Dreams
A Fight for Freedom
Way down deep I always had a dream of where I wanted my life to go. Since I lived in constant terror of my life, I knew it would be best to keep this dream to myself.
I had lots of little side dreams that I thought could serve as backups in case the main one didn’t work out. There was the Italian opera star dream. I thought of the narrow, winding brick-lined streets of Italy with its ancient stucco buildings, and I would play a part in a movie. I would stand on those streets singing my songs of anguish, my giant breasts heaving in time to the music.
And then there was the ballet dancer fantasy. I would wear lovely, pale, filmy outfits; and I, too, would be lovely and filmy; lean and agile; floating through the air; a heavenly being.
But the main fantasy of my life was to help other people discover the wonderful world of ideas. I was always very sensitive to the pain of others, and I couldn’t stand it that people lived lives in which they did things for which they had no passion. I simply could not understand going through life adhering to stupid, mindless rules, being subjected to the authority of power-hungry fools, and I decided at an early age that I would fight with everything I had to avoid falling into this trap.
Although I have subjected myself to this form of dehumanization and sold my labor cheaply many times, I have never sold my soul. Many times I have chosen impoverishment over the sale of my soul.
The dream for my career, really, was to be free. This is crucial for an artist, because it is hard to create when one is being diminished.
I have fought many, many times for my freedom; stood up for myself, spoken out; hung out on a very lonely limb for a very long time.
It has all been worth it, of course, this fight to retain my dignity and my self. Our culture fears individuality and personal freedom over all else. The fear is that we will see through the crimes of our oppressors and strip them of their power. So they lure us, in a million ways, into selling our souls and relinquishing our identities.
Maybe my dream didn’t have an absolute form; maybe it was simply a dream of being free; of being able to live a life that is dynamic and in process; that is ever-evolving, artistic and alive.