The 'R' Word

Too many people throw around the 'R' word . . . racist. It makes me completely insane.

Partly, it's the writer in me throwing a hissy, but primarily, it's my sense of frustration regarding the dialogue, or lack thereof about race in our country. Do I believe Dr. Laura to be a racist? Absolutely not. Do I believe she harbors prejudices regarding blacks and others? Absolutely. Do I harbor prejudices? Absolutely.

People persist in crying racism, when what they really mean is prejudice. What's the difference? My mother knows the difference. Her father was killed by a couple of white men out on a lark. Her stepfather knows the difference. During the Korean war blacks were allowed to use the base swimming pool on Fridays only. On Saturdays they drained the pool. Racism, institutional and otherwise, is prejudice set aflame by fear and hate.

Prejudice is a human failing. One we all share. I have friends who will complain about some minor indignity  endured at the grocery store or dry cleaners; who will then say something completely ignorant about Asians. Not any particular nationality, just lump all Asians together and make a ridiculous generalization.

As a child infected by six o'clock news coverage of a sea of handcuffed black men; I remember coming out of my reverie (a constant state with me back then) to see a black man coming up the street and being frightened for no reason other than the fact of his blackness. We are all vulnerable to buying into stereotypes without examining them.

The problem with characterizing a common human failing as something hateful; is that it ends the conversation. We can't talk about race across racial lines in this country. We won't get anywhere until white people can ask a question  or make a statement which may reveal prejudice or ignorance without being fitted for a white hood. That kind of has to be the first step. Anyway, just had to get that out of my system.

Please Help Me Raise $3000 For Bakery Films This Winter!

About Bakery Films:

Women over 35 are still staying away from the theaters in in droves. 

Bakery Films is about creating the new Woman Pictures. In the 30s and 40s there were magnificent roles for women actors; big stories with bigger characters.
There were movies like The Women with its effortlessly female cast. Other films like Animal Kingdom while not necessarily woman-centric, had characters of great (by todays standards) depth.I want Bakery Films to be considered a legitimate heir (heiress?) to this tradition of filmmaking; writing, producing and developing projects grown up women will love to watch and characters any grown up actor would love to play.

You'll find a link to our campaign on IndieGoGo on the side panel. We're also starting a new blog about Bakery Films and movie production in general entitled, 'What I Know So Far; Confessions of a fledgling film producer' *grin*, that would be me. 

Please sign up as that will guide you toward our latest updates, such as our accompanying radio show and new videos. 

Please make a contribution, we have a number of great thank you gifts for donors from notecards created by the artist upon whose work our logo is based, to producer credit. 

REPOST: Is Worth...

Assisi en il Cuore Verde

 

Fingertips trail ancient walls, the occasional tree gets hugged; the mood of a city filters in through my senses. Years later, a sound or scent or taste will take me right back. Even better, I have only to call the experience up in memory to know how a place felt. I've learned that snapping pics along the way tends to inhibit, rather than inspire this process.

During the first leg of my first European journey, I took reams of pictures. The Moms recorded video and snapped photos of every train station and street corner across five countries. And for a while, their camera-enthusiasm was infectious and I clicked along with them. My prepared travel mode; plugged into my CD player, the book in my hand a handy camouflage; was great for savoring a city and it's denizens. In addition to providing a soundtrack for my memories, the music calmed me during the hectic rush between taxis, trains and buses. Reading a book is a great way to observe unobserved. And because Rory Gilmore and I were separated at birth (omigosh...just realized, that the phrase "could be my daughter" is more applicable...ouch) far too many books weighed down my luggage when the trip began. I developed the habit of leaving them behind when they were. To this day, I wonder about the travels of those who read them after me...and whether they were as freaked out as I was by the ending of Carol O'Connell's "Judas Child".

Giving up my camera however, was, like most good things that happen while traveling, an accident. Five weeks into the trip, the Moms had gone. My travel partner and I were spending two weeks at a resort just outside of Assisi. A resort, which, due to an extended fight  with my friend and the determined pursuit of the Neapolitan handy man, was feeling just a tad cramped. So a beautiful snowy day found me in Siena, a couple of trains and a bus away...without my camera

Dang it.

Only, not so much.

I remember scattering pigeons as I crossed the piazza, cursing my forgetfulness. I can feel the suspicious gazes directed at me from the white haired ladies on the bench ahead. I walked all over old Siena that day, not missing my camera nearly as much as I thought I would. And then I found it.

Down some side street, I will never find again was a gallery of modern art. They were just opened, some of the rooms had not yet been finished. The art...it was mostly okay. Some pedestrian, some self-consciously cool, with a couple of truly awful and brilliant pieces thrown in. I went up and up and up,  and was on the roof. To this day, I'm not sure whether it was the installation or the view which first took my breath. Maybe it was one of those moments where art and life collide to create an impression far more evocative than either could on its own. It's true, I know; a good photo of the scene would be more descriptive than words. Instead the experience is private, jealously guarded in my own heart.

An immortal moment...something in Siena which exists only for me.