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There has been an outpouring of sexual harassment and assault claims in the media from women across generations against men of all races, careers, and ages.  Some of the most talked about have been against men in all genres in the arts: Louis C.K., Matt Lauer, Peter Martins. These men have been put under investigation, removed from their positions, and in some cases, fired completely. After they are gone, however, a question stands: should their art remain?

Can an artist and performer really be considered separately from his or her body of work? In my own personal experience as a performing artist, I have found that every project I work on has a little piece of myself in it, even if I am portraying a character with an entirely different personality. If this assumption is true, that a piece of art has at least a small part of an artist, then does art made by people who have been found guilty of sexual harassment and assault deserve to be easily accessible and shown?

One might say that what these men have done in their own personal lives does not reflect their work. It is true that each of these men and other accused have contributed a great deal to each of their fields respectively as well as the arts world as a whole. The argument could be made, then, that their art is still important, regardless of what the artist did. Their art deserves to be seen and heard and listened to because it is a stand-alone entity in of itself.  And what of the other people that might have been involved in the work—in removing, say, one of Louis C.K.’s movies from a popular streaming database, the goal of not supporting a sexual predator would be achieved, but at the cost of other artists whose work was also important in the movie.

On the other hand, it could be considered impossible to separate the artist from the art: how do you tell the difference between the dancer and the dance, the actor and the monologue, the musician and the music? In allowing art by men who have admitted to or found guilty of sexual harassment and assault, the message that these men’s voices still deserve to be heard through their work. The arts are a universal language, and one that should be utilized as such. But is it worth it to let an already loud voice perpetuate the arts world at the cost of silencing other voices out of fear, shame, or sheer volume? Or should the arts be a vehicle for quiet voices to finally be heard?

I went to the Michigan theater at 4 this afternoon to see Loving Vincent which had sold out moments before I arrived, so I stood alone looking at a list of other showings. I turned around to see a good friend of mine also standing alone looking at a list of showings.

Turns out, my other friend likes to see movies by himself, too. He intended to see the Vincent Van Gogh movie today, but faced the same fate as I did. Both wanting to make use of our time at the beloved theater unfortunately without Vincent today, we bought two tickets to Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri.

And the two of us went to the movies alone together.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri is dark comedy crime film written, produced and directed by Martin McDonagh. After months go by without investigation of her daughter’s rape and murder, Mildred Hayes (Frances McDormand) purchases three billboards, each painted with a bold messages that challenge the Ebbing police department in hopes of capturing their attention to find the culprit of the crime. Not only do the police notice the billboards, but news casts turn their attention to the billboards. Soon, everyone hears about the Mildred Hayes billboards.

Without spoiling the ending, I will say that this provoked real emotions. There isn’t a perfect character or predictable plot line. There isn’t a happy ending. In fact, there is no evident conclusion at all. In a story like this, however, the conclusion is irrelevant. Too often I think we focus on the actual outcome of an obstacle that we forget the process that is involved to reach that ending. You hear it all the time: “it’s about the journey not the destination”. In the midst of frustration, it can be difficult to remember this, especially something as disturbing as the Angela Hayes case. The only thing on the mind is to solve the crime. Life does not provide instant solutions to these issues. This film teaches viewers that without the battling and boldness, vulnerability and doubts, the story would never develop how it does. Without subjecting herself to hatred from some people, Mildred Hayes would have not made progress in her daughter’s case. Despite the seemingly endless setbacks, she stays determined. This is perhaps the loudest message to be taken from the film. To relate this to a more common instance we may face, let’s say you are having a debate with someone. Initially, you may state your opinion, but it is unlikely that they will immediately adapt to your way of thinking. Everyone has their own feelings and opinions, and to permeate through these feelings is not an easy feat. Before entering the discussion with the other person, have a purpose for your words. Why do you want them to see from your perspective? Why is it important to you? Why is it important to them? You must follow reasonable points along the way to guide them to understanding your end goal. Likewise, Mildred Hayes has a purpose to find the culprit, but she does not directly to the police for the answer because, clearly, that had not worked in the past. Instead, she follows a process to engage them. Now, I don’t know if the other person will ultimately see from your vantage point. However, if this is conversation, you may have learned a thing or two from his or her vantage point. Though you may not see complete results right away, odds are you have made progress. Keep going.

Thanksgiving has always been a holiday with a dubious history. You start at the foundation: the simple and heart-warming story of two cultures coming together to celebrate and give thanks. I remember cartoons of Pilgrims and their buckled hats and shoes sitting next to Wampanoag Indians in feathered headdresses. Then, layers of complexity. I learned that the hats did not have buckles and that the Wampanoag did not traditionally wear headdresses. I learned that Thanksgiving was an isolated moment suspended in a long history of violence that ended with one culture almost destroyed by the other. From there, the spirit of Thanksgiving has been appropriated for various causes from briefly uniting a nation divided by a Civil War to boosting holiday sales during the Great Depression. Thanksgiving has never been as all white, small town American idyllic as a Norman Rockwell painting would suggest. It is shades of grey and blood with a splash of commercialism.

Perhaps then the perfect Thanksgiving story is not the first one of Pilgrims and Native Americans sitting around a table. It is not even the story of today, the one of parades and football games and giant, over-fed turkeys. The perfect Thanksgiving story is one set in the distant future. Written by George Saunders, The Semplica- Girl Diaries tells the story of one American family struggling to keep up appearances. Like any father, the main character wants the best for his two daughters. He wants them to believe anything is possible. He wants them to live without the financial limitations that comes with his middle-class job. But at the same time, he exhorts the teachings of Thanksgiving, to be grateful for what you already have. Saunders presents two sides of America that are constantly at odds. Yet, both are quintessential to our history, inevitably tied together. The myth of Thanksgiving cannot be separated from the pursuit of constant expansion and Manifest Destiny. They are part of the same hazy American dream, one that we seem to be constantly pursuing without even realizing what it means. The protagonist of The Semplica-Girl Diaries, at first, doesn’t seem to realize the depths of his indoctrination. Perhaps that is the scariest thing. The way that we are told stories as children about the way life works, and how that story persists no matter what we are taught afterwards. That is why the Thanksgiving story remains so powerful. It reminds us of simpler times where differences could be resolved, at least for a day, with a few plates of mussels and some mashed-up corn. It allows us to ignore the war that came afterwards, the messiness of conflict. It gives us some semblance of redemption for past sins and perhaps forgiveness for future ones. We give thanks for what we have on one day, and return to our old pursuit of bigger and better on the very next day. It is no accident that Black Friday evolved as a secondary Thanksgiving tradition. As much as we would like to believe that we are grateful for what we have, there is also an instinctual urge for more. Like the father in the story, I am not sure that I can let go of that horizon that always seems to promise more. I was steeped in the belief that I could do more if I just reached a little further. That seems to be a hunger that not even endless platefuls of turkey and mashed potatoes could satisfy.