Crooked Fool: Meditating on restorative justice and the arts

Last weekend, I was able to take a restorative justice training with the Dispute Resolution Center. This particular training was focused on circle processes, which basically set a container for allowing everyone with a stake in a given situation the chance to speak. In addition to being a tool for addressing harm, it turns out that circles can also be an excellent tool for building community. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t stop drawing parallels to theatre (shoutout to the others in the training for not making fun of me!)

A circle begins with laying a centerpiece down on the floor – maybe a blanket with a few objects of significance resting on top. There’s a brief reading or ritual at the beginning and the end, and an object is passed from hand to hand as each person takes their turn offering their thoughts on whatever the topic of the circle might be. Everyone else focuses either on the person speaking or on the centerpiece.

Restorative Justice practices are drawn from Indigenous cultures around the world. Restorative approaches to harm have been slowly gaining traction in the US over the past few decades, inevitably sometimes being whitewashed, appropriated, and co-opted by systems that are built around punishment and isolation rather than repair and connection. There’s a whole rabbit hole we could go down about restorative practices, but in this moment I’m most concerned about the community building aspect.

There’s a quote that I hear a lot. To paraphrase: “We can get hurt in relationships and we heal in relationships.” Whether we’re talking about personal disagreements or generational trauma, connection offers an opportunity to heal.

I’ve written before about how the arts can promote connection. My limited experience with expressive-arts based approaches through Telling It has also taught me how creating in community is not just effective at healing, but crucial for human wellbeing. Creating and sharing together fosters a kind of connection that makes tough conversations possible.

How different is it to speak in a group versus singing, rhyming, or dancing in a group? If live performance has its roots in religious ritual, how can it help create a space sacred enough and safe enough to dive into high-stakes conversations?

The performing arts are filled with examples of systemic harms and unchecked privilege. I can definitely see an opportunity for restorative practices to help address some of the more harmful industry norms. But I also think that focusing on deep connection in the arts has at least as much potential for creating change. How do we create spaces where people can speak openly about their thoughts, whether it’s about creative ideas or the power dynamics in the room?

So often, I feel as though we treat both creativity and restorative approaches to harm like extras: something nice to have but not crucial, and often overridden by the needs powerful systems. What if human expression and connection became crucial? What if deep honesty were centered? Who could be heard and what would be possible?

Crooked Fool: I’m bad at resting

I’m an artist and I’m bad at resting. I am absolutely raging terrible at taking a break. I know rest is resistance…and I’m still bad at it.

As I write this, my brain is totally blitzed out and I can feel the blood vessels in my forehead slowly squeezing into migraine mode because I’ve been on Zoom more or less constantly since early this afternoon hosting meetings for everything from Ypsi Pride’s entertainment committee to a new theatre group I’m trying to get off the ground. I’m cranky and I’m sure I’ve gone a bit nuts and I still have to write this damn blog post. I also still haven’t done the reading for tomorrow’s classes, sent out the notes for either of the meetings I’ve hosted today, or responded to my cat’s ever more mournful meows for food (side note: he’s had like two dinners already; he’s fine).

I’ve written before about how deeply embedded grind culture has become in the arts. Students are also not known for their work-life balance, so I’m arguably twice screwed over in that regard, especially as a nontraditional undergrad trying to balance an existing life, career, and the need to support myself with an elite university built for younger, wealthier students who didn’t have to commute to campus or work their way through school.

But here’s the truth: grind culture has also embedded itself in me. Even as I scream into the abyss about how the expectations placed on people by their jobs and passions alike are unhealthy, ableist, and oppressive consequences of late-stage capitalism, I still can’t even personally practice what I preach.

The sad truth about artists is that we care deeply about what we do, and that makes us all too willing to give in to unreasonable and unhealthy demands on our time and capacity. Taking a break becomes a lot harder when you genuinely want to be doing everything on your to do list. There’s a level of guilt woven into it when you can feel in your bones the importance of what you’re doing.

I know that I do not owe any project or entity institution energy beyond my capacity or the exhaustion of my body. But all too often, I still give it. And there are surely power dynamics at play, especially when we’re talking about massive, powerful institutions that hold sway over my future. But then there are the passion projects and the volunteer-run community orgs…and sometimes, taking those projects on also feels like a form of rebellion in the face of so many power structures demanding my time. Resistance itself takes up energy. And rationally, I know this is by design. My exhaustion and the struggle to keep up with the things that are important to me in addition to those that are required of me is a byproduct of some incredibly unjust and unnecessary power structures.

But still, if I’m being honest, I find it hard to let go and do nothing. Grind culture has worked its way thoroughly into my thinking, and even though I know it’s not right, I still often give into it.

So yeah, I know it’s hard, and I get why we do it. Even so, I’m still going to keep trying to get myself to leave things be and not operate at 110% all the time. If I can channel my innate stubbornness toward an extra project I frankly don’t have the time for, maybe I can also channel it to doing nothing.

In other words: I’m going to bed after I post this.