Showing posts with label Nez Perce. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nez Perce. Show all posts

Thursday, November 12, 2015

Against Work: A Polemic

One of the great treatises of our time is Laura Kipnis's Against Love: A Polemic.







Although there's alot more, the take away I got was: sexual satisfaction stems from indulging in unmitigated desire, sometimes with others...and sometimes with one's self. The key being a sense of self that enables focused enjoyment, non-judgemental, self-satisfying appreciation; the wherewithal to engage without self-deprecation...a basic tenet of  "mindfulness."

In a similar vein, Chief Joseph said to the American Congress, "It  currently takes (and he used percentages) 20% of our time to satisfy our needs for food and shelter. The rest we spend with our wives and children, with our friends and enjoying our lives. If we took up your way of life (farming) it would be the opposite. We'd spend all our time plowing, sowing and harvesting... leaving little time for anything else. No thanks." (Hey, wait Joe!! How about "keeping up with the Joneses?")



Not enthused.



Western culture  -- Americans think culture is a hamburger -- is founded on the Puritan work ethic. This heinous belief system has driven both the idea that one could rise to heights of unbelievable wealth and that the purpose of wealth is leisure. 

Vincent Distasio, one of the artists I still represent, has a different view. The black sheep of a wealthy family whose siblings reside east of the Hudson River, his siblings enjoy flaunting their accumulations in the form of large domiciles, expensive dinners and shiny new vehicles. Vince, being who he is, lives in a trailer court among ruffians where he paints, as he puts it, "the pictures no one else will paint." He enjoys manual labor. And even though he holds an undergraduate degree in biology and a graduate degree in poly sci, he's spent -- after a decade of teaching science in Cuba, New Mexico in the early sixties -- the rest of his working life doing construction and tree-trimming.

In his spare time he can often be found at a local cafe eating a bear-claw, a doughnut-like  pastry. In disgust of oil-based consumerism, he rides his bicycle (see p. 137) nearly everywhere including, for over ten years, the 22 miles from his house to a jobsite at Kirtland Air Force base where he cleaned the officers' swimming pool three times a week.

As a ten-year-old he was "abused" by male relatives who made him plow a furrow behind a horse until it was straight. There was no allowance for the fact that he, as a ten year old, was being made to do a job even full-grown men found challenging. They said he'd learn from the experience.

His dad, in a similar way, would "simoniz" their car; Vince would have to buff it out. This was in the days when wax was hard and buffing-polishing could take an  entire afternoon. An afternoon when a ten-year-old would normally have been playing ball, or exploring. When he complained that his arm was sore, his dad would yell at him that no one out in the world was going to give him a break and he better get used to it!! Work was something necessary to be endured.

Over the past 40 years as folks have seen how easy it is to become wealthy through song-writing, sports, drugs, sex and other ways that aren't as painful as plowing or simonizing, the much-touted work-ethic has lost its cachet; people have begun to appreciate Chief Joseph's perspective. But unlike the Chief, we've also been inculcated with ideas from Kafka and his ilk. i.e., existentialism and it's fundamental query of "why?"

And one of the things the first inhabitants of this segment of land used to do that garnered them criticism (consider the source) was take their time about decision-making....often a necessary element in answering the above mentioned and now all-important query.

So as you enjoy the beauty of nature, the company of friends, you can also add the sense of pleasure in working (pun intended) your way back to a pre-industrial state wherein simply being, and, perhaps, as Ms. Kipnis posits (was that what the Chief meant?), sex, was enough.

Besides, if Manny says it's so, it's so. 




Thanks to Rolling Steel Tent for inspiring this "discourse."

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Tamkaliks - Wallowa, Oregon

Ms. Wynans - Office Manager & Coquette
Tamkaliks, the Wallowa Band of the Nez Perce celebration began Friday evening, but I'd driven back from Halfway and was tired.

Saturday was bright and hot...a fine day, but a potter told of how she'd lost much of her ware Friday afternoon when a tornado blew. Several other folks had sustained damage and one artist who had two booths had given up and left.

I was moved by the Grand Entrance which included many of the dancers and attendees. The coming-of-age ceremony for a young man who'd gotten his first salmon was almost unbearable as he was given center-stage and tasked with telling the story of his catch. He paused so long there were a couple of encouraging whoops. Eventually he made it through and his accomplishment (bravery at that moment) was recognized by a round of generous applause.

Around 3:00 pm after enjoying a bowl of the best menudo I've ever had, I decided it was too hot and, boarding my trusty R.V., headed west.

Somewhere around 75 miles later I realized I'd forgotten my mail. I was on a back highway with practically no traffic, MY kind of road, and figured it could wait another day. And as luck would have it I found a beautiful copse next to the Grand Ronde River for camp. I spent Sunday driving back and was glad to find the spot in Lostine Canyon (more photos on Flickr -- here) available.

All the driving took it's toll. When Monday morning dawned I was reminded of what it felt like to HAVE to get up.

By noon I'd managed to get bathed (a MAJOR accomplishment), packed and into town. After getting the mail and some groceries I stopped in to visit with Ms. Wynans, Office Manager for the Wallowa Band Nez Perce Interpretive Center. We'd had a fun visit several days before in which she told about supervising the pow-wow and I wanted to congratulate her on a fine event. We chatted about her new fan (see image); she'd given a demo of one during my previous visit and someone (not me), apparently having heard of her proclivity, had, over the weekend, left her a new one.

It's a pretty area with interesting people. I look forward to visiting again.


12/24/15 - I'm getting the Solstice cards out and couldn't find Ms. Wynans' address. I went online to look up The Interpretive Center's and discovered her obituary. I wish you could have met her; she was amazing! 

Sunday, July 8, 2012

Quirk in the Flow, Quirk in the Flow (to the tune of: Band On The Run)

Don't you wish YOU were a cat?













Something changed.

I decided to buzz over to attend Lapwai Days, a Nez Perce Pow-wow in Lapwai, Idaho. I was greeted by a man who, once he calmed down, said he had "issues" about his land. He had thought I might have been some young "bucks" come to party and trash up the place. Once he realized I wasn't he became quite welcoming, but we had a few tense moments there and it put me on edge.  

I've heard small town life described as "living in a fish bowl." I've only encountered it here and there, but the incident above gave me the feeling. I mean, it only took the fellow about five minutes to show up. I hadn't even had time to change my shirt, which was the reason I stopped. Being unfamiliar with the phenomena I can only speculate, but I'm in the early stages of a theory that says: it's heightened on a Rez.

As I toured Lapwai and its environs, I continually felt "observed." The first night it was obvious I was the stranger. The audience for the oral history performance was held in the high school gym. Practically every person there was under 17. And of the fifteen adults, I suspect I was the only full-blood Anglo.

When I went into town the second day I met a man who reminded me I'd waved to them as they went by earlier that morning. Of course he had no way of knowing I'd waved to at least 20 other trucks going by that morning. I mentioned something about early-stage Alzheimers, but he didn't seem convinced.

I heard of a bagpipe fest in Athena, Oregon next weekend. I think I'll go there.