“Don’t look away.” Every cell in my body was reverberating these words.
I was sitting in the Palace of Fine Arts Theater in San Francisco at an event that I pitched my work to pay for. At the time, it was a valid pitch because the instagram ad I got promised an event for creatives who are interested in creating content meant for the good of the world. I’m the comms manager at a progressive seminary whose main motto is “to create a world where all can thrive.” Both aims seemed to align, and the $30 ticket seemed a reasonable ask for my job to cover. But as I connected with the people there and listened to the speakers, I felt kind of tricked. I found myself immediately reminded of my time as an Art and Design major in undergrad. I must’ve been in one of my studio art requirements and we were reflecting on a quote by famous Japanese filmmaker, Akira Kurosawa:
“To be an artist means to never avert one’s eyes.”
Even after 7 years, I still find myself bringing this quote to mind, or a paraphrase of it at least:
“Don’t look away.”
I think of this phrase whenever I see something that creates a strong reaction in me. The quote speaks to how it is the privilege of an artist to be present to the moment in front of them–to see both the beauty and horror and interpret it for the masses to digest. Without the eyes of an artist, today would pass by for no one to truly see it.
“Don’t look away.”
The night was so jarring compared to what I expected, so the phrase naturally came to mind. I thought it as tech bros approached me during the pre-event mixer and I especially thought it during the keynotes. The instagram ad that drew me in made it seem like the evening was meant for connecting with like-minded creatives, but instead it felt like an episode straight out of, Silicon Valley. The air was filled with people fighting to pitch their own agendas and there was a lack of genuine curiosity. My questions stood in stark contrast with the questions being asked towards me.
Me: “What made you create that app?”
Them: “What could you do for my app?”
Me: “What neighborhood of the bay did you grow up in?”
Them: “How would you change my logo?”
“How did I end up here?” I kept thinking. It’s hard not to feel bitter in these types of situations. I came to this night feeling expectant and open to connection, but left feeling used and discarded. I’ve felt this way in general lately, but maybe the bay breeds a culture of takers. How else does one get ahead and afford the price of living here? The lure of gold that the West enticed is no longer, but that type of striving has taken a different form and is still in the atmosphere. It permeates the bay like this excerpt from a poem by Robert Frost:
Such was life in the Golden Gate:
Gold dusted all we drank and ate,
And I was one of the children told,
'We all must eat our peck of gold.'
I ended up leaving the event early as soon as they started asking for donations. It felt way too close to home coming from the toxic church environments that I’ve been a part of over the years. At an event meant for good, I left discouraged and disillusioned. The night air provided some solace. I had vented to a friend earlier that the atmosphere “makes me want to be a hermit in the woods.” When I stepped out into the night from the dystopian air inside the theater, all I could think about was escaping to the mountains and my long drive home.
“How can I do any good amongst this noise?”
My role as an artist is to witness and translate what I see. So even though everything in me wants to run away, my life has placed me here, right in the middle of a major tech revolution. And I must not look away.