cultural commentary from the desk of Don Shewey
Looking for a picture I’d taken of Malcolm Boyd, I came across a bunch of great shots of the handsome men who attended the 1994 Gay Spirit Visions conference in Asheville, North Carolina. (click photos to enlarge)
me with Mark Thompson
Mark with Dave MacDonald and Stan Mobley
Dave with Malcolm
Duncan Teague and Gary Kaupman
Jonathan Lerner and a guy named David who was 6’9″ and fathered a child with two lesbians
GSV’s resident sage Andrew Ramer and I
I first heard of Malcolm Boyd in the late 1960s, when he was one of the politically active white clergymen deeply engaged in the civil rights and antiwar movements. His 1966 book Are You Running With Me, Jesus? spoke to the political moment from a spiritual perspective yet in the language of the people. He became even more heroic to me when he came out as a gay man, the first prominent Episcopal priest to do so. I met him because I was friends with Mark Thompson, the legendary writer who published many excellent books (Gay Spirit: Myth and Meaning, Gay Body, Gay Soul, Leatherfolk) and edited The Advocate during its heyday. Visiting their house in LA, I found Malcolm to be exceptionally warm, unpretentious, twinkly, handsome, and — for all his church and activist cred — very much a Hollywood guy who loved movies and movie stars and gossip.
Hearing that Malcolm died on Friday at the age of 91, I thought back to the 1994 Gay Spirit Visions conference in North Carolina, where he and Mark were keynote speakers. Malcolm gave a talk that distilled his vast life wisdom into a speech that lasted about half an hour. I still live by some of these principles every day.
Cultivate simplicity. When you use words, have them say what you mean. If there’s a key to your mystery, let people have it so they can understand you. Act in fresh, spontaneous, freeing ways.
Break a heavy silence. Place on paper a letter that’s long been written in your mind. Speak to someone who appears forbidding. Ask the hard question. Even try to do what is clearly impossible for you.
Forgive. When you don’t, the loss of your energy in harboring resentment and hate is incalculable. Do not be destroyed by your own inability or refusal to forgive.
Risk everything. What is there to save? In this world of present shock and constant change, security is the most ironic illusion, so why sell your soul?
Understand the meaning of the failure of success — what appears to be failure often is the best teacher we have. Trappings of success have a way of masking unhappiness and absence of fulfillment. I know people who live in hell, but they have to get over the next three years of doing this for success, and then after that everything is going to be all right. But of course it isn’t going to be all right because they’re changing.
In your imagination, walk up the mysterious street you have long wondered or dreamed about. Imagine a lamppost and dream colors, forms, patterns.
Be open and vulnerable — it’s better than to close in on yourself. Don’t worry about what other people think — most of them are thinking about themselves. I remember as a kid, I’d have a pimple with pus in it on my face and think everybody’s looking at it. Nobody’s looking at it.
In love, hold nothing back. Give yourself completely, generously accept the other without reservation. Nurture love with kindness, spices and gratitude, and don’t limit love. Be sure to include friendship and cultivate it.
Find a quiet place, at least within you. Take three deep breaths, exhale them slowly, and quiet the mind. If you’re at ease with yourself, others can be at ease with you, too.
Since no one is an island, quit acting like one. Reach out for help, ask for it and humbly admit your need. When help is given, do not act as if you are strong. Accept it tenderly.
Recognize that personal and social spheres of life have been thrust together, forcing a new kind of wholeness upon us. We have the opportunity to make our lives, our common life, the best anyone ever knew. Even to become what humankind always wished and strove for through all the ages of darkness and all the epiphanies of light.
And finally, make a clear decision. Drop the other shoe. Strip and dive into the water. Get on with it. Our lives are brief, measured by a few decades. Do you realize how few decades we have? We don’t really start til we’re 20. There aren’t many decades. While we’re here, our lives can either be unhappy, self-destructive, unproductive and lacking fire, or celebratory, loving, creative, and filled with spiritual energy.
To life. To life. To life.
The staff outdid themselves for the 90th anniversary issue with substantial profiles of a string of extraordinary people:
And following a curious and yet sensible new publishing fashion, the New Yorker commissioned nine different covers and, rather than anointing one, published them all. My subscriber copy came with three, and the rest are easily visible online or on the iPad app. Here are my two favorites, by Carter Goodrich and Anita Kunz:
TIDYING
During her recent visit to New York, Kondo gave a consultation at the home of New York’s design editor, Wendy Goodman. The apartment—a one-bedroom in Greenwich Village with billion-foot ceilings, plantation shutters, and a fireplace—was the kind of charm-stuffed dream pad that makes a visitor feel wickedly covetous. [Japanese tidying guru Marie] Kondo voyaged inside and absorbed the overstuffed bookshelves, the antique tomato-velvet ottoman, the conch shells, and the silver urns. “At the moment, everything is a big mishmash,” Goodman explained.
Kondo started with the bookshelves. “It’s going to be labor-intensive and time-consuming, but you need to take all the books down and put them on the floor,” she said. “Take them down and spread them in one area. Physically pick each book up, one by one. If the book inspires you, keep it. If not, it goes out. That’s the standard by which you decide.”
“Why can’t I just look at the book?” Goodman asked.
“Because your body is very honest with you,” Kondo replied. “Your body will respond if the book sparks joy.”
Goodman scanned her bookshelf. “That’s a big job,” she said, her voice a little shaky.
“Think of it as an event,” Kondo said. “A festival.”
–Molly Young, “Marie Kondo Will Change Your Life. Or at least your living space,” New York Magazine, February 9-22, 2015
(click photos to enlarge)
It really is true that Mexican culture acknowledges death more openly than others — Day of the Dead is practically their Fourth of July. You see skulls and skeletons everywhere: the sign for the men’s room (top), garage walls (middle), all kinds of art work (bottom).
We checked out Fabrica Aurora, a former factory that now houses art galleries, antique stores, and cafes.
Public art everywhere — David Kestenbaum’s bull is a landmark, but down any alley you’re likely to discover a mural on Sancho Panza Lane or Via Organica.
I loved the cruddy storefronts and the half-finished, now-abandoned hotel just outside the center of town.
Giuliano (above center) likes San Miguel de Allende so much he bought a house there — he and Stanley live in Sonoma County, California, but will probably be spending more time in Mexico in the years to come.
Andy was under the weather for the first few days but finally got the mole negro of his dreams.
another eye opens 