The Seattle Asian Art Museum (SAAM) in Volunteer Park is a beautiful Art Deco building that served as the main Seattle Art Museum for decades until the new one was built in downtown Seattle in the 1990s. SAM downtown has recently been renovated and received over a billion dollars worth of new art bequests and donations, so naturally it receives most of the national and international attention, but SAAM, the sister museum in Seattle's Capitol Hill neighborhood, is a real gem and always worth a visit. The setting of the park is wonderful; from Capitol Hill's main street, Broadway, the gay heart of the city, one meanders through narrow streets lined with grand and elegant Victorian homes to get there. Volunteer Park is a glorious urban retreat complete with walking trails, gorgeous views of the city and a lovely conservatory filled with thousands of species of plants.
Right next to the park is the gracious Lake View Cemetery, founded in 1873 and replete with late Victorian grave markers. Its greatest fame comes from being the final resting place of Bruce Lee and his son Brandon. During one visit to the cemetery several years ago, I came upon an Eastern European soccer team standing around his grave paying silent and serious homage, cigarettes and beer bottles in hand.
Last weekend my daughter and I made a special visit to SAAM to see an exhibition of watercolor paintings called "Garden & Cosmos: The Royal Paintings of Jodhpur." A traveling exhibition organized by the Smithsonian's Freer Gallery of Art and the Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, it first showed in Washington D.C., is in Seattle until April 26 and will move next to the British Museum from May 28 to August 23 and then to the National Museum of India in November. The exhibition was everything we'd hoped for: a large and exciting collection of 18th and 19th century paintings created for Indian royalty depicting maharajas, their homes and their wives and concubines; vast gardens filled with trees, flowers and animals; and dramatic tableaus featuring Hindu gods and holy men.
The level of detail was remarkable; impossibly detailed trees and saris were painted with infinitesimally fine lines and dots created with squirrel-tail brushes. Great care and love were lavished on works that included glorifications of Indian princes, paintings made in homage to particular gods, pieces created as aids to devotion and works created as visual histories or records of the grandeur of humans and deities alike. These paintings were never before displayed in public, and the sense of discovering something precious and jewel-like left almost unseen for so many years was thrilling.
I have always been a great fan of Indian miniature paintings with their tiny details, their lavish use of color and their energy and spirit. These paintings had all the elements of Indian miniatures, but were miniatures on a grand scale; that is, the scale of the detail in the paintings was the same as that found in miniature paintings, but these were expanded to fill pages of perhaps 15 by 30 inches rather than seven by nine, as one might expect for painting with this level of minuscule detail. The museum thoughtfully provided magnifying glasses to aid visitors in enjoying the works, many of which would be difficult for patrons with less than perfect vision to appreciate.
Being an artist who specializes in detailed, small-scale pieces, I have always been drawn to both admiring and creating works with a high degree of detail. In order to enjoy them, one must approach the works very closely and focus carefully; they require a level of intimacy unusual in fine art, and I love that. One has to get as close as possible to them to see what the artist wants us to see, until we're so close that the edges of the picture plane blur and disappear and we can imagine ourselves within that tiny world. They take greater effort to enjoy, but they pay back that effort with small surprises and hidden treasures.
This sort of care is usually lavished only on truly personal works of art, such as jewelry, which is worn on and warmed by the body, or in reliquaries holding relics of holy people (like saints) or things (like a piece of the "one true cross"), or in altars to Buddha or Hindu deities like my favorite, Ganesha, or in prayer books. The tradition of creating illuminated manuscripts has created similarly lavishly illustrated prayer books as aids to contemplation and devotion. Masterpieces of illumination like the Irish Book of Kells or the French Très Riches Heures de Jean, Duc de Berry are famous works of great art in their own right. And the art of illumination is not simply a Christian tradition; calligraphy is the premier art form of the Muslim world and one can find photos of thousands of exquisite illuminated pages from the Qur'an online; the Topkapi Palace collection is particularly fine. There are, of course, illuminated Jewish texts including versions of the Torah and the Haggadah as well, though sadly Jewish and Muslim manuscripts are rarely made mention of in Western books about the art of manuscript illumination.
Exquisite renderings of quotations from the Qur'an are an important element of Islamic art because of Islam's prohibition on illustrations featuring people or animals. The high degree of elegance and delicacy of detail in Muslim illuminated manuscripts and in decoration of mosques and other buildings in the Muslim comes largely from the necessity of perfecting the art of abstract illustration and a heavy reliance on the use of natural botanical forms as inspiration. Two years ago the Bellevue Arts Museum had an small but fine exhibition of works by contemporary Islamic calligrapher Mohamed Zakariya done in both classical and modern style.
The works in the "Gardens & Cosmos" exhibition feature tiny renderings of vast subjects, from gardens to palaces, from ocean to sky. It is ironic that such charmingly delicate illustrations can convey grand themes so beautifully.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
The Quality of Mercy
"The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes."
—The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene I
When I pass people who stand on freeway off-ramps with tatty cardboard signs begging for money, men and women with ravaged mouths and resigned eyes, I feel humble and grateful for my good fortune. It's often hard to look in their eyes and see the rawness of their lives. I try to smile or wave to show some acknowledgment, to let them know that they aren't invisible, that I recognize that they are human beings worthy of care.
Sometimes I roll down my window and give them a few bucks, wish them luck and hope things will get better for them soon. Occasionally I buy a few cheap hats or pairs of gloves and keep these in the car to offer to people asking for help. They are invariably polite and grateful, and some launch into stories that they have to cut short when the light changes and I have to drive away, so grateful are they to have someone look them in the eye and remind them that they're worthy of attention, instead of shouting at them to get a job or refusing to meet their eyes or acknowledge their existence.
I am aware that some people don't approve of giving money to people on the street, saying they'll just go out and buy drugs or alcohol with it, so it's no favor to them to enable dangerous behavior. Give directly to shelters or charities or soup kitchens, they say, which is of course a fine idea. But some donate to foundations not just because it's a good thing but because they believe it will force street people to stop pestering the rest of us and go inside where we won't have to look at them anymore.
Some say the homeless are just lazy creeps living easy lives off the largess of others, that being kind to them emboldens them to do wrong, that if they just got off their backsides and took a shower once in a while they could go get jobs and pay their own way instead of mooching off the rest of us. The people who say such things get angry and resentful when they see someone asking for money, or trying to sleep on a park bench, a cluster of ragged plastic bags full of odd possessions in a jumble next to them. Some are unwilling to help the destitute and quick to assume that they're bad people and liars, even actively wanting them to suffer for having the gall to ask for help directly from strangers.
Being a soft touch means being called upon for help more often, it's true. But it also means having more chances to show compassion and open-heartedness. It means believing that sometimes people change and turn their lives around, that even those among us who screw up still deserve compassion. It means showing faith and optimism and, as Gandhi put it, "[being] the change you want to see in the world." For many, doing a service for someone who is destitute and desperate is a way to do service unto their deity; as Jesus said, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
In January I saw an article in the online magazine Slate written by Patty and Sandy Stonesifer titled "Sister, Can You Spare a Dime?" The article (which was subtitled "I don't give to my neighborhood panhandlers. Should I?") was part of a series on philanthropy written for Slate, a publication for which Patty Stonesifer's husband, the liberal pundit and former editor of The New Republic, Michael Kinsley, was the founding editor. The Stonesifer sisters know more than a little about great wealth, philanthropy and social services. Patty Stonesifer was co-chair and CEO of the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation for ten years. Before that she was senior VP of Microsoft's Interactive Media Division, and as far back as 1996 she was named one of the 25 Most Influential People in America by Time. Sandy Stonesifer is the project manager for a national study of the consequences of unintended pregnancy. Their father, Harry Stonesifer, was the CEO of Boeing until 2005.
In Slate Sandy wrote that she didn't give to panhandlers directly but to organizations that advocate for the homeless, and that she also bought the occasional sandwich for a homeless guy she sees regularly. She wrote, "If you feel compelled to give to someone directly, be honest with yourself that your action isn't really about ending homelessness—but more about reinforcing shared humanity." Her sister Patty wrote, "Sandy provides sandwiches, but I recommend not giving handouts. . . . My commute involves two different stoplights where I am sure to get asked for funds by homeless men, but I have to be honest: My car insulates me from their pain. Perhaps we would all do more about the issue if every one of us spent even a few seconds with homeless people each day. If the current economy is an indication, the numbers of people experiencing homelessness will grow in your community. . . . Avoid giving directly to the man or woman on the street—but do address him or her with the same human regard you give others in your path."
I was surprised that both sisters advised against helping people directly without saying why, but pleased when they recommended helping via social service agencies. Such organizations provide much-needed food, shelter, clothes, job opportunities, even places to receive mail and bathe. They showed concern for the feelings of the homeless and encouraged treating them with respect. What I was not prepared for were scathing comments from readers who chose to attack the homeless, calling them liars, users, dangerous and accusing them of all manner of ugly things. Some people adamantly stated opposition to helping people who had the temerity to debase themselves in public and risk humiliation by asking directly for handouts. Their excuse for refusing help was the possibility that people who are asking for aid would use the money to buy drugs or alcohol. They accused those who fund beggars of worsening the problem of public drug addiction and alcoholism.
First of all, these are human beings. Most are not asking for money because it is easier than working; they are asking for it because they can't find or keep jobs. If you have no home, no phone, no regular address at which to receive mail, no clean clothes and, probably, few marketable skills, how likely are you to get work in any economic climate, let alone the current horrible one? And if you're on the street there's a good chance you have an alcohol or drug problem so severe you can't easily kick it without a good support system. You also have a high likelihood of suffering from some type of severe emotional or mental disturbance. You feel physically ill a lot, people mug you, steal your stuff, may try to rape you and they probably revile you; the only thing that makes you feel better for even a little bit of each day is sleep and a bit of the substance that's helped to wreck your life.
So, let's say you're homeless, you're hurting, you're humiliated and you probably know you've done a lot to put yourself into that position. You've screwed up big-time. You don't believe in yourself or your ability to fix your life anymore. If you've got an addiction, which is quite possible, how likely are you to want to give it up when you know that doing so would make you feel intensely sick for several days, and then you'd feel extreme psychological cravings for months or years afterwards? And that's only if you're one of the few addicts lucky enough to be able to quit in the first place while living without a stable home and a good support system. And how likely is it that you'll be able to turn yourself around if the people who pass you on the street tell you that you're garbage?
Shelters fill up early every day, they have loud, mentally unbalanced people roaming around who make noise all night, sometimes stealing others' belongings, and shelters are breeding grounds for tuberculosis and other dangerous communicable diseases. They usually kick inhabitants out early in the day. Some missions make homeless people listen to sermons about how their only hope is to recognize how horrible they and their lives are before they can eat or lie down. How likely would you be to want to spend time in such a place?
If you only have a dollar a week to spend on helping the homeless, should you give it to some guy on the corner who's shaking and on the verge of delirium tremens or to an organization that helps the homeless? Of course supporting local homeless shelters, food banks, job training organizations or other groups that benefit the destitute is a wonderful idea and the best place to start. If you can only afford a little bit, sure, put your money toward a good organization. But if you have enough money that you buy a few coffees or a chai or a few Diet Cokes each week just for fun, maybe you could afford another few dollars to help one or two people for whom $5 is a major windfall? Can't we do a bit of both and give a few bucks to the woman on the corner and to the local women's shelter, too?
Giving directly to someone on the street puts a face on a kind deed and lets you look someone in the eye and remind that person that another human being thinks he or she is worthy of hope and help. Small acts of compassion can be stepping stones that remind others to believe in the goodness of others and to pass on that act of compassion to someone else. And many homeless people do help those around them. They keep track of other folks, share food and look after friends' belongings, help them find a new coat when one is stolen or get them to a clinic when they're sick. Just because people find themselves, often because of their foolish actions, in extreme situations doesn't mean they should have to give up all dignity or that they've lost the right to ask for help.
Some people are so afraid of being lied to or conned that they'd rather not help anyone or show any mercy than risk being kind to someone who doesn't deserve it. They find the idea of believing too much in the worth of other people so frightening and embarrassing that they'd rather turn their hearts away from everyone to avoid inadvertently helping someone undeserving. Where there is mercy, sometimes there will be those who take advantage. That is the cost of a civil society. When you give people the benefit of the doubt and presume them innocent instead of guilty, sometimes the bad go free while the hard-working make their donations or pay their taxes to fund people who are happy to take advantage of others. It happens occasionally; it's unfair. But isn't it better to have a little less and know that you made a positive effort, showed mercy and set a good example for others than to have a little more because you locked away your money and your heart and ignored the humanity of the less appealing among us?
Sometimes I give money to people who almost certainly spend it on drugs or alcohol instead of food. I've not seen it, but clearly some of the people I give to have suffered severe physical problems because they've neglected or actively undermined their health. Sometimes I've bought or given them food instead of money when the situation seemed safe; other times I figured I'd rather they get what they need from me honestly than that they feel compelled to take money or other things by force from others to find money to feed their habits. I'd rather they see that if they ask for help, there are people who value them enough to give it. If their lives are so awful that the only thing that makes them feel okay is a shot of vodka or a vial of crack, my little donation isn't likely to buy enough to kill them but it might be enough to give comfort and keep them from selling themselves or staying out late in bad neighborhoods trying to gather more money. Maybe they won't pass on an STD to someone else that night because they don't have to share a needle or service a stranger to get enough money to buy their drugs.
There are users, losers, screw-ups. Many are addled due to drugs or drink; some aren't that bright to begin with. There are people like that living in any middle-class neighborhood, too. But among the homeless many have mental problems and a disturbingly high percentage have been manhandled and abused while in the custody of foster care, mental hospitals, veterans' hospitals. Some started out full of promise but broke down along the way and lost track of reality enough that they couldn't or wouldn't ask for help from more appropriate sources anymore. Each one was somebody's baby once.
Homeless people who take my money always thank me, usually bless me, and often tell me a little something about themselves, how they got to be where they are, or how they're hoping to get off the street. They look at me directly and earnestly and want to say how much it means to them to receive a smile, a few bucks, acknowledgment. It's not that they don't miss their dignity; they've just been made to feel that it's a luxury they can no longer afford. Give it back to them and, despite all the dishonor and disgust they've experienced all day long, they are eager to give respect and kindness in return. Giving to them gives them hope, and it gives me hope, too.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes."
—The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene I
When I pass people who stand on freeway off-ramps with tatty cardboard signs begging for money, men and women with ravaged mouths and resigned eyes, I feel humble and grateful for my good fortune. It's often hard to look in their eyes and see the rawness of their lives. I try to smile or wave to show some acknowledgment, to let them know that they aren't invisible, that I recognize that they are human beings worthy of care.
Sometimes I roll down my window and give them a few bucks, wish them luck and hope things will get better for them soon. Occasionally I buy a few cheap hats or pairs of gloves and keep these in the car to offer to people asking for help. They are invariably polite and grateful, and some launch into stories that they have to cut short when the light changes and I have to drive away, so grateful are they to have someone look them in the eye and remind them that they're worthy of attention, instead of shouting at them to get a job or refusing to meet their eyes or acknowledge their existence.
I am aware that some people don't approve of giving money to people on the street, saying they'll just go out and buy drugs or alcohol with it, so it's no favor to them to enable dangerous behavior. Give directly to shelters or charities or soup kitchens, they say, which is of course a fine idea. But some donate to foundations not just because it's a good thing but because they believe it will force street people to stop pestering the rest of us and go inside where we won't have to look at them anymore.
Some say the homeless are just lazy creeps living easy lives off the largess of others, that being kind to them emboldens them to do wrong, that if they just got off their backsides and took a shower once in a while they could go get jobs and pay their own way instead of mooching off the rest of us. The people who say such things get angry and resentful when they see someone asking for money, or trying to sleep on a park bench, a cluster of ragged plastic bags full of odd possessions in a jumble next to them. Some are unwilling to help the destitute and quick to assume that they're bad people and liars, even actively wanting them to suffer for having the gall to ask for help directly from strangers.
Being a soft touch means being called upon for help more often, it's true. But it also means having more chances to show compassion and open-heartedness. It means believing that sometimes people change and turn their lives around, that even those among us who screw up still deserve compassion. It means showing faith and optimism and, as Gandhi put it, "[being] the change you want to see in the world." For many, doing a service for someone who is destitute and desperate is a way to do service unto their deity; as Jesus said, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
In January I saw an article in the online magazine Slate written by Patty and Sandy Stonesifer titled "Sister, Can You Spare a Dime?" The article (which was subtitled "I don't give to my neighborhood panhandlers. Should I?") was part of a series on philanthropy written for Slate, a publication for which Patty Stonesifer's husband, the liberal pundit and former editor of The New Republic, Michael Kinsley, was the founding editor. The Stonesifer sisters know more than a little about great wealth, philanthropy and social services. Patty Stonesifer was co-chair and CEO of the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation for ten years. Before that she was senior VP of Microsoft's Interactive Media Division, and as far back as 1996 she was named one of the 25 Most Influential People in America by Time. Sandy Stonesifer is the project manager for a national study of the consequences of unintended pregnancy. Their father, Harry Stonesifer, was the CEO of Boeing until 2005.
In Slate Sandy wrote that she didn't give to panhandlers directly but to organizations that advocate for the homeless, and that she also bought the occasional sandwich for a homeless guy she sees regularly. She wrote, "If you feel compelled to give to someone directly, be honest with yourself that your action isn't really about ending homelessness—but more about reinforcing shared humanity." Her sister Patty wrote, "Sandy provides sandwiches, but I recommend not giving handouts. . . . My commute involves two different stoplights where I am sure to get asked for funds by homeless men, but I have to be honest: My car insulates me from their pain. Perhaps we would all do more about the issue if every one of us spent even a few seconds with homeless people each day. If the current economy is an indication, the numbers of people experiencing homelessness will grow in your community. . . . Avoid giving directly to the man or woman on the street—but do address him or her with the same human regard you give others in your path."
I was surprised that both sisters advised against helping people directly without saying why, but pleased when they recommended helping via social service agencies. Such organizations provide much-needed food, shelter, clothes, job opportunities, even places to receive mail and bathe. They showed concern for the feelings of the homeless and encouraged treating them with respect. What I was not prepared for were scathing comments from readers who chose to attack the homeless, calling them liars, users, dangerous and accusing them of all manner of ugly things. Some people adamantly stated opposition to helping people who had the temerity to debase themselves in public and risk humiliation by asking directly for handouts. Their excuse for refusing help was the possibility that people who are asking for aid would use the money to buy drugs or alcohol. They accused those who fund beggars of worsening the problem of public drug addiction and alcoholism.
First of all, these are human beings. Most are not asking for money because it is easier than working; they are asking for it because they can't find or keep jobs. If you have no home, no phone, no regular address at which to receive mail, no clean clothes and, probably, few marketable skills, how likely are you to get work in any economic climate, let alone the current horrible one? And if you're on the street there's a good chance you have an alcohol or drug problem so severe you can't easily kick it without a good support system. You also have a high likelihood of suffering from some type of severe emotional or mental disturbance. You feel physically ill a lot, people mug you, steal your stuff, may try to rape you and they probably revile you; the only thing that makes you feel better for even a little bit of each day is sleep and a bit of the substance that's helped to wreck your life.
So, let's say you're homeless, you're hurting, you're humiliated and you probably know you've done a lot to put yourself into that position. You've screwed up big-time. You don't believe in yourself or your ability to fix your life anymore. If you've got an addiction, which is quite possible, how likely are you to want to give it up when you know that doing so would make you feel intensely sick for several days, and then you'd feel extreme psychological cravings for months or years afterwards? And that's only if you're one of the few addicts lucky enough to be able to quit in the first place while living without a stable home and a good support system. And how likely is it that you'll be able to turn yourself around if the people who pass you on the street tell you that you're garbage?
Shelters fill up early every day, they have loud, mentally unbalanced people roaming around who make noise all night, sometimes stealing others' belongings, and shelters are breeding grounds for tuberculosis and other dangerous communicable diseases. They usually kick inhabitants out early in the day. Some missions make homeless people listen to sermons about how their only hope is to recognize how horrible they and their lives are before they can eat or lie down. How likely would you be to want to spend time in such a place?
If you only have a dollar a week to spend on helping the homeless, should you give it to some guy on the corner who's shaking and on the verge of delirium tremens or to an organization that helps the homeless? Of course supporting local homeless shelters, food banks, job training organizations or other groups that benefit the destitute is a wonderful idea and the best place to start. If you can only afford a little bit, sure, put your money toward a good organization. But if you have enough money that you buy a few coffees or a chai or a few Diet Cokes each week just for fun, maybe you could afford another few dollars to help one or two people for whom $5 is a major windfall? Can't we do a bit of both and give a few bucks to the woman on the corner and to the local women's shelter, too?
Giving directly to someone on the street puts a face on a kind deed and lets you look someone in the eye and remind that person that another human being thinks he or she is worthy of hope and help. Small acts of compassion can be stepping stones that remind others to believe in the goodness of others and to pass on that act of compassion to someone else. And many homeless people do help those around them. They keep track of other folks, share food and look after friends' belongings, help them find a new coat when one is stolen or get them to a clinic when they're sick. Just because people find themselves, often because of their foolish actions, in extreme situations doesn't mean they should have to give up all dignity or that they've lost the right to ask for help.
Some people are so afraid of being lied to or conned that they'd rather not help anyone or show any mercy than risk being kind to someone who doesn't deserve it. They find the idea of believing too much in the worth of other people so frightening and embarrassing that they'd rather turn their hearts away from everyone to avoid inadvertently helping someone undeserving. Where there is mercy, sometimes there will be those who take advantage. That is the cost of a civil society. When you give people the benefit of the doubt and presume them innocent instead of guilty, sometimes the bad go free while the hard-working make their donations or pay their taxes to fund people who are happy to take advantage of others. It happens occasionally; it's unfair. But isn't it better to have a little less and know that you made a positive effort, showed mercy and set a good example for others than to have a little more because you locked away your money and your heart and ignored the humanity of the less appealing among us?
Sometimes I give money to people who almost certainly spend it on drugs or alcohol instead of food. I've not seen it, but clearly some of the people I give to have suffered severe physical problems because they've neglected or actively undermined their health. Sometimes I've bought or given them food instead of money when the situation seemed safe; other times I figured I'd rather they get what they need from me honestly than that they feel compelled to take money or other things by force from others to find money to feed their habits. I'd rather they see that if they ask for help, there are people who value them enough to give it. If their lives are so awful that the only thing that makes them feel okay is a shot of vodka or a vial of crack, my little donation isn't likely to buy enough to kill them but it might be enough to give comfort and keep them from selling themselves or staying out late in bad neighborhoods trying to gather more money. Maybe they won't pass on an STD to someone else that night because they don't have to share a needle or service a stranger to get enough money to buy their drugs.
There are users, losers, screw-ups. Many are addled due to drugs or drink; some aren't that bright to begin with. There are people like that living in any middle-class neighborhood, too. But among the homeless many have mental problems and a disturbingly high percentage have been manhandled and abused while in the custody of foster care, mental hospitals, veterans' hospitals. Some started out full of promise but broke down along the way and lost track of reality enough that they couldn't or wouldn't ask for help from more appropriate sources anymore. Each one was somebody's baby once.
Homeless people who take my money always thank me, usually bless me, and often tell me a little something about themselves, how they got to be where they are, or how they're hoping to get off the street. They look at me directly and earnestly and want to say how much it means to them to receive a smile, a few bucks, acknowledgment. It's not that they don't miss their dignity; they've just been made to feel that it's a luxury they can no longer afford. Give it back to them and, despite all the dishonor and disgust they've experienced all day long, they are eager to give respect and kindness in return. Giving to them gives them hope, and it gives me hope, too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
