One Can Make a Difference

by Ingrid Newkirk

  I think music is a magical thing and learning it teaches you a lot about self-discovery. You can learn from your mistakes, and your passion for it can actually lead you down a path no one could have taken you to. Often John and I would be mucking about and we’d discover a chord quite by accident and build a whole song around it. It’s very exciting to do that. The opening track on my new record has a bit like that in it. I don’t know anything about the mandolin other than it’s a lovely instrument.

  It’s not like a guitar, it’s tuned like a violin, and so I had to go back to the basics like when I was sixteen again to learn to play it. I found a couple of chords I liked. One was off the Richter scale, probably the most interesting chord I’ve ever found. I’ve put that in this new song about dancing. When I was putting it together last Christmas, my little daughter Beatrice kept running into the room and dancing to it every time. I fell in love with that song because of her. That’s two passions in one, music and this lovely little girl.

  STELLA McCARTNEY

  Creating with a Conscience

  I am deeply fond of Stella McCartney because she is her mother’s girl, kind and caring. Now with children of her own, she imbues them with the values she inherited from the woman known as “Angel for the Animals,” Linda McCartney. But Stella is also a powerful force in the world of fashion. She may have been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but she has made her own way, rising to the pinnacle of the fashion industry. What makes her clothes special is not only her relaxed, natural style but her steadfast, ethical decision never to use fur or leather in anything she designs, even shoes.In 1997, just two years out of school, she was appointed creative director of Chloe. Karl Lagerfeld greeted her appointment to his old position as an affront to his trademark leather pants and his old-fashioned focus on fur.Snarled Karl, “Let’s hope she’s as gifted as her father.”

  “Unstoppable Stella,” as she’s known in the fashion business, has proved that she is indeed. In 2001, she launched her own label under her name and the applause hasn’t quieted yet. Her clothes are snatched up by those in the public spotlight, from Scarlett Johansson and Kate Moss to Gwyneth Paltrow and Madonna, who commissioned Stella to design some of her costumes for her Reinvention Tour. And Stella has not only won a VH1/Vogue Designer of the Year Award, but the line of clothing she designed for European mega-store H&M sold out on the day it hit the racks. Similar gob-smackingly successful collaborations have followed. The world loves Stella McCartney designs, and I suspect you will love Stella.

  It’s funny really, but I’ve been drawn to fashion from the moment, when I was about three years old, that a pair of glittery platform boots mesmerized me from my mother’s wardrobe. I remember sitting on the floor, staring at them in awe. I’m sure I tried to put them on! I designed my very first piece of clothing, a jacket, when I was twelve. It was an eighties-style, slightly blouson jacket; the sort of dirty pink I’m known for on the inside and a dark navy, touching on black, on the outside. I was really happy with the result, and the jacket felt good to wear. In fact, I still think of it fondly. I can’t remember if anyone commented on what I had done, but no one threw rotten tomatoes at me when I wore it.

  When I was thirteen-ish and at school in England, it came time to determine a course of study. Would I be more likely to end up selling mutual funds, dissecting beetles, or painting frescos? Should I choose courses in the arts and design or business? I was really afraid of getting to be thirty and not knowing what I wanted to do, so I decided then to become a designer. Once I set my mind, I stuck to it.When I was fifteen, I managed to get an internship with Christian Lacroix in Paris. That was really amazing! He was preparing his first couture show, and there I was, mostly making coffee, counting buttons, threading shoelaces, but I was in the thick of it. It was ridiculously glamorous. And I was able to attend lots of incredible shows.The whole thing was a life-changing experience. Later, after my studies at St. Martins College of Art & Design, I was asked to come back to Paris. Luckily, I already had the confidence that is inevitable for a person to gain when you’ve worked at that level of Parisian couture, if only as an intern.

  I grew up with two of the most famous ethical vegetarians in the world. Both my parents have been active with PETA for years, so I’ve seen the films and photographs of what animals go through for the most frivolous reasons, which, of course, includes fashion. Being raised that way, knowing that cruelty to animals was something to actively avoid, had an impact on my career. Before accepting a job with Chloe, I was offered so many different labels to work with, but what I’ve seen done to cattle killed for their hides and to raccoons and mink and other animals, made me say no if not using fur and leather was an issue. In the beginning, I might have thought, “Oh, god, I would really like to work in that house. I wish I wasn’t so stubborn,” but I knew I could never be happy selling out my integrity. I think I’ve said “no” more than I’ve said “yes” when faced with a chance to advance myself at the expense of my beliefs. I’m actually quite proud that I stuck to my decision never to touch the products of such outright cruelty. In fact, I sent the PETA video to every designer with an appeal to please stop using fur, at least. Karl Lagerfeld, rather predictably, felt he needed to return the video to me! Dolce & Gabbana were disgracefully rude about it, too. I frankly don’t think most designers have the balls to watch animals writhing and being slaughtered; they don’t want to admit they’re responsible for such suffering.

  What I find so bizarre is that some designers think they are so punk and rock when they use fur and leather, but there’s nothing modern about it. In fact, most of the time, they are working furiously to make it all seem like something else. They take a beautiful fox and shave it and paint it pink and make it look like cotton corduroy. Or they take the skin that looked so amazing on the back of an animal and dye it green and make it look like plastic or some sort of print. How much saner to work with interesting technological creations if you want a modern look? You can mix linen and metal, for instance. There are a million fabulous fabrics: I can work with organic fibers in my collection; fabrics that can breathe, ones that let the heat out or hold it in; fabrics that move when your body moves, handwoven fibers. It’s very exciting.

  My designs are inspired by beautiful fabric, the amazing colors in a flower, a piece of music sometimes, a piece of embroidery. And me? I have been inspired by the goodness of my parents, I’m inspired by my husband and children, and I’m constantly inspired by the people I work with now. They’re young and excited and cool and I admire them a lot. My rule in fashion is to have no rule in fashion. My rules in life are to be confident, be true to yourself, work hard, don’t take yourself too seriously, and, most importantly, as my mother used to tell me when I was bullied at school or someone said I wasn’t that great, “Don’t let the turkeys get you down.”

  MARK McGOWAN

  Making Purposeful Laughter

  What would make a man roll a nut with his nose to the British prime minister’s residence, walk around town in only his shorts and a snorkel, or wheel himself to Scotland in a shopping cart? In the case of Mark McGowan, it would be self-discovery and a desire to bring art to the masses.

  I’ve always been drawn to people who engage others, who never forget that, no matter how far from each other our jobs or circumstances draw us, a sense of community, of being part of a bigger conversation, is important. That interest led me to talk to Mark McGowan, to find out what made him tick. And his story doesn’t disappoint. Mark grew up in a rundown housing project in Peckham, England. As a youngster, he says, he would walk by the Camberwell College of Arts and dream of being a student there. It was a dream he didn’t think would ever come true.After all, he was slipping into homelessness and would eventually end up “living rough”on the streets in any hole he could find.The slide was long, but thanks to a strange twist, not only did Mark McGowan end up at Camberwell College of Arts, he also now teaches a fine arts course there. I chose him to be part of this book because his
story relates not only how Mark was spurred to overcome powerful odds, but how he used a cheeky style, and a tongue stuck firmly in his cheek, to inspire others to think about social issues that had often been invisible to them.

  My ordeal was like that of Sisyphus, pushing a boulder up a steep slope. Growing up, I found I had an addictive personality. So much so that I eventually became addicted to heavy drugs, alcohol, and anything else that was on offer.

  I seemed to turn up at every insane party from London to Ibiza, and I didn’t seem able to stop the downward slide. There was nothing to motivate me to pull myself up, so I didn’t. I would wake up late at night sweating, having passed out somewhere, shivering in some hole in the wall in an alley. I would drag myself out and swallow whatever warm dregs I found in my beer bottle, then crawl to the nearest bus stop and look for cigarette butts. I’d extract whatever tobacco I could find and roll it into something to smoke then crawl back into my hole. That was my life. In the end, I just lost my mind.

  That’s how I wound up in a mental hospital. I stayed there for eight years. In the hospital, we were given art therapy. Art was a great help. It gradually woke me up to what I wanted to do, to be. It gave me that most important rope to pull me out of the well: a sense of purpose. Nothing beats that. Taking one small step at a time, I tried to express myself through painting.

  I had to overcome the fears I had about myself, who I was, et cetera. Performance art seemed a good way to do that, to confront my own feelings. I discovered I was harboring a lot of shame, and that shame can give you anger. I didn’t want to go around feeling angry, but with art, I learned, you can express that anger, go with it, and overcome it. Art works at all sorts of different levels. I now know I can’t go out on the street thinking I’m going to change people with my ideas about discrimination, snobbism, waste, injustice, and so on. I have to open them up by opening myself up to them. My very first public performance consisted of taking my shirt off and walking across the street to buy a postage stamp. I was wearing swim shorts and a snorkel, so everyone stared. My body shape wasn’t the best. I had a bit of a belly. But it was a breakthrough. I saw that people were embarrassed for me and that I was able to transfer what I was feeling about my appearance to them.

  I’ve done all sorts of pieces since then, and been covered on the BBC and CNN and all over the world.There is a point to every piece. Part of it is how you set things up, getting the observers to think, to figure out what that point is. Engaging people, taking them out of themselves. It’s an insane world with heavy issues pressing on us, so I try to find different ways to pose issues to people. I’ve stood for eight hours in the corner of an art gallery with a dunce’s hat on and I’ve lain down in a doorway so that people had to use me as a doormat.You always get a reaction. Art is often insular, controlled, exclusive, but I can bring it to a far bigger audience, go out into the street and engage more than just those people who would feel comfortable or interested in going into a gallery.

  I might roll myself along, or turn somersaults or cartwheels. Once I got down on my hands and knees on London Bridge and started crawling along, wearing a sign that said “Could you love me?” I went about sixty miles that way. Some kids threw stones, some people called me an idiot and demanded that I stand up, and some people offered me cups of tea. What I do really brings out people’s characters, and that’s part of it.

  I like to laugh and so I try to bring a lot of humor to my art. I’ll put chips on my head, tie bricks to my legs, or roll a bean or a nut along the pavement with my nose (I pushed a monkey nut to the front door of Number Ten Downing Street, the prime minister’s residence, which made the press report that “There’s now at least one nut at Number Ten”).

  There is always a serious element to my art, like making people think about why janitors are so poorly paid when they do such important work, or why we shouldn’t waste water, but humor is a great leveler. I mean, imagine Osama bin Laden in a pink tutu! Being “silly” allows me to deliver something important to ordinary people in a way that makes them stop and talk about it all.

  People become inhibited as they grow up; they lose their sense of wonder and that spontaneity they had as children. A child riding on the top of a double-decker bus will be looking at the sky, the bridge, his eyes bright, his mind going a mile a minute. I want to help restore those feelings, and I do. Instead of being stiff, people look over at me and laugh.Then they talk about what I’m doing.

  Today I teach a fine arts course at Camberwell, the school I dreamt of attending when I was young. My class is composed of a special group of students aged from eighteen to seventy. I draw on my experiences now to enjoy each day, and I meet unique people every day that I’m performing, whole families, individuals. And all of them influence me. I don’t want to ever be jaded. I keep in mind the story of a theatrical agent who has been in the business twenty-five years. An entertainer goes to his office and the agent says “What do you do?” so the entertainer runs across the room, swan dives out of the window, does the loop de loop in the air, comes back in, does a rolling handstand and then the splits. The agent looks up at him and says, “So, what else can you do?”

  My answer is: I make art accessible to everyone.

  KEITH McHENRY

  You May Say I’m a Dreamer

  Keith McHenry is an artist, activist, author, and public speaker. He is a cofounder of Food Not Bombs, which shares free vegetarian food in communities all over the world. He is currently listed by the U.S. State Department as one of America’s 100 most dangerous people, and Food Not Bombs is listed on the FBI’s Terrorist Watch List.

  It is true that Keith has been arrested over 100 times. But it has been for “making a political statement” by sharing free food in San Francisco. He has spent over 500 nights in jail for his peaceful protests against militarism. He has also campaigned tirelessly to end police violence, cofounding October 22 as No Police Brutality Day.

  Keith has been the keynote speaker at countless colleges including Oberlin and MIT and has spoken on topics such as fair trade and poverty in cities all across America, Mexico, Africa, Europe, Canada, and the Middle East. If this is a terrorist and a dangerous person, something is deeply wrong with our government’s ability to tell a suicide bomber from a dumpster diver. I wanted Keith to tell his own story of how he became the man he is today.

  My father worked for the Park Service, and I grew up in some of our most beautiful national parks. When I was in fourth grade, our family moved to Shenandoah,Virginia. Life became hard there, as I didn’t fit in and the local kids would beat me up. It became frightening to go to school. I started to draw and paint around this time, and my father gave me a copy of Walden and On Civil Disobedience by Henry David Thoreau. The cruelty of my classmates changed me. I believe this is why I became a defender of the poor and oppressed. Reading On Civil Disobedience and learning about the war in Vietnam inspired me to choose nonviolent direct action for peace and social justice. While living in Shenandoah, we had mandatory Christian education at the public schools, and my parents went to the Parent Teacher Association meeting to ask that this violation of separation of church and state stop. The child of our town’s only Jewish family had to sit by himself in the hallway during the Christian classes because the teachers were saying the Jews killed Jesus and it was upsetting to the young boy. The night my parents spoke out against forcing Christian education in public school a group of angry parents marched outside our house holding flaming torches, throwing rocks and yelling curses at my parents. My mother had us all go to a back room and pray for our safety. Not long after this horrific event Martin Luther King Jr. was killed in Memphis, Tennessee.

  Later in life, while I was studying painting at Boston University, I heard Helen Caldecott speaking in Boston Common. She was standing on a milk crate telling a small group of people about the threat of nuclear war. Her talk inspired me to start doing public art addressing this issue. During the next few years, I met other antinuclear activists, and we thou
ght we should use performance art to reach the public about the dangers of nuclear weapons and nuclear power. I designed a stencil of a nuclear mushroom cloud and the word “Today?” and my friends and I would spraypaint the image all over the Boston area. We also spraypainted the white outlines of dead bodies and messages of peace. Eight of us would organize public street events using puppets, music, movies, literature, and food as a kind of Living Protest Theater. The first time we dressed as military generals and tried to sell baked goods to buy a B-1 bomber. We found a poster that said, “Wouldn’t it be a beautiful day if the Pentagon had to hold a bake sale to buy a B-1 bomber?”We also organized a soup kitchen outside the stockholders’ meeting of the First Bank of Boston to protest their investment in the nuclear industry. We called this Food Not Bombs.

  By 1980, it seemed like most peace and social justice groups were limited to speaking to one another and that each group had a narrow focus. In fact, we not only didn’t talk with the public, our message was often boring and uninteresting. If we were going to change society, we needed to build a popular movement that mainstream America would be excited to join. To us the issues were all linked—be it El Salvador, homelessness, or nuclear power—and we felt if we helped make the connections between the way we live and the larger social issues, we might be able to build a larger movement. So, the founders of Food Not Bombs set out to make working for peace and social justice fun and easy for the public to join. We came up with a simple descriptive name that explained our principles. We designed a colorful, easy-to-recognize logo and we had a clear message and task that everyone could relate to. We collected food and fed the hungry, illustrating our belief that it’s possible to solve social problems like hunger. Our office was a food and literature table on the streets at a busy intersection like Harvard Square. Thousands of regular people walked past us every day. We gave away free food, which was unique and enjoyable. People tended to visit our table longer when they stopped to get a bite to eat, and the food provided a way to teach people about the reasons we should eat organic vegetarian meals and work for peace, social justice, and animal rights. It was clear that our concept was working. People who had never heard of the peace movement before now knew they could stop by our table and learn about the organizations who never left their offices and about ideas and events that they would otherwise not know about. We built strong relationships with the people who lived in public housing or slept at the local battered women’s shelters. Local city governments directed people to our project, and the mayor of Cambridge could be heard directing people our way when they needed assistance. Local grocery stores and bakeries also supported our work, and soon we were well connected with a community of people who had never had any relationship with the peace movement. Each day we picked up donated food from bakeries and grocery stores and delivered it to people at public housing developments, daycare centers, and battered women’s shelters, and in the afternoons we would staff a table with food, literature, and T-shirts.