Interdisciplinary artist Salvador Jiménez-Flores is a wanderer caught between two worlds. Raised in a rural town in Jalisco, Mexico, and later immigrating to the United States, Jiménez-Flores makes art that pulls at the consciousness of migration, colonialism, and notions of “the other.” “I have learned to adapt and live in these two worlds,” he says, “but adapting involves expanding and losing part of who I am. I will never be fully ‘American,’ and I am not entirely Mexican anymore. I am too pocho to my paisanos; like a foreigner, I do not have a motherland.”

You note that by being bicultural and bilingual, you live concurrently in two different worlds, and are a foreigner in both. How do these worlds intersect, and in what ways do you feel the divide?

There is a popular phrase in Spanish: “¡Pobre México! ¡Tan lejos de Dios y tan cerca de los Estados Unidos!” This phrase refers to the curse of Mexico for its geographic proximity to the United States. The United States and the media have created the perception that anything south of the U.S. border is substandard, or what some people call “America’s backyard,” referring to traditional areas of dominance in Latin America. These notions have inflicted generational traumas upon Latinos, and we often end up believing these impressions, feeling inferior to U.S. citizens. Many U.S. citizens, or “Americans,” also believe that they are superior to Latinos and other minority groups. As a new immigrant, I experienced the feelings of second-class citizenship and accepted a position of inferiority. It was through education and art that I realized that these are socially constructed impressions, which I have overcome.

By moving between rasquache art and high art, what narratives do you feel you are able to tell in one form or another?

Rasquache in Spanish means “leftover” or “of no value.” Rasquachismo, or rasquache art, describes an attitude or lifestyle of the underdog that uses assemblage or found object techniques in sculpture. As an artist, I feel that I am constantly improvising and problem solving. As a consequence, I am interested in the rasquache aesthetics of working with what is around and to what kind of facilities or space I have access to make art. High art, on the other hand, is more about the conventional way we validate art through the context of the white cube. By going between these two aesthetics, I hope my work is more relatable to museums and collectors,
as well as the immigrant farmer who can relate to my stories. In my view, neither is less or more.

Tell us about your development of rasquache-futuristic aesthetics in your work.

Through mainstream media and in most sci-fi content, the future is generally imagined as white. People of color have been erased from the future altogether. My latest research is about exploring and developing a rasquache-futuristic aesthetic in my artwork through which I could articulate pre-Columbian, colonial, and postcolonial histories. This would allow me to imagine and create a future in which the protagonist looks like me and understands me, and others can relate as well. I want to take risks and work with new media that will foster my community-based work, and make rasquache-futurism a reality. The act of resistance starts when we fight against those who try to stop us from being what we can become. Through art, I seek to resist the labels placed on me and other people of color by reimagining what an alternative future could look like.

As artist-in-residence for the city of Boston, have you experienced any key moments that have shaped your work? What have your goals been as an artist and a teacher?

My art practice is driven by community engagement, social justice, and accessibility in the arts. I believe strongly in the value of creativity and how it improves our life experiences. It is my personal goal to empower and raise questions through art to cultivate conversations about the issues that affect our communities. The Boston AIR has been a great reminder of the importance of working with youth, playing the role of an educator, and bringing creativity and art to where it’s needed.

This residency has been a great opportunity for my artistic growth. I am taking risks and trying new ideas; most importantly, this has been a win-win situation for everyone in the Boston Centers for Youth & Families organization, Josiah Quincy School, and me. Coming into this residency, I knew that key characteristics to being successful in this project were patience and flexibility. The first step was to learn more about the community and see what is already available there, ask questions about what is needed, and then try to use art as a connector to create awareness and develop actions.

Salvador Jiménez-Flores–artist
Boston, Massachusetts
Website

Top image: Salvador Jiménez-Flores, The Resistance of the Hybrid Cacti, detail, 2017, terra cotta. Photo by Salvador Jiménez-Flores

The post #TakeAction: No Motherland appeared first on Take Magazine.

In a carpenter’s workshop at Portsmouth’s Strawbery Banke Museum, the Leftist Marching Band is smoothing out the rough edges of its Halloween night set list. More than a dozen band members are here on a cold Monday night, crowded around table saws and piles of wood, working out the kinks in the songs they’ll perform at the Portsmouth Halloween Parade the following week — “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This),” “Evil Ways,” and “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

After a song wraps up, someone asks band leader Elizabeth Wolff about the tempo on “Saints.” “We’ll have to play that part by ear,” she says. And without pause, someone quips, “We play it all by ear!”

The raucous, rag-tag street band is now in its 13th year, and it’s perhaps the busiest one yet. Though the Leftist Marching Band (LMB) has long been a staple at public events throughout the New Hampshire Seacoast, Wolff says 2017 has seen an “above average number of gigs” for the band, especially following the inauguration of a certain social media-obsessed president in January. One of the crowning moments? The Portsmouth edition of the national Women’s March on Jan. 21st, where the LMB played for some 3,500 demonstrators in the middle of Market Square.

“You can feel the collective response of the people around you,” says Wolff, who plays the trombone. “Having 3,500 people show up in Market Square would’ve been awesome anyway, but having the LMB in the middle of it and feeling that collective energy focus and move to a collective rhythm was so powerful.”

Not bad for a band that started in 2004 as a temporary project. Wolff is one of the band’s early members. With the second half of the George W. Bush administration in the offing and the war in Iraq dividing the country, the idea behind the LMB was to inject some energy and fun into the progressive causes. Made up mostly of former high school marching band members, it was a loose, “musically unpracticed” group, Wolff says.

But they tapped into a broader movement. “We didn’t know street bands were a thing,” Wolff says. “The Iraq War really spurred a bunch of street bands, and we were part of that without knowing it.” And while you’ll find the LMB most often in Portsmouth and surrounding locales, you can also see them each year at Somerville’s Honk! Festival, standing alongside other street bands.

Pat Spalding, the band’s majorette, and Wolff are the band’s most visible faces — Wolff at the font of the band, marching, shouting, and waving her trombone in sweeping arcs, usually while barefoot, and Spalding, dancing, twirling, and spinning a baton, usually while wearing a colorful dress.

As the LMB marches into the future, Wolff hopes the band takes more direct action in drawing attention to important local and national causes. The band had a rare victory this year when a New Hampshire court restored access to Sanders Poynt in Rye. The public access point to the beach, Sanders Poynt was closed to the public in 2012 by the nearby Wentworth by the Sea country club. While locals fought the closure in courts, the LMB kept the issue in the spotlight, playing gigs on the beach and raising awareness about the fight.

“What our impact on the outcome was, I doubt it’s a measureable thing. But we had something concrete that we did and the role of the band was really clear, and I’d like to see us do more things like that,” Wolff says.

That spirit of hope is what keeps the band going. “It’s happiness,” Spalding explains. “The music gives you hope, that idea of making joyful noise. That we’re in this together and we’re going to make change.”

Leftist Marching Band – Street Band
Portsmouth, New Hampshire
Website
Facebook

All photos by Larry Clow. The video is by Suzanne Laurent.

The post #TakeAction and Make a Joyful Noise appeared first on Take Magazine.

In 2003, rapper Machakos Kyalo moved to Amherst, Massachusetts, from Machakos, Kenya, a country he’s made synonymous with himself and his musical output. “We moved here for better opportunities,” Kyalo says, and his budding career in the Pioneer Valley is a testament to that pursuit.

Kyalo is also the head of the ONE TRyBE COMPANy, a collective that includes him, Kenyan Afrobeat gospel singer Brainny, Kenyan reggae artist Mtu Saba, and Boston-based producer and singer Aaron Mentos. Through ONE TRyBE, Kyalo creates cross-continental musical collaborations that take him and other Massachusetts-based musicians regularly to his hometown of Machakos. One of these, the 2016 music video “Run Caleb Ndiku,” a collaboration with Kenya’s gold-medalist runner, netted ONE TRyBE over 27,000 hits on YouTube.

Not only have these collaborations formed many of the most exciting moments on Kyalo’s standout projects—Rose’s Boy: Kenyan Man Standing (2015) and RUDE BOi (2016)—but proceeds from RUDE BOi fund a project to plant 10,000 trees in Machakos. We spoke to Kyalo about unity, progression, and the links between western Massachusetts and Machakos, Kenya.

Take: Why has social justice or change become a focal point of your work?
Michakos Kyalo: I can’t ignore my life. The people that are against me are against me every day. The struggles—they’re kinda there every time I wake up. So for me to ignore that, I wouldn’t be true to myself. Racism, classism, all of those things, man. Just being a black man in this society. I feel like if I was just to make lit songs all day, that’s not me. I don’t even drink, I don’t even smoke—that kind of deletes around 90 percent of the songs out there right now. I can’t ignore myself. I can’t ignore who I am.

T: What role do you think the arts can play in the turbulent political climate we’re in right now?
MK: If everybody was to unify, it could dictate how the world would be tomorrow for our kids, for the next generation. It would ensure that there would be art tomorrow, and that art would still matter in the forefront of our nation. This probably is the time for us to unify. This is the time, more than ever. Will we do it? Some are doing it, some are not. It’s really all about that unifying, just us realizing what the monster is and what’s against us and deciding that we’re going to come together against it.

T: Was there a specific moment when you realized your art had the potential to affect people’s lives?
MK: There’s been a lot, honestly. From my nephews singing my music—and they are three and four years old—to my friends sending me videos of them getting stopped by cops and singing “walk the line, walk the line,” you know? It’s shit that goes down, it’s things that happen—little things like that—that just tell me, “alright, we’re on track.” Random people reaching out to me, from all over the world. It’s been a beautiful process. I don’t really look for outside verification; I just verify myself, on my own terms.

T: What’s the overall mission of your ONE TRyBE COMPANy collective?
MK: ONE TRyBE COMPANy is Africa’s new sound. We’re the African sound makers. It’s the next generation of what’s going to bring African music forward. We have all different types of sounds—we have gospel, we have reggae, we have hip-hop—and we’re all just bringing it together. And our big thing is inspiring the young to show them that, look, we’re from small villages just like y’all. The footprints are still wet. There are kids that were like, “I want to do music, but I don’t have money to pay a producer.” One of our members, Aaron Mentos, was like, “Yo, I’ll make you the beats. No worries.” The tree planting—that was my mission off of my music. My next project is where I’m challenging myself to build a school. I’ll be able to record the kids of that school. I’m trying to build a three-room studio, like three studio buildings, and just give one of the studios to that school. It’s really just pushing ourselves and looking for what’s needed.

T: What do you love about Amherst and Machakos?
MK: In Amherst, I can see all the people that inspired me to get into music. In Machakos, I’m the most happy. I’ll go to the city, to Nairobi, and I’m not happy. But as soon as I cross that little border, it’s like that feeling when you realize you’re almost at your house. You can close your eyes and you’ll still know where you’ll end up. That’s Machakos to me. I forever love Machakos. Machakos Kyalo til I D-I-E. I want to create opportunities and just be an ambassador of music between Kenya and the United States.

Machakos Kyalo–rapper, creator of ONE TRyBE COMPANY
Amherst, Massachusetts
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Illustration by Brittany Loar

The post #TakeAction: Breaking Barriers with a Beat appeared first on Take Magazine.

“There is power in art,” writes Connecticut’s director of culture, Kristina Newman-Scott, in the strategic plan she helped create for the Connecticut Department of Economic and Community Development’s Office of the Arts when she first took over in 2015. “Its power comes in its messages. Its power comes in its ability to agitate for social change. Communities convene because of the power of art. The voiceless find words through the power of art. There is power in the emotional reactions art evokes in people. There is power in the reflective spaces art creates. And there is power in the way art allows people of all backgrounds to relate to each other.”

We asked Newman-Scott to tell us about how she hopes to speak art-truth to power as she implements this strategic plan.

Take: You were an artist in Jamaica. How does being an artist inform your work as director of culture?
Kristina Newman-Scott: In a developing country like Jamaica, you really have to think about how you’re going to use this [artistic] skill set to make a living. Because I was able to invest in my voice and the thing that spoke to my heart, it gave me the confidence about where I could use this skill set. It’s not just the act of painting: it’s about building relationships with people. If you know how to speak “artist,” you know how to go further and deeper. It let me develop programs that I knew—even if I grew up in Jamaica—were relevant to art students in America. No one is teaching us [in art college] about pricing or how to market yourself. I knew those things firsthand. I realized, especially when I got into government, that this wasn’t commonplace.

T: How did becoming a U.S. citizen in 2013 influence your work as an artist and in your job?
KN-M: In America, a lot of our efforts when engaging with immigrant communities are built on American formulas. Because I grew up in a different country, I’m always curious how it works for different people. I created the first human-centered strategic plan for Connecticut. [The plan, known as READI, uses five guidelines—relevance, equity, access, diversity, and inclusion—as required criteria for all policy and programs.] Our population is changing quickly; I want to know what works for us here and how we fit folks into it, but also how we can challenge ourselves about how we think and develop our programs.

We will not be investing any dollars in Connecticut that are not aligned with this plan. Our office is really challenging itself every step of the way. Are we leading by example? How are we responsible for things that are not working well? This comes from my background in Jamaica, being an artist, and my curiosity growing up. My father was a Jewish black; I was raised Roman Catholic. I am quite the mongrel, as we would say in Jamaica. I want to make sure others have a space at the table, not just major thought leaders. The kid who creates art on Saturdays and works three jobs . . . that kid deserves a place at the table, too.

T: In a 2015 TEDx talk, you quoted your grandmother saying to you in Jamaican, “What is fi yu cyaan un fi yu,” which means “If it belongs to you, it is yours already.” How have you made this job yours?
KN-M: I came into this job, and there was no job description. I knew there were certain things that had to be done for federal funding. That’s where you start. I‘ve been able to make it mine with things like READI. I’ve given space to my team to push back and come up with ideas that might be horrible—but that’s great. I celebrate risk and failure, because that’s where innovation lives. Just because of that same curiosity, I can push back at my team, too. As you can imagine in government, you do something one way, and that’s how it’s done. I don’t care what we do; I want to know why we do it. I like to unpack and rebuild. I’m not afraid of finding issues and problems.

T: What do you hope to accomplish in your tenure?
K-NM: When I came into this office, there was no social media on the historic preservation side. My staff was swamped. Two years in, we’re on every social media you could want to be on. We do e-newsletters. We host statewide conferences for the arts and historic preservation, too. I’m committed to serving my community the best way I can. The fact that READI is something that is real and tangible and guides how we function—I’m so proud of that. I’m bringing READI to historic preservation, too. We’ve got to think about how all that we’re doing aligns with social justice. It’s all about leading from a human-centered point of view.

T: What is the role of the arts and preservation in our society, especially in times of political crisis?KN-M: We’re not going to be remembered for trash pickup. When people are studying our culture hundreds of years from now, it’s going to be about how we communicated with each other. The culture and the arts are what’s going to continue our story of humankind. Arts and culture communicate in ways that the barriers of languages sometimes fall short in. When you go to foreign countries, one of the first things they’ll ask about is our entertainment. They’ll want to know about Beyoncé or some movie or artists. We go to places to enjoy culture. As we are trying to attract people to our state, they’re going to come because Connecticut is a place of great historical and cultural treasures.

Kristina Newman-Scott | Illustration by Brittany Loar

Kristina Newman-Scott – Connecticut’s Director of Culture
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The post #TakeAction: Power Move appeared first on Take Magazine.

At least three TV news crews were on the scene, along with a police detail, but the expected crowds did not materialize.

Yesterday, a cheerful and determined group of artists gathered to protest the current administration and, hopefully, strengthen Boston’s creative community. Due to a number of possible factors—the mid-week, just-after-work schedule; the unending barrage of news items that feel more pressing than anything related to the arts—the New England edition of the Artist March was sparsely attended. Those who were there, however, were unbowed and not discouraged. Those who weren’t should read the following quotes from attendees. They might inspire you to take action. . .next time.

Muhammad, a performer at the Boston Artist March

“As artists, I think we play the role of making resistance fun. Part of the problem is that it’s hard to attract people, especially when people are so busy, have to work so many hours just to make ends meet, it’s hard to get people together for something that feels so serious and depressing. We as artists have so much to offer, in terms of our creativity and inspiration—these are the things that make movements, and the things that will make a successful resistance to the policies we are now seeing from the Trump administration.” —Muhammad Seven, singer/songwriter

Leigh, a puppeteer/performer at the Boston Artist March

“I’m newly involved in politics, but I have been to more marches and rallies and meetings since November 9th than in my whole life. Making things relevant, but still fun—I think that’s the way to go in terms of getting a mass movement going. A lot of people don’t see themselves as political, but they see themselves as artists, or just people who like to sing and dance and have fun. I don’t see why we can’t have both. Tapping on people’s talents is a way to really build a movement. Everyone’s creative in some way or another, and it helps to bridge differences too. I was hoping there’d be more people, but it is just the first one. Sometimes things take a little bit of time to build. I’m happy the people that are here are here.” —Leigh Baltzer, puppeteer

Nino speaks at the Boston Artist March held on the steps of the Massachusetts State House

“I was very inspired by artists growing up, particularly Paul Robeson, folks like Lupe Fiasco, Mos Def… During the Algerian Revolution, they said the most dangerous revolutionary was the poet, because the poet was able to distill all these complex ideas about war and colonialism, imperialism, into poetry, so that everyday folks could understand and be armed with their own experiences.” —Nino Brown, speaker

Nino, a speaker at the Boston Artist March

“We’re facing a lot of arts cutbacks. I teach fourth grade at a public school in Mattapan, and public schools are under attack. You see all of this technology going into schools, but they’re taking out all the arts and music and dance, which is actually taking out the humanity, you know? Artists have a role in society, and it’s to not just reflect that society truthfully, but to deconstruct it, and to build a new society. I’ve been to marches of ten people, fifteen. . .so you know, I’m not discouraged. It’s like okay, well, we’ll do better next time. The message is correct; we just have to get it out there.” —Nino Brown, speaker

Tom, a speaker at the Boston Artist March

“Artists are some of the first people to be gone after in a totalitarian type of government. [Art] causes people to become aware of what’s going on around them. Sometimes social change can happen very quickly, sometimes it takes a long time. Sometimes it might take forever, but you don’t stop. You keep at it. You keep trying to make that change happen.” —Tom Tipton, speaker and gallery owner

Virginia, a protester at the Boston Artist March

“Well, I’m an artist, and I believe what I’ve been reading, that artists are among the first to be repressed when repression comes. I just saw a very moving piece at the ART in Cambridge, Arrabal, a tango ballet about the dirty war in Argentina. I lived in Argentina ten years before the dirty war, and it was the most democratic, progressive, highly educated, liberal place. If you had told me they would be dropping my classmates out of helicopters into the river ten years later, I never would have believed it. As an artist, I feel it is important that we organize and stand up because as [the other speakers] said, artists are about making change, and are about being on the forefront of social change, and therefore we are more subject to repression. So we need to get more organized.” —Virginia Zanger, protester

Boston Artist March, June 14

“I’m an activist, so I’m so busy—I do a lot of work. Like Nino, I’m involved with PSL, the Party for Socialism and Liberation, a socialist party here in the city. I do a lot of work with COMBAT [Coalition to Organize and Mobilize Boston Against Trump] too.” —Kristin Turgeon, protest singer and chant leader

Betsy, a protester at the Boston Artist March

“I’m a craft store owner, and I support 140 local artists. I think that’s the best answer to the question [of why I’m here]. I had three choices tonight: I could go to a party, get free food and beer; I could go hear live music; or I could come here, where, who knows what could happen! And I watched Wonder Woman last night, and so I said, I gotta do what my conscience says, and that’s why I chose to come here.” —Betsy, protester  

Dan, a protester and documentarian of the Boston Artist March

“I’m an artist, and I’ve been sketching all the protests I can get to. It’s my way of dealing with the current political climate.” —Dan Jay, protester

Harmony, the Boston Artist March’s fearless organizer

“I’m a cofounder of Massachusetts Artists for Change. We’ve had a few fundraisers and art shows. We raised over $1,200 for the Boston Center for Refugee Health and Human Rights; we had an art show based on the Women’s March protest, with posters and photos; and we had an event for International Women’s Day in which we had poetry and collaborative art. This march happened because I stumbled upon a Facebook post where they were looking for people to organize Artist Marches across the country. This wasn’t the only march tonight—there was a march in Miami, Mar-a-Lago, Fort Lauderdale, San Francisco, New York City, and Wichita. So I saw that and said, Ooh, I’d like to try to organize that, that seems like something I could do.”—Harmony Witte, event organizer

The small but sincere crowd at the Boston Artist March

“Yeah, I’m a little disappointed in the turnout. It seemed on Facebook that more people would be coming. . .but you never know, it’s so hard to tell. I’m still kind of new to Boston and to the organizing scene, so I don’t have the connections that would have come in handy. But, first time for everything. I think it’s just that people don’t want to get off work and go to a march. If it were up to me, I would’ve had it on a Saturday. I’m probably going to take a little break [from organizing], because I put a lot into this. But I’d like to keep organizing, for sure. It seemed like people were having a good time.” —Harmony Witte, event organizer

Harmony speaks on the steps of the Massachusetts State House for the Boston Artist March

“It’s so easy [as artists] to turn inward and focus only on yourself all the time. It’s important to focus on the world around us. Arts funding is potentially going to be cut; there’s so many things that artists SHOULD be banding together to fight for. So if you can get them out of their houses and focus on something, that’s really good!” —Harmony Witte, event organizer

Boston Artist March
Boston, Massachusetts
Website
Top Image: Kristin Turgeon at the Boston Artist March
All images by Debbie Way

The post (Some) Artists #TakeAction in Boston appeared first on Take Magazine.

In a former lifetime in which the person inhabiting the Oval Office had an actual vision based on facts, the arts were recognized as an integral measure of our society. President John F. Kennedy, for instance, said this about the arts: “We must never forget that art is not a form of propaganda. It is a form of truth.”

Truth, of course, has taken a hit since 45 took office. That whole “alternative facts” bit. But numbers, or so the saying goes, don’t lie. So with that in mind, we took a quick look at the potential math implications of 45’s federal budget.

First the overview:

• Number of programs and agencies due for elimination: 62
• Number of programs within the Environmental Protection Agency alone: 50

Other programs due for funding cuts—or outright elimination—focus on everything from literacy to low-income home energy improvements to investigating chemical accidents. The enormous breadth and scope of impact on those least able to manage without these programs is breathtaking.

But since we’re an arts and culture magazine, we’re going to focus our hyperventilation on the potential impact of these devastating cuts to art and culture in New England. The proposed budget calls for eliminating all funding for the National Endowment for the Arts ($152 million) and the National Endowment for the Humanities ($155 million).

What NEA funding means to New England:

For fiscal year 2017, New England states received $2.591 million in NEA grants overall, according to the NEA website. Here’s who got what:

• Connecticut: 15 organizations, $310,000
• Massachusetts: 62 organizations, $1,672,000
• Maine: 11 organizations, $242,000
• New Hampshire: 6 organizations, $120,000
• Rhode Island: 9 organizations, $152,500
• Vermont: 4 organizations, $95,000

But the math adds up even less when you look beyond straight grants. Ann Wicks, communications manager for the New England Foundation on the Arts (NEFA)—one of six regional arts organizations funded by the NEA and private donations—explains. Arts organizations can potentially receive NEA dollars in three ways:

• an outright allocation of a grant the organization applies for itself
• an allocation from NEFA through NEA dollars provided to NEFA
• from NEA dollars given to state arts organizations, such as the Massachusetts Cultural Council

Wicks says about 15 percent of NEFA’s annual budget comes from NEA dollars. Beyond grants, NEFA uses those dollars to support artists in other, less direct ways, Wicks says. The Creative Ground Directory, for instance, is a free resource that lists artists and other creators around New England so that it’s easier to find appropriate collaborators for projects. In FY2016, NEFA made a total of 462 grants equaling $3.4 million. New England states received $829,947 of those NEFA grants.

In other words, the loss of funding to New England arts and humanities organizations could be even larger. “NEA support is very important to New England and the creative sector,” she says.

It’s a point that is echoed nationally. The National Assembly of State Arts Agencies (NASAA), a national nonprofit that assists state arts agencies, offers this math about how NEA dollars improve the economy at large:

• The arts return $22.3 billion in tax revenue to federal, state, county, and municipal governments.
• Rural areas, low-income communities, and schools would feel the effects of this funding loss disproportionately from reductions. State arts agencies (using state and federal funds) award more than 25% of their grants to rural areas, 54% to low-income communities, and 45% to arts education projects.
• Every NEA dollar leverages more than $9 in matching funds, meaning that the impact of the NEA loss is just the beginning of the potential financial loss for arts organizations.

Cutting the NEA and NEH seem especially confusing given this math offered by NASAA: The NEA receives 0.004% of the total Federal budget, which is less than ½ of one hundredth of a percent.

That math also doesn’t add up when you consider the numbers presented by The Guardian. The British paper reports the following expenses incurred by taxpayers less than 50 days into 45’s residency:

• $56.6 million (or a cool $500,000 a day) to protect Trump Tower. That was through March 1. Assuming that Mrs. 45 stays until June for Mini-45 to finish school, that dollar amount could add another $46 million, bringing the total to $102 million.
• $3+million estimated cost for EACH weekend jaunt to golf work at his Mar-a-Lago Resort (a place where he doubled entry fees from $100,000 to $200,000 the day after he was elected).
• $97,380 for hotels for Secret Service to protect Eric Trump (that would be his son on those business interests 45 still hasn’t divested himself of) while he visited a condominium development in Uruguay. This is just one trip.

And finally this statistic: 45’s proposed military spending increase in his federal budget? $54 billion.

Something definitely doesn’t add up.

Does this irritate you as much as it does us? Here are a few links if you want to #TakeAction. See you on the streets.

Pen.org
artsactionfund.org
Change.org
The Official White House Petition to Save Arts Funding
Contact Your Representative
Arts Advocacy Day – Washington, DC
#SaveTheNEA

Top image courtesy Royal Talens

The post #TakeAction: Doing the NEA Defunding Math appeared first on Take Magazine.

On Saturday, January 21st, humans of all ages, colors, nationalities, and orientations marched in hordes to form the largest inaugural demonstration of disgust in American history. In DC and 500 cities across the United States, more than three million folks banned together to express myriad messages—and damn, did they bring some good signs. The creativity and cleverness displayed across the board was almost as inspiring as the messages themselves; that’s why art museums and organizations across the country are collecting the signs to put on display. Maine Historical Society is collecting them, too, but with a different goal in mind: The folks at MHS have recognized the reverberant potential of this event, and deemed it worth archiving for both its cultural and historical value.

Photo courtesy of Maine Historical Society

Photo courtesy of Maine Historical Society

Photo courtesy of Maine Historical Society

The idea to collect leftover signs and protest material was a no-brainer for Kate McBrien, chief curator at Maine Historical Society, and Tilly Laskey, the center’s outreach coordinator. “Protests like this are obviously going to play a really important role in the next few years,” says McBrien. “They’ve been building and I can only see that growing over the next few years. So we wanted to be able to collect all the protest material we could find and document that grassroots movement, with the idea that it may play a big role in shaping future politics.

“As a historical society,” she continues, “we tend to look more at the human history of the state of Maine, and the political history of the state and how it relates to the nation. Protest is a huge part of that human history, and how Maine citizens and American citizens have made their voices heard within the political process. We wanted to document that citizen voice in the political process; that’s our goal in collecting them.”

Photo courtesy of Maine Historical Society

Photo courtesy of Maine Historical Society

Photo courtesy of Maine Historical Society

At the Portland and Augusta marches, Maine citizens brought up a number of statewide concerns, one being water rights. “One of the speakers at the Augusta March was a woman of Wabanaki descent.” says McBrien. “She spoke about water rights and water access in reference to the Dakota pipeline, but she was also talking about water rights in Maine and how the Penobscots have had a long legal battle with the state of Maine for rights to the Penobscot River, which they believe is their ancestral home.”

Photo courtesy of Maine Historical Society

Photo courtesy of Maine Historical Society

Photo courtesy of Maine Historical Society

“I don’t know if the Women’s March will become a movement,” McBrien speculates, “and that’s actually the wonderful thing about history: it informs us a bit, it helps us to expect what might happen in the future, but it’s still our future to create. So we’ll just have to kind of wait and see.”

Photo courtesy of Maine Historical Society

Photo courtesy of Maine Historical Society

The Women’s March signs are evidence that those who participated were the artists, the creatives, the lovers, the empathetic, and the passionate—a community that has faith in the power of unity and resistance. Come hell or high water (or tiny orange hands), these people are ready to make a decidedly yuge impact, and I’m mean absolutely yuge, you wouldn’t even believe how yuge. It’s incredible.

Photo courtesy of Maine Historical Society

Photo courtesy of Maine Historical Society

Maine Historical Society will continue to collect signs from the Women’s March, as well as from marches to come.

The post #TakeAction: Sign of the Times appeared first on Take Magazine.

Artist and sculptor Sally B. Moore held a large, glorious, kinetic white bird high above the crowd. Its sign read, “When they go low, we go high,” and was a natural leader and point of reference, with throngs of people following it to the main stage—its wings gracefully arcing up and down and moving everyone forward.

Anya Vedmid and Scott Murry caught our eye as well, their yellow yelling tiger signs urging us to “Grab Back.” The group had spent the night before supporting women’s rights organizations by planning a fundraising art show at the Hatch Fenway. Vedmid and Murry’s signs were a standout; they’d also made some t-shirts and buttons. We talked about how people are getting excited about organizing, and finding creative ways to speak out. There will be more to come from The Grab Back as they start to #TakeAction.

Women’s March for America 2017, Boston | The Grab Back | Photograph by Henry Amistadi

It got crowded quickly. A press of people, but never oppressive or scary. Photographer Henry Amistadi and I positioned ourselves near the march’s Charles Street entrance, where he scrambled onto a granite post for a better view. We could see people pouring into the Common from all directions. Small talk came naturally and easily. Two older women had worn their mother’s coats along with their pussy hats. There was music—a New Orleans-style jazz band and an out-of-time tambourine—and many, many compliments in the air about people’s signs, pins, hats, and t-shirts. A tremendous feeling of camaraderie. I heard the words “This is amazing” over and over again.

Women’s March for America 2017, Boston | Photograph by Henry Amistadi

At some point a huge, homemade, multicolored balloon with the words “Rise Up” was bounced atop the crowd—a big hit on that unseasonably warm and cloudless day. Most agreed that we were ready to continue to be fired up, to protest and speak out about our “new normal.” I did see one unhappy group: inexplicably, four people with grumpy faces squirmed their way through the crowd in the opposite direction, mumbling “Freedom Trail” as they squeezed by. Tourists. I still don’t understand how they managed to do that.

There was lots of friendly banter, talk of this being the most hopeful we’d felt in weeks. Lots of chatter about us just getting started. By 2pm, people were ready to march, needed to get moving; we stood up against the iron fence and watched sign after magnificent, hilarious, poignant, emotional sign walk by and down the street. The public garden was especially beautiful, with groups of protesters dotted across the grass.

Women’s March for America 2017, Boston | Photograph by Henry Amistadi

The fight is on, the struggle is real. But with this crew, we’ll win. It felt like a perfect amount of people coming together, like all of my friends were there.

And they’re all your friends, too.

Photos by Henry Amistadi

The post #TakeAction – Come Together appeared first on Take Magazine.