"No, it's only an armistice."
The above quote is from a really amazing, great book I read a year ago for my World War One class called "The Beauty and The Sorrow." The book takes letters, journals, and official accounts and goes through each year of the war, describing the people who fought in it and what happened to them. This quote was near the end, which is why it had such an impact on me. We agree on treaties and enter times of peace, but really war's never over. It continues on in the people who fought in it. I know that's kind of obvious, but the effect it has never stops. I think of it like an exploding grenade; there's the initial explosion, but then pieces of metal keep flying, flying, flying, always hitting.
I'm starting out with this because I want to finally talk about my independent study project (ISP). I had an idea for my project before I even got here, and it's something I've always wanted to do. I want to interview veterans, and make a short film about it. I've helped make short films before, but I've never done one on my own. The project's now focused on combat veteran artists specifically, people who saw action and are now (or always were) artists. I'm (hopefully) interviewing three veterans who fought in different wars, as well as an expert on art therapy. The project will focus on the veteran's experiences, and their adjustment back to living in the United States, and if/how making art has helped that adjustment. I'm trying to tie in Chicago by talking to people who live here, and some of the interviews take place in their favorite parts of the city, and I'm asking them if Chicago has changed to them.
I didn't mention this before, because it was one of those things were it's a huge hope/dream and you're afraid to talk about it, because it might not happen. But it's actually happening!! For real. And I'm really excited.
A few weeks ago, my ISP class went to visit an artist at MANA, which is a space that used to be a warehouse, and is now used for artists, galleries, and offices. The artist discussed his work, then wanted to know about our individual projects. When I talked about mine, he said, "I have a connection for you." Which is what I was hoping for, someone who'd be like, I know someone. He told me about someone he knew who worked for an art museum, and he'd email this person and get us in contact. I didn't really believe him when he said this. But the next day, he did.
He connected me to Mike Helbing, who works at the National Veterans Art Museum. I sent Mike a long email explaining my project, and the next day Mike replied. All he said was, "Here's my number. Call me tomorrow." And I couldn't tell if that short reply was good or bad, but at least he'd left it up to me as to when to call. I called him the next day, the Friday we met with the Jesus People, during lunch. And he said he liked my project! Which was great. He wanted me to get more specific, and he asked if I had anything I could send to him that had more information. I told him about our ISP proposals, which we had to do for class and which went into a lot of detail about what we wanted to do and how we were going to do it. And he was like, "great, send me your proposal, and I'll send it out to some people and in about a week get back to you." I almost died. (There were several times I almost died throughout this process). When we hung up I was so, so excited.
I sent my proposal to him, and Jason, my ISP instructor, suggested asking Mike if I could come by the museum and talk to him. So I did, and the Saturday I could come Mike couldn't be there, but he forwarded my email to someone else, Patrick Putze, and although Patrick couldn't be there either, he said he'd see who'd be around. He never replied, but I tried to go to the museum that Saturday anyways, and wandered around for two hours trying to find it. I don't have a smart phone, and everyone I asked didn't know what it was. After a while, I gave up and took the train back. I didn't know if Patrick had told anyone I'd be there, but of course I was all anxious about it and I was like what if he did and I didn't show up, and they don't think I'm going to do this and now my project's going to fall apart. I was really upset, actually. Sunday, I thought about it, and I felt like the right thing to do was to email Patrick and Mike and say I hadn't made it, but I'd try again the next Saturday. I didn't think they would reply, but Patrick did, and he said he was sorry about me getting lost (even though it wasn't his fault at all) but he liked my project a lot, and he asked me when I was coming so he could meet up with me. That fixed everything :)
So I went! And Patrick was there! And he showed me around the museum! Which was amazing. We walked around and he talked about every piece, and it wasn't until halfway through that I realized how lucky I was to basically be given a private tour by someone who worked there. Then we sat down and talked about my project for over an hour. It turns out Patrick is the media coordinator for the museum, and he made a documentary for his thesis in grad school, and he makes short videos for the museum all the time. He was like, "yeah, I can't let you borrow my camera, but I can let you borrow my sound equipment and show you how to use it," and he said he'd teach me how to shoot b-roll, which is basically shots of location and objects to help build the story, and we could do a mock interview and go through everything. Basically, he'd teach me everything. Which was so cool and so great that I couldn't even express how cool and great it was. And then he told me about a long documentary he's making next year for the museum, and he said, "If this project works out and you're still around, maybe you could come help me with it." I died.
Patrick told me about a veteran art reception that was going on the next day, and even though I had no time to be there I said I'd be there, because he mentioned how great of an opportunity it would be. So that Sunday, I went to the reception, which was in this small building that was the local alderman's office, and I don't know what I expected. I wasn't nervous going, but I was really nervous as soon as I got there. There were a ton of people there, and the only one I knew was Patrick. I am not the type of person at all to walk into a room full of strangers and go up to some of them and talk to them, especially when they're all adults and they're already talking to people and half of them are veterans, who I have a lot of respect for. Basically, I spent more time looking at the art then actually talking to people. Patrick saw me and he introduced me to his wife, and then he was pointing out veterans and saying, "He'd be a good guy to talk to," and I thought he meant in general for my project, but he meant right then. Apparently, he expected me to go up to these guys and interrupt their conversations and introduce myself. I died again. I am so bad at that. Oh god. It was hard because everyone was talking to each other, I was like, if a veteran was chilling out in the corner by himself, then I could do it. Basically I followed people around thinking, please be in my film.
After a while Patrick came up to me and asked if I'd talked to anyone, and I was like, "No." I told him how bad I was at it. I'm sure from our meeting on Saturday at the museum, he could tell I'm a quiet, reserved person whose worst nightmare is networking. And I had no idea I'd be networking at this reception, giving people my information and getting theirs in turn. Patrick said it was okay, everyone's terrible about it, and he was like, "At least you're here." And that's true. I was terrified, but at least I was there and trying, even if it was kind of a fail because I can't talk to strangers to save my life. Patrick told me it'd help if I thought about what I was going to say. He was like, "you need a thirty-second schpeel, a pitch, something that says who you are, why you're here, what you want to do, and that you need them to help out." And I was like, crap.
I want to be a screenwriter. That's my dream. One of the ways you can get your screenplay made into a film, and that's a process that's necessary at some point for every screenplay, is that you pitch it. You go through a pitch session, where you sit in a room with a bunch of important people who have a lot of money and tell them why they should make your screenplay into a film. Most terrifying thing ever? Yes. I keep telling myself I probably won't ever have to do it because my screenplays will probably never be turned into films. But it's something I have to face at some point, and when Patrick asked me if I could do it, I said yes.
And I'm proud to say I came up with my pitch, and I totally pitched my pitch to a veteran artist whose name was also Patrick (he's Patrick K.), and when he asked how he could help with my project I asked if he was willing to be interviewed, if he had time, and he said all he had was time. Then I awkwardly stuck around until I had a chance to get his email address.
So the reception was successful! And I came away with something! Yay. I felt bad when Patrick was telling me who to talk to, and basically ended up having to introduce me to them because I was too shy to do it myself, so it was nice to be able to tell him later on that I made a contact. I did something myself. Yes.
So yeah… the reception was at an alderman's office, which was weird. The alderman, who looked so much like M. Night Shyamalan Patrick wanted to tell him his new screenplay idea, came, and I have no idea which ward I was in and what his name was, but I was introduced to him. I was part of a small group he talked to, and he explained why they have art in the office. Apparently, they rotate work every few months. He was saying how people come there really angry, and they're ready to just yell at him and his fellow workers about that pothole that hasn't been fixed, or whatever, and the art helps calm them down. Best explanation ever. Then Patrick said, "There's no better way to disarm citizens than with veteran art," which he and another veteran thought was hilarious but the alderman was like what. Then they all walked away, and the alderman turned to me and said, "Nice to meet you" like a good politician, and I was like no Patrick don't leave me.
Before the alderman left for the evening, his aide wanted to get a picture of him with all the veterans whose art was at the office. His aide asked me to take the pictures, which made me super anxious, and I didn't want to but she put the camera in my hand, and I was like oh god I'm going to mess this up and this random alderman will be mad at me. I asked her how many pictures she wanted me to take, I was like, "two or three?" And she said, "Ten or fifteen would be good." And I was like, oh. Crap.
But I survived Sunday. I didn't destroy the camera, and I got Patrick K.'s email address, so I emailed him with my proposal and told him just because we talked, that didn't mean he was committed to the project, but he replied and said he was excited about it, and to let him know when we'll get started. Which was really, really great.
Everyone I've talked to is excited about this project: Mike Helbing, Jason, other students, Patrick, Patrick K. It means a lot to me when I tell someone, and they say they're excited. It means a lot to me that so many people have helped. Patrick is helping me so much with this, and he won't get paid, or anything. I thanked him for his help and he said, "don't worry about it, I like helping." Everyone has been interested and willing to participate. It's amazing.
This is my new goal in life: someday, when I have a lot of contacts and resources, I want to help someone who comes to me asking for it, a student who wants to learn how to make film or someone who wants to know if their newest screenplay is a good idea. I want to give someone what Patrick's given me, which is the help I've needed, for no reason except the fact that he's a really kind person.
It's just crazy to think how coincidental this all is. If we hadn't gone to visit that artist at MANA, this never would've happened. If he hadn't wanted to know about our projects, or if he hadn't had each one of us talk about it and just wanted to know some, this wouldn't have happened. If I hadn't gotten lost that Saturday, it wouldn't be happening either.
The Saturday I was at the museum, Patrick asked me how I felt about it all, and for a couple seconds I couldn't say anything. I was so overwhelmed, but in a good way. I kept saying how excited I was, and I told him how a couple weeks ago, this was just an idea, and now it's happening. It's absolutely crazy. If it hadn't worked out this way, I still probably would've been able to find veterans to interview. But talking with Patrick has made me realize how much I don't know about documentary filmmaking. Deep down that was what I was afraid of going into this: that this project would end up crappy because I didn't know how to do it. I just went into it being like, "oh well, it'll work out" and somehow it has worked out. The right people have come into my life at the right time.
I met with Patrick this morning for tacos and we went over my first draft of my interview questions. He's been in contact with a teacher at the Art Institute and with a veteran who was in Iraq, and is trying to get in touch with a veteran who was in Vietnam, who (I think?) is having an upcoming show at the Museum of Contemporary Art. Hopefully, it'll all work out. And hopefully I'll be interviewing Patrick K. soon. Once I learn how to hold a mike and film things properly.
Anyways, I have the above quote, because the effects of war never end. Some of the veterans I'll be talking to were deployed recently, and Patrick is trying hard to connect me to a Vietnam veteran, so we can get that aspect of time, how even though it's been decades, it never goes away. The things that happen to you are so hard to forget.
The whole wall of one of the rooms at the National Veterans Art Museum contains a piece by Jim Leedy, a veteran who served in Korea. The piece is called "The Earth Lies Screaming." The whole thing is sort of a sculpture, made of foam, that's made to look like the bottom of a river. The base is mud, and it's covered with objects. On first glance, it seems like all the objects are skeletons, bones and spines and skulls, but the more you look, the more you see; there are children's shoes, birds, animals, helmets, grenades, imprints of faces, all painted the same white. It's a very eerie piece, and it had an even bigger impact on me once Patrick explained the work to me.
While Jim Leedy was fighting, his group (I don't even want to try to attempt to say "his battalion" or "his regiment" because I still have no idea how that classification works, and I don't want to be wrong) was given the rare chance to relax, and they went swimming in a river. It was a cloudy day and they swam for a couple hours, and it wasn't until they were drying off when the sun came out that you could see to the bottom of the river. And along the bottom were hundreds of corpses. Leedy had been swimming with rotting bodies; he'd had fun, essentially, in other men's graves.
This experience is something that impacted Leedy hugely. And it wasn't until he made this piece that his dreams about the river stopped.
A picture, courtesy of NVAM's website, of Leedy's work, which explains more than I can:
The piece in the corner, across from the wall, is a sculpture of skulls, shaped to look like the cloud of an atomic bomb explosion.
This work is just one example of the type of art that is in this museum. It's… incredible. There are no words to even describe it. I can't put it into words, because the artists didn't. You really feel something, looking at it. It's eerie, it's creepy, but it's not creepy for the sake of being creepy, and it doesn't blatantly try to shock the viewer. It's creepy because what you're feeling, is a small part of what the artist felt not only when they made the art, but what they felt when they experienced the event that the art is focused on. You feel what it means. And if you feel scared, or creeped out, or disgusted, or sad, or terrified when you look at the art, it's just a small fraction of what they went through.
The things we go through stay with us. Art is a way to understand it, and to help us heal from it. That's why I want to do this project; to learn myself, and to communicate to other people, how art has helped veterans understand or explain their experiences. Whether they, like Leedy, have solved their nightmares by creating something out of them.
Here are links to Leedy's discussion of his piece, as well as to the museum in general:
http://www.nvam.org/artist-jim-leedy/
http://www.nvam.org
Please, please check it out. The museum is incredible.
- Laura
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