LGBIC'S REQUEST FOR AFFILIATE STATUS PASSES AT STATES DELEGATES
ASSEMBLY IN SAN FRANCISCO: 39 - 9 -12!
. . . And Other Thoughts About Being Gay in Art Education
by Ed Check
(San Francisco, CA) Newsflash! NAEA States Delegates Assembly recommends to the NAEA Board of Directors that the Lesbian, Gay and Bisexual Issues Caucus be granted affiliate status. The Board convenes in early July. Stay tuned.
(Madison, WI) Personal account/reflection. Over the past seven years, I have taken to heart the queering of my personal and professional bodies. My research interests vary and include gay identity, sexuality, masculinity, shame, representation, trauma and recovery. A common theme in much of my work is fear: personal and professional. Years ago, I struggled with how to integrate the personal and profession: How could I honor my sexuality and gay identity in my chosen profession of art education?
In 1992, I facilitated a workshop for lesbian, gay and bisexual
art educators at the National Art Education Association annual
conference in Phoenix, Arizona. I titled it: "Closets in
the Classroom: Experiences of Gay and Lesbian Art Educators."
The purpose of the workshop was for glb educators to collectively
share experiences and concerns about the field of art education
and the issues of homophobia, invisibility, representation and
discrimination.* I specifically invited lesbian, gay and bisexual
art educators to that workshop. My hope was to organize a grassroots
network and strategize about lesbian, gay and bisexual needs in
art education (if there was an interest). Twice during that conference,
at the workshop and later at a graduate working papers seminar,
I relayed to those in attendance that working on gay and lesbian
issues made me feel like I was writing myself out of a job by
writing a dissertation about gay identity in art: "The Self-Education
of the Gay Artist."
In my research, I autobiographically examine the process of my
development that has several names: homosexual, gay and queer
(and others). I document my process of coming to know and accept
myself personally and professionally--what it means to be a gay
man and artist in the latter part of the twentieth century. I
self-analyze my stories about coming out, AIDS, love, sex, masculinity,
fear, shame and art. The project developed out of my experiences
as an educator, artist and activist, and scrutinizes my social
identity through the narrow lens of my gay experience.
Initially, organizing efforts met with lots of resistance and
lots of homophobia in the NAEA. (Ask Laurel, Laurie or Paul.)
In 1994, a lesbian/gay/bisexual issues formation planning meeting
was scheduled at the NAEA annual convention in Baltimore. Approximately
twenty five interested art educators, lesbian, gay and straight,
met to organize around the issues of sexual identity and its relationship
to art. Homophobia was rampant in the NAEA. Reactions from organization
officials spanned a continuum of responses: one official suggested
that the formation of a lesbian, gay and bisexual issues NAEA
would connote that the NAEA was a gay organization. (And that
was bad because gays and lesbians recruit and molest children.)
We had an enormous task ahead of us.
After lots of workshops, meetings, phone conversations, newsletters, letter-writing, emails and networking (encompassing a span of many years), we finally got on the States Assembly Delegates agenda and had our Lesbian, Gay and Bisexual Issues Caucus formally approved. (But Delegates Assembly is a recommending body. It makes recommendations to the NAEA Board. The board makes all decisions.) What follows are some of my mental notes of that day as I was to speak at the States Delegates Assembly. I kept thinking to myself: What could I say in a few minutes which would convey our message and also convince delegates to vote in favor of our motion. I've included a few excerpts from my dissertation which describe my thoughts:
On the morning of the vote, I expectedly had pre-talk jitters. I felt the onus of representing four years of hard work by so many people. I also felt the pressure of articulating the right words for the moment. As I approached the microphone, I was visibly shaking. I introduced myself to the gathering and suggested to them that homophobia is everyone's issue. (The day before, a colleague warned me not to use the word "queer" in my address to the assembly. He felt it would alienate potential votes. I honored his request and used the word "faggot" instead.) I relayed to members how name-calling had affected my life and self-esteem and how important it was to begin to deal with this issue in healthy and responsible ways. While I don't remember much of what I said, I do remember applause from the gallery and the vote: 39 in favor, 9 against and 12 abstentions. More applause. It had passed.As I looked at the raised hands affirming the vote, I thought--this can't be happening, as there were many hands raised. Upon the verification of the vote, my immediate response was sobbing. As people came up to me to congratulate me, I continued to sob (not cry, but sob). My friend Dipti hugged me and offered me a moment to compose myself, but to no avail. Later, as I reflected upon my response to the vote, I realized that my sobbing was the first time I had cried since my father's funeral, almost four years ago. I was not crying because I was happy about the vote. (I had not anticipated the motion to carry, but my happiness--and the sorrow--went much deeper than that.) For the first time in years, I felt myself feeling. I had staked my professional reputation on sexual identity issues and I felt self-affirmed. And even if it had not passed, I would have felt the same. I had publicly put myself on the line. I witnessed through my words and my body. My queerness showed. And it felt good to feel. And it felt good to feel as a gay man.
Historically, as a gay man, I have been shamed and self-shamed. I have been so out of touch with my body and feelings that it has taken me years to recover and feel good about myself. I am learning how to feel, both psychically and physically, without feeling shamed. The following two stories shed some light about my upbringing--how I was publicly shamed and conditioned to internalize that shame. All of this bears on my identities as gay male, artist, activist and educator.
In my high school, queer and fag were a few of many epithets used by students, not only to shame and embarrass other males, but as a way for boys to project and practice their masculinity. Often, such denigrations were accompanied by violent behavior targeted at some unsuspecting male student. This behavior was both a testimony and celebration of the tenets of cultural masculinity and a reminder to all boys of the consequences (usually psychological or physical violence) of unmanly or unmasculine behavior. As boys, we all learned that a man's masculinity was just about the most important character trait to protect.
Recently, at a reunion party of a gay men's coming out support group, the conversation drifted into gender politics and role of masculinity in our lives. One thirty-three-year-old member shared an experience he had with his mother as a young boy. Casually, he recalled an occasion when his mother had said: "Don't walk like a faggot." He recalled--with no affect--how that comment had shamed him for decades.
I have been able to integrate my personal and professional
experiences and utilize them in my teaching, research and art.
It continues to be a long and arduous search for my identity,
community and happiness. The LGBIC is part of that process for
me. Because of it, I have realized a great deal of self-confidence
and personal esteem from the many encounters I have had with educators
and artists. I had hid and denied myself for a long time. Now
I actively seek out gay and lesbian artists, educators and activisms.
Awhile ago, I became intrigued with the work of Vito Russo. His
book, The Celluloid Closet, which has since been made into
a documentary, examines the history and representations of homosexuality
in the movie industry. His later remarks on another panel (about
the possibility of a gay sensibility in art) provoked my interest
in my research:
As a gay person, one grows up with the people around you, including your parents, assuming you are straight. At some point of course you know different, and so you acquire a kind of double vision. You are able to see both the truth and the illusion. Growing up with this double vision helps you to practice it on art, on cinema, or in writing. You imagine all sorts of things in order to create a world where you exist. (In Bell et al., 1990, p. 136)
Artists have practiced their sexuality in their art for centuries. Part of the task is to relocate our lesbian and gay art historical pasts. It's exciting and exhausting. So much remains to be done. We can all be a part of the reclamation process.
We've always had the responsibility to share our stories about
our personal truths in contrast to cultural illusions of us. That's
what coming out is all about. We need to continue to share our
stories and our experiences, our strategies of survival and living,
of dying and making art. We've already practiced it in our personal
lives and our art. We only need to share our experiences and visions
with other art educators. With courage and visibility, we can
make a difference for ourselves, our peers, our students and our
profession. I look forward to the changes and development of the
LGBIC and the positive effects it will certainly have on the field.