“WHO’S BALL IS THAT?”

I was watching my 13 year old at basketball practice the other day. He was invited to help out a team in a tournament last week and the team’s coach invited him to come practice with them for the rest of the season. The long and short of it is my 13 year old is picking up an extra day of practice with another team in addition to the time he spends practicing with his own team. He loves the game and seems to be getting and giving a lot to both teams. Works for me. On top of it all, the extra team’s coach is a former black belt we used to attend class with and I was glad to see again.

(Everyone in our family earned black belts – outside of learning to read, earning a black belt is just about the best thing anyone can do for themselves or others – just a side note).

At the practice I sat against the cold brick wall and watched these kids run and run and run some more. The drills were often punctuated with whistle-blowing or very loud “hold it” or “stop, stop, everybody stop” shouts followed by brief moments of instruction by one or both of the coaches.

At this level, these kids have more passion not only for what they are doing and learning in practice – but also for the game itself – than any multi-million dollar superstar could ever even hope to possess or rekindle. Between the shouts, the crowing, the junior high insults, the whistles, the beat of the ball, and the squeak of the high-tops on the court – these kids have a passion and focus in their eyes that is really unmatched off the court. I love the game, and always have – but I was not privy to the basics like these kids – so I spend my time at these practices watching and learning from the coaches. I am learning plays and techniques that I missed years ago and it is a blast.

During this particular practice, one of the kids was dribbling up the court after being scored on. His opponent did a full court press and challenged him by going for the ball. The result was two young adolescents struggling for control of the ball. The spinning and throwing elbows (not to mention the blatant and excessive “traveling”) became more and more pronounced before one kid pulled the ball away from the other. The whistle blew. All the kids looked at the coach and the coach immediately shouted to the kid that lost the ball: “WHO’S BALL IS THAT?”. The kid that lost the ball said his opponent got it from him. The coach repeated: “WHO’S BALL IS THAT?”. The kid pointed and said his opponent had the ball. The assistant coach was walking up the court and joined the coach in shouting and pointing his finger, “THAT’S YOUR DAMN BALL!!!” in three part harmony (- and with feeling – Arlo Guthrie would have been proud). The coach explained further: “That’s your ball, it’s always your ball – do not ever let someone else have your ball, son – that is YOUR BALL!”. All the kids, including mine, stood around breathing loudly with their hands on their hips and nodding at the coach. They understood.

Everyone in the room understood. Even the long-haired excuse of an artist sitting against the brick wall watching the practice. We all understood that we are responsible for our own ball. We all knew it before, but this is the midwest – we have a thing here called “Minnesota Nice”. Granted this isn’t Minnesota, it’s Iowa – but there is a swath of the country starting up in North Dakota – diving down through Minnesota and Wisconsin around into Iowa before it swirls into rural Illinois somewhere and ends abruptly just outside Bloomington that is subject to the “Minnesota Nice” mentality. There are many definitions, but my take on “Minnesota Nice” as a displaced Nebraskan (Nebraskans are NOT and have never been subject to “Minnesota Nice”), is my understanding that many people in the region do not want to call attention to themselves in any way and prefer to be thought of as prim, proper, and always in control of their emotions and opinions. “Minnesota Nice” can be very frustrating to outsiders like me. Some of us even think of them as being at best disingenuous and at worst, passive-aggressive or even phony when they display “Minnesota Nice”. The fact remains, many of us do not hear “IT’S YOUR BALL” in this part of the country. We are not encouraged to be more assertive, to state our position, to back up our opinions. Many of us are subject to “following” -  we follow bosses, owners, those with power, those who think they have power, those guys behind the curtain that pull the levers and adjust the pulleys. Rather than accepting responsibility for our own decisions, choices, and risks – we point to the kid that took the ball from us and tell the coach someone else has it. Don’t make waves. Be nice. Good for manners – horrible for artists.

Maybe, just maybe it’s better to make sure it’s understood that the ball is YOUR BALL, not someone else’s. Sometimes, someone will dribble down the court toward you and announce that you may not have the ball. Sometimes you will be dribbling toward the basket and someone will try to take the ball from you. Who’s ball is it?

The same holds true in many other venues besides basketball. I’m thinking of the art world – not that other industries are not affected and infected with bullies and banshees, but I’m thinking the art world should be able to shrug off these people and their issues . The universe of painters, photographers, jewelers, sculptors and more that are out there doing work many more people wish and hope against all odds they will even get a chance to try someday. We shouldn’t, but we do have plenty of shrieking primadonna types who believe if they shout loud enough, their opinion will transform from flawed to infallible. Simple shills for manipulative art show directors. Artists and directors who are not actually artists and feel threatened when an artist enters a room or expresses a counter to an opinion. We shouldn’t, but we too have the backstabbers, the manipulators, the gate-keepers, and so on. It’s part of the human experience.

But artists have an option that many other people in the workforce do not have. We can let them know it’s “our ball” and they may not have it. If someone in the art world stands up and makes a statement or takes a position that is disagreeable or even asinine – other artists have an option to exercise that many, many other people – even in America – do not have today. Artists can agree and support or disagree and oppose – it’s part of being an artist. It is the responsibility of being an artist. It’s what separates the artists from the non-artists. Art is not about what you paint, or make or draw or write. It’s about what you think. It’s about hanging on to your ball and not letting some manipulative shill take it and dribble it away from you.

Horrors!

But what if that person runs to someone with power, with authority, with – juice? What if that person pontificates further and then admonishes anyone who may even think of expressing disagreement? What if that person personalizes the disagreement? What if that person just makes life miserable for anyone not on board with the “right” way of thinking? What if that person runs to people you respect and tries to manipulate how you may express your view? What if they try to censor you?

Let them.

Let them try.

There is the “Rule of Thirds”.

Years ago when I was working in a hospital, one of the psychiatrists was a person I really respected and admired. Over time he had me assume an unofficial role with his patients. They eventually began to understand that if they were having a bad day (or a good one) or maybe they needed to discuss something or had a question or whatever – and if their doctor was unavailable – they could come to me. It was kind of a liaison role, a way for the patients to have a specific contact. It was a role I considered to be privileged to have and it worked out very, very well for the patients. It was a bit challenging for some of the staff in the hospital – “turf” was a crucial issue for many staff in hospitals in those days – kind of an ownership thing. Maybe it’s different now, I don’t know. Nonetheless his patients did very well and the system was adopted unofficially by other psychiatrists in the hospital at the time. It led to better understanding between patients, staff, and physicians. It led to fewer crises over time. Some people could not and would not accept the system. I was discussing this issue with this psychiatrist one day. Bear in mind, most psychiatrists were psychiatrists because they flunked surgery or pediatrics – this psychiatrist was a true physician – there were few like him. Smart and human and humane. He shared his view of how to deal with oppositional people with me – he called it the “Rule of Thirds”.

The “Rule of Thirds” is essentially this as I understand it:

No matter what you do, say, or think – 1/3 of the people will like it no matter what, 1/3 will hate it no matter what, and 1/3 really don’t give a damn one way or another. Therefore, if 1/3 will always love you, and 1/3 will always hate you, and 1/3 are apathetic – why worry about what people think? Stay true to yourself and what you know is right. If the emperor has no clothes, let it be known. One-third already do, one-third never will know, and one-third couldn’t care less – so why bother with them?

“WHO’S BALL IS THAT?”

Just make sure they don’t take your ball as you are going down the court. Confront them. Ask questions. Clarify issues. Make them wish they never came down your lane on the court.

“WHO’S BALL IS THAT?”

Artists by definition should not let the manipulators, the shills, the bullies, the primadonnas, the censors or the supposedly “powerful” take their ball. We have an obligation to our patrons and viewers to be creative and free from outside agitators. Pretending to be nice does nothing – it didn’t work for the seventh-grader on the basketball court and it doesn’t work for timid artists.

“WHO’S BALL IS THAT?”

It’s your art, your opinion, and your career – it is your ball, it’s not their ball – it’s your ball. Are you going to let some screaming maniac, or some strutting show director, or some inept art critic, or some formula painter, or whoever – determine where you will take your ball?

“THAT’S YOUR BALL!”.

JohnStillmunks.com