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| but I don't want to stop, work on paper, 2024 |
Through my love of genealogy, I have learned so much about my family’s place in history and the history of the world. It is meaningful to find the beginnings of one’s strength of character, creativity, moral code, or adventurous spirit embedded in the documents of those who have come before. It is moving to find your place in their words, deeds, and movements across the land and sea.
Recently, I was looking at ship manifests from 1774. This particular one contained a list of passengers on board Ulysses bound for North Carolina from the Port of Greenock, Scotland. Listed are the passenger names, ages, former place of residence, business, and lastly, the reason for emigrating.
“High Rents and Oppression.”
Listed over and over and over again.
“High Rents and Oppression.”
We all know of the Highland Clearances, and most of us know what happened there and why - but for some reason, to read “High Rents and Oppression” repeatedly in this way hit me a bit harder and differently.
250 years later, the same plight comes crashing down around us, “High Rents and Oppression.”
Workers are struggling to pay their rent.
Artists are struggling to pay for their studios.
Buildings that held promise are being left to rot - gap sites of misunderstandings and budget cuts. Yet, there is always money for something new and shining.
And then, the news this week from Creative Scotland regarding The Open Fund for Individuals - the fund that supports artists, writers, producers and other creative practitioners in Scotland would be closing due to the Scottish Government being unable to confirm the funds required.
“High Rents and Oppression.”
I am an artist. I tell stories and express feelings with colour, shape, and form. I watch the world and comment on my place in it. I get to be dramatic, daring, and critical. However, I worry some may think I am being too dramatic or that I am not from here and do not have the right to make such connections.
I am from here, and I have returned.
I stand rooted in my ancestor’s boots.
And I know that artists are packing up their studios, packing up their lives, and hanging up their brushes and other tools. Their offerings and forms of art are disappearing in front of our eyes.
Ideas float past a heartbroken painter, yet she will not look up and grab them. These ideas will float on and away. The jubilant words you need to hear won’t reach that writer as they push their dreams away. The play, the dance, the song, the film - they continue to fade. They are leaving us now...
A cultural diaspora in the making.
The ship is sailing.
