Broke, almost Busted, and Disgusted
I went downtown to visit the IRS to get help with my taxes. I also wanted to print somewhere and give away my art in the loop, so I took my suitcase. On the way downtown I decided to shoot some snapshots on the El for this blog. When I turned on my Nikon Coolpix 5400, I found the display filled with wavy lines and unrecognizable warped shapes. Something in the electronics of the camera had gone wrong. Later, I learned it was the CCD sensor chip and that this is a common problem with digital cameras. Now I need to buy a new camera to continue to maintain my blog. How would I find the money for this, I wondered?
Once downtown, as I approached Dearborn and Jackson Streets, a black sedan with siren screaming ripped around the corner from Jackson just as a man in a suit and tie dashed from the Dirkson Federal Court Building. The sedan braked to a stop in the middle of the street and the driver flung open the door. The official leapt into the open door of the sedan. It disappeared down Dearborn siren wailing into the distance.
As I crossed Dearborn I tried to decide if I should get help from the IRS or print my art first. The sedan’s siren reminded me of all the 9/11 hype and the oppressive attitudes that our foreign policies have brought down on us. With all the stuff I had with me, my suitcase and a leather bag, I could only imagine the problem I would have trying to get through the security check to the upper floors of the Federal Office Building. This helped me to decide to print instead. I walked across the Federal Building Plaza looking for the best place to exercise my free speech rights. The best place would be where the newspapers were sold or offered for free. On the SE corner of Clark and Adams - east of the crosswalk I found the paper stands along the curb. I put my folded blanket on the ground next to the last paper stand as a cushion to sit on and setup to print facing the corner. In front of me along the curb was a fire hydrant. Positioned thusly, I was completely out of the way of foot traffic. On the corner an elderly man panhandled for spare change. He had his first amendment rights. I wanted mine.
The noon time traffic hurried to and fro. They glanced quickly but had little time to stop and chat. It became obvious that I was a unexpected sight in this location and few were conditioned to interrupt their stride to see what I was up to. A Dunbar armoured truck waiting for the light blew its hot exhaust from its air conditioning unit on my leg, blowing my printed patches on the pavement around before rolling on when the light changed. A man in his late forties stopped to talk. He told me about a website - antiwarart.com and described some of the art on that site. I gave him a patch. He wanted to give me some money but I told him to send us a donation because we do not have free speech in the Loop of Chicago. Four high school kids stopped and eagerly accepted patches. A working lady in her mid-thirties stopped and gleefully took a patch, a pin and said she was going to put it right on. Just as responses began to pick up, the nose of a patrol car crept into my view. I heard the red-faced officer say something but it didn’t register. Puzzled, I looked up at him from printing. “I said I called in on you.” He stated again.
“I’m the same thing as these” I said reaching around to point at the news boxes to my back. I’m giving this art away.”
You will go to jail, too” he said as the light changed.
He drove off. I kept printing. Imagine that, illegal to give art away on the streets of Chicago. Well, I thought, I have to draw the line somewhere. I was angry enough to go to jail. Restaurants can give away menus, tobacco companies can give away cigarrettes, Wrigley can give away gum but I can’t give away speech in the land of the not-quite-free. I continued to print believing that this could not be true. He just might be bluffing, too, I considered.
There was a break between responses. I explored printing the three colors red, yellow, blue - in the screen at an angle. The patches were piling up. The ink mixed beautifully, especially on the pastel flowered cotton patches. The art calmed me. People began to respond again. I became more certain he was bluffing. The old man still stood in the pedestrian path collecting money. He was getting paid while I had only my bus fare home and this I had brought out with me. I was losing money. Forty-five minutes had passed since the cop had threatened me with arrest. My pile of prints was tall. I needed to get on with my day. Not being able to raise funds to survive from my art activity meant I had to spend my time to look for other means of making a living. This is the very reason that the courts state that charging for speech can not be an issue in denying a person their speech rights. If the Chicago Tribune, a wealthy corporation, can not afford to give away their speech, then how could a broke artist afford to give it away without the support of other income. Obviously, if I can not afford to give my speech away, I lose my speech right when denied the ability to charge for it. The old man was still panhandling, confronting people as they crossed the street, when I rolled my suitcase on my way home. I felt no malice toward him. I just wanted my rights to sell my peace art.