A Party that is Not a Party Yet / Nicolás Dumit Estévez Raful

It would involve courage, dignity for self and others, empathy, compassion and care. This is just to begin with. The experience I have in mind is one that would shape itself as my graduation as an artist (creative) curious about everyday life and whose practice manifests itself in a transdisciplinary way although, in the end, this practice has actually been doing away with any and all disciplines. Its unruliness comes less from from a place of defiance to a pyramidal system such as the art industry, and more as an intention to work from the heart, the organ which name in English contains the word art. In any case, I have been entertaining the prospect of calling all of my relations into one single gathering, be it a fancy room, a garden, a humble patio in the South Bronx, or a location of public use in a city. Or perhaps a nomadic situation where we move through the geography inspired by the pilgrimages that I have been orchestrating during the last 25 years. But, why is this idea such an issue and how does this relate to the understanding of community/communities? Let me explain, this is given the polarization that the advent of social media has only magnified, thus generating echo chambers that are relatively comfortable to inhabit and where ideologies align, for the most part – existing within the confines of the meticulously trimmed hedge or boundary. Here the opportunity to meet those I disagree with can become a matter of choice, although not always. I must admit that opposition can raise its head in any almost context, from the table to the bathroom. However, if I am to defy algorithms and venture out of safe spaces, the world becomes rather complicated. A hot mess. You bet.

Ever since I can remember, I have had a keen interest in community, which Latin roots lead to words and concepts such as: common, public, shared with all or many. I recall how at the age of 7 or 8 I would draft guidelines and develop lists of activities for organizing children in my neighborhood into a club, and I did not yet have the skills to move this forward. My older cousin, on the other hand would pick up the idea and help this materialized during one Caribbean summer. 20 or so youngsters would gather every afternoon under a tin roofed garage to play games, sing songs and even put on a play, which premiered in our living room. The audience was accommodated on every conceivable piece of furniture we could find around, including a Danish Modern parlor set. A curtain sliced the space into two sections, one for actors and one for audience, and the rest of the house served as dressing rooms and whatever us thespians needed. By the time I reached my thirties, travel, work, and the pulls and pushes of life had added to my repertoire of tools that would become the backbone of the work I have been doing focused on gatherings and encounters. 10 years later, I would gather the courage to travel to Calaf, near Barcelona, with the impetus of meeting all of the inhabitants of this Catalonian town of 3,500. After this, there would be no point of return for me. I would find myself in communities almost completely out of my social locations and with no option to retreat given the search for transformation I have been involved with.

Circling back to my original questions about community/communities and the complications that their meanings pose for me, I still wonder about the possibility of an action or happening kindled in the day-to-day for which I invite people of all backgrounds with whom I have shared moments of connection and/or have been in relationship with. In my mind, they would come together under one roof or below the same sky. What would it take for those involved to cross boundaries while abiding by consensual engagements? What are the border-crossings that would need to occur to move us beyond prescribed social safety? None of these attempts propose a situation circumventing the value of love/compassion-based ethics, nor water down its embodiments. What are the links that might emerge organically from conversations between some of my friends, which include cloistered Roman Catholic nuns and eco-sexuals in love with the Earth; or with dominatrixes fully committed to their jobs? What would my radical and anarchist colleagues and the handful of right-wing supporters in my blood family have to say to each other? Do differences preclude community or can community exist within a frictional space, even if temporally, or in a choreographed event like the one I am discussing here? What these questions ask of me is about the parts of myself that I have opted to leave out in order to be in community – to belong – and what would it entail to allow all of these parts to show up in one room, as a whole however patched together this whole might be. I can see how a movement of this magnitude would require painstaking consideration. I might have to trust that once our party is over, the dishes washed and the broken glasses disposed of, new alliances would have been made – maybe – and that I would let go of entering community/communities in parts, but in my full, imperfectly radiant, presence. This will mean wearing a floor-length habit (no underwear), putting on spiked heels (vegan ones), and holding a sensuous purple calla lily in my hands. Next time I knock on your door all you have to do is open the peephole and see me.