“The job of an artist is to take those masks, the paper ones, and rip them from the walls.  Behind the iPhone, photo, tunes, the leather purses and the diamond wristwatch, are people — dying, bleeding, aching, breathing, grasping, holding tight.” by Sarah Klatt

I plagiarized “For The Artists” from my friend, Sarah.  See, Sarah’s an artist who performs slam poetry, and she’s at camp with me this week.  I’ll tell you more about Sarah in a minute.

During weeks of preparation for camp this week, I thought a lot about the how.  I thought about the mechanics of art projects.  I thought about how to appeal to creative kids.  I thought about how to tie-dye socks.  I thought about cotton-content, supplies, and equipment.  I thought about the number of yards of floss I need for friendship bracelets.  I thought about quantities of paint and beads and paper.

But, as camp drew closer, I found my thoughts turning to why.  Why do art at camp?  What’s the deeper meaning in crafts?  In short, why bother?  And for whom?

There are certain kinds of kids who are drawn to art like moths to flame.

Sure — some crafts appeal across the board because the end product is so appealing.  But I’m not talking about the tie-dye kids for now.  I’m talking about the kids for whom art has by-products that are as necessary to them as sleep, air, water, and sunshine.

There are kids who need a break from all the noise.  And camp is a noisy, noisy place.  They need an acceptable place to put their heads down and focus on something other than the hard social tasks of making new friends and being outgoing.  I’m an Internet Extrovert and Real Life Introvert, so I get it.  I need hunker-down time every day to recharge and get my Nice on, and it’s my honor to provide it at camp for kids who need it, too.

And then there are the kids who are true artists.  Kids who need art on an entirely different level.  They use art as shelter.  Art as expression.  Art as light.  Art as worship.  Art as quiet.  Art as a life-force.  Art as communion with God and with nature.

This week, Sarah is teaching a class to our campers, and she’s using art as a medium for learning.  Sarah’s also an artist in her own right.  She writes and performs slam poetry.

Slam what?

Yeah, if you’re asking that, you’re not alone.  (And if you already know, bear with me.)  Sarah described a poetry slam as a combination of rap, theatre and poetry.  And she shared her original work, For The Artists, with the staff at camp as an introduction to the “why” of art.  Why she’s using art in her class.  Why it’s important.  Why it makes sense.

I wish I’d whipped out my phone in time to record Sarah’s performance for you.  It was breathtakingly beautiful, and I was very moved.  Sarah captured, so much better than I did above, what art means when it lives and breathes and moves inside of you.

Sarah said, “The job of an artist is to take those masks, the paper ones, and rip them from the walls.  Behind the iPhone, photo, tunes, the leather purses and the diamond wristwatch, are people — dying, bleeding, aching, breathing, grasping, holding tight.”

Sarah’s graciously allowing me to post a video of the same poem (previously recorded) for you.  The words are below the vid, in case you want to read in more depth.

Tomorrow, I plan to post on Art as Light… and actually follow through on my pledge to post our craft projects.  (See?  Day One, and I’m already Off Plan.  We all knew this would happen, right?)

For now, enjoy!

For The Artists

by Sarah Klatt

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6uvIgzYWXY

 

For the Artists

by Sarah Klatt

 

 

 

 

Would you look

Can you see

With your eyes

Backwards

From the soul to

The window

To the world

 

 

 

See an artist

Me with my camera

Hand with the paintbrush

Mouth ready for music

Photo snap moments

Actors let the tears come

 

 

 

And what for?

 

 

 

You say art for the sake of art

Art to make the mulah

Ha

For people who can’t live

Within the

Structures of

Reality

Taking crayons to

The lines of mediocrity

Hammers to break

White washed cups

The ones people

Hold when they

Wanna look cool

 

 

 

You see us with

Rose-colored glasses

Cause that’s what’s on

Your face

You want to look

At the world and

Miss the pain?

 

 

 

Go into four corners

And five walls

Covered in hearts

They’re round and red

But don’t look

Too hard

Or you’ll see

They’re not the same

Color, size or shape

Some have hard marks

Lines

And rips

Thin paper no

They ain’t

 

 

 

Those hearts are people

Real and

Alive

They beat and

Pulse

 

 

 

The job of an artist is

To take those masks

The paper ones

And rip them from

The walls

Behind the iphone, photo, tunes

The leather purses and

The diamond wristwatch

Are people

 

 

 

Dying, bleeding

Aching, breathing,

Grasping, Holding

Tight

 

That camera sits

On the shoulders of the real

Back into the corners

Darkness that blinds

Hope

The hand that

Holds the brush

Splatters the dreams of

Held up

Locked down

Burnt out places

 

 

 

Those lips that dare to

Voice the voiceless

Speak words that

Cower and fear

Words of life like a

Gun that shoots

Water

On a day a hundred

And five degrees

 

 

A thousand words per

Picture please

When you capture

That face, that smile, that tear

You prove to the world

That we’re one

And the same

 

 

 

Storytellers called

Liars

Actually reveal the truth

About humanity

The depravity that sinks

Below the news line

Children born

Unborn

Trying to keep warm

 

 

 

When reality smacks

Politicians

With the face of the
Broken

There are the artists

Ready to say

Sing me a song and

I’ll write you a story

That shows there’s

Beauty in broken

 

 

 

When the lifeless

Gather

Like a field of bones

Let me paint some

Breath

And we’ll breathe together