blogpost from 2009 that discusses what it meant to me then. It was different than the other work in the series. At that point, I saw it about the need to speak up as an artist to both incorporate their personal experience into the work as well as in actively promoting their own work so that it doesn’t get overlooked or passed over.
An artist must often be their own best advocate.
In light of the past several months and my experiences in the healthcare system, I have come to see this piece as being about bringing that same sort of self-advocacy in the search for getting good and timely care. You have to bang your own drum, seeking the ears and eyes of those can best help you.
As it is with most artists, this is a task that is often not pleasant or satisfying. It sometimes goes against your nature and is sometimes humiliating.
But beating your own drum when it comes to the most important aspects of your life, you must bang away and make people hear you. This echoes the passage at the top from the late poet Audre Lorde.
Your silence will not protect you.
So, you might as well beat your drum. Words that are pertinent in many important ways these days.
Here’s that early post.
[From 2009]
I have discussed the Exiles series here in the past, about how it was important to me in coping with my mom’s suffering in the months leading up to her death in 1995. The series was also important to me as an artist, showing me that my work is forever derived from my personal experience.
This is a later piece in the series, Bang Your Drum, finished in early 1996. Initially, I was a bit more ambivalent about this painting compared to the feeling I had for the other pieces of the Exiles series. It exuded a different vibe. For me, the fact that the drummer is marching signifies a move away from the pain and loss of the other Exiles pieces. There is still solemnity, but he is moving ahead to the future, away from the past.
Over the years, this piece has grown on me, and I relate very strongly to the symbolism of the act of beating one’s own drum, something that is a very large part of promoting your work as an artist.
For me and most artists, it is a very difficult aspect of the job, one that is the polar opposite to the traits that led many of us to art. Many are introverted observers of the world, passively taking in the world as it races by as they quietly watch from a distance. To have to suddenly be the motor to propel your work outward is an awkward step for many, me included. Even this blog, which is a vehicle for informing the public about my ongoing work and remains very useful to me as a therapeutic tool for organizing my thoughts, is often a tortuous chore, one that I sometimes agonize and fret over. Even though my work is a public display of my personal feelings, this is different. More obvious and out in the open.
There’s always the fear that I will expose myself to be less than my work. The fear that people will suddenly discover the myriad weaknesses in my character that may not always show in my paintings, forever altering their view of it. The fear that I will be revealed to be, as I have said before, a river that is a mile wide and an inch deep.
But here I stand with my drumstick in hand, hoping to overcome these fears and trusting that people will look beyond my obvious flaws when they view my work. Maybe they too have the same fears and that is the commonality they see and connect with in the work. Whatever the case, there is something in the work that makes me believe that I must fight past these fears and move it forward, out into the world.
What that is, as I’ve said before, I just don’t know. Can’t think about it now– I’ve got a drum to pound…
Redtree Times 
For some reason, this post reminded me of a bit of creative problem solving I came up with when my mom was in the hospital. I never could manage to be with her when the doctor appeared, and getting information was difficult at best. Finally, inspiration struck: I started writing my questions on the white board in the room, where various bits of information and instruction were posted. I asked the nurse to explain to the doc what I’d done, and he loved it. It was easy for him to leave an answer on the same board, and I heard via the grapevine that he loved getting specific questions that way.
That’s a great idea. I know it would have been a big help when my father was in a nursing facility. So often I would have a question or a concern when there wasn’t anyone around who could address them.