Ephemera - Karen Finley

 

When you look back at your life, I'm sure you remember certain things, events, people that were important to you at a specific time. Or that you thought were important art, and an important book, performer, but then years go by and you look back and think...what? Such an interesting thing to do.

I have been slowly going through my things, posessions and deciding what sparks joy. One of the books I recently picked up was "Shock Treatment" by Karen Finley. Maybe you know the name, maybe you don't. She was an author and performer who was part of what I call the NEA 4. The National Endowment for the Arts got into trouble in the late 1980's due to some funding going to artists who were pushing boundaries on what art is. Karen Finley performed at the Walker Art Center at some point during this. In fact, the Walker brought in a few of the performers who were having issues with the NEA. I saw Tim Miller, Karen Finley, a reading by Kathy Acker, and I was aware and intrigued by the performance by Ron Athey (though I did not attend). 

Karen Finley was on my mind because I had read about her performances where she would undress, and put yams in her ass. She did not do that when I saw her. However, she did talk about abuse, and bad relationships, and at one point she undressed and started smearing chocolate over her body - all while talking about being treated like shit. Visually it was working for me, but what I still clearly remember is about two or three minutes later smelling the chocolate. The difference between the scent, and the visual representation was so interesting to me. After the show I purchased her book "Shock Treatment" and read it. It is a collection of writings - some of which she performed. At the time in my life, I was in College and studying theatre. I had been introduced to the work of Laurie Anderson and was really interested in what this whole "performance art" was. 

Looking back through the book now, what I find most interesting are all the lines that I underscored, or marked as memorable, "important" words. 

From: The Constant State of Desire

Oh, leave it to the loved ones always to interfere with our dreams.

Don't you know that i'm only happy when I'm wearing black? that I'm only happy at night. Yes, I'm a creature of the night (clearly theatre kid, and Anne Rice fan loves this line)

Whatever happened to the Tooth Fairy? Whatever happened to the Easter Bunny? Whatever happened to Andy Warhol? Dead, girl. Dead.

In a section about religion:

We never thought of prayer being available twenty-four hours a day. Outside, there was a cemetery, an Indian cemetery. The graves were all decorated with flowers and paper lanterns because it was All souls' Day, and candles illuminated the earth. We never knew death could look this way. Death - we were taught that death means the end, blackness, nothing more.

From: The Family That Never Was

I say, either go home to visit your family knowing that as an artist it's good material, or just don't go. 

You see, the government never liked us. The system always wanted to kill the seer, the visionary because - WE BITCH, WE MOAN, WE COMPLAIN AND WE PROTEST.

They've broken my heart by inventing a disease that has taken away the most creative players of our generation.

But it doesn't matter, for the bohemians, the dream makers, have been living the revolution all along.

From: Quotes From A Hysterical Female

"Doctor, life is a shock treatment."

The old woman began to cry. She wasn't crying 'cause we abused her. Oh, no. She was crying 'cause she hadn't been touched since 1936.

An ancient ballerina in toad skin.

Honey, darling, you said as we kissed the invisible past. It wasn't our hearts that met; it was only our souls. Is that why you won't touch my pussy?

She was lying there in bed, in the hospital, in all her glory, screaming, asking God to please finally let her die. But God forgot about her. She was lying there ready to die. But. God just forgot about her. People just forgot about her. She had other sins, other penances, but the saddest thing is that no one ever loved her. No one ever loved her.

...on Friday mornings when I bring the old woman white orchids...

Sometimes you have to do extreme things to feel loved, to feel missed, to have your love accepted.

I'll tell you why I only feel comfortable around the collapsed, the inebriated and the broken - because they look like what I feel inside. They look like what I feel inside. They look like what I feel inside.

And I try to smile and I try not to smell all the shit on the streets and see the needles in the arms. I try to say, "Oh, the homeless are only burning and at least they're not freezing." It's just another corner in hell.

There is a longer piece named "Paris with Johnny" and "I See You Child." I have stars next to both titles in this book so clearly they meant something to me at the time. 

Her work "We Keep Our Victims Ready" has some great lines and images in it. I won't put all of them here though at this current time when rights are being taken away by those who profess Freedom from government, and those who profess faith in Christ...the section of this work named "We are the oven" ends with this:

What's at the end of this long long night? Where the homeless are housed, where humanity is more valuable than money, where the soul, the heart and mind meet, where every empty hand is held.

The final work in this book is a piece named "The Black Sheep." I have a red pen outlining that title in a rectangle, and in all caps above it "TRUTH!"

Clearly this meant a great deal when I was in college. Glancing through it, I find it interesting how some of it still resonates.  I'm going to sell this book and I hope if someone buys it that they find my markings to be interesting, and that they relate to something in it.