Art in the Shadows of Conflict
On "Lessons in Chemistry," "American Symphony," and Navigating Creative Drought
Vija Celmins Bikini 1968
Over the past 58 days, I've found myself immersed in the not-so-complicated complexities of the ongoing Israel-Palestine conflict. Countless hours have been devoted to absorbing debates on platforms like “Piers Morgan Uncensored,” I’m eagerly awaiting the end of his “moral quandary” regarding Israel’s actions. The BBC and LBC have also been my go-to, on YouTube Hasan Abi stands out, deserving more credit for vocalizing what many think—he's more than just a Twitch creator; much like Joe Rogan, he's his own kind of genius who deserves his own show on HBO, Hulu, Netflix, or any platform lucky enough to have him and his audience of millions. Amanda Seales, with her delightful and educational rants, makes me laugh while schooling us all from the comfort of her bed in PJs. And amidst this media landscape, I've come to appreciate what I consider the sole bastion of impartiality when it comes to news – “Democracy Now.”
My mornings now commence with the sobering routine of verifying the safety of Palestinian journalists like Motaz Azaiza and Plestia Alaqad, an essential ritual that underscores the gravity of the situation.
Concurrently, my digital forays through Instagram and X (formerly known as “Twitter,” RIP) have evolved into an unyielding pursuit for the latest updates on the genocide unfolding in Gaza.
In this span of time, my commitment to understanding and reflecting upon this humanitarian crisis, the genocide and ethnic cleansing of Palestinians in both Gaza and the West Bank, as validated by numerous international humanitarian organizations, international human rights lawyers, and basically anyone with eyes willing to see the actions of the Israeli government for what they are, surpasses any previous dedication to political or global conflicts in my life.
The weight of this crisis has permeated my every waking moment, and fundamentally, my identity as an artist, confronting me with the reality that my craft, ostensibly unrelated to geopolitics, is intrinsically bound to the human experience. The paralysis I've encountered is not merely creative; it's a profound realization that my role as a storyteller is intricately woven with the broader narrative of humanity and requires my ability to stay committed to truth.
This paralysis is why I haven't been able to write for all of you, and for that, I offer my most sincere apology.
You see, this crisis has become a poignant reminder that being a storyteller is, fundamentally, about being human. The shadows cast upon the people of Gaza have managed to stretch across oceans and continents, reaching me here in my privileged nook of sunny Los Angeles. In this idyllic enclave, where the sun paints the skies and life unfolds against the backdrop of palm trees and (both natural and man-made) luxury, I find myself unable to engage with my ordinary pursuits of being a disciplined writer and actor or engaging in any form of creativity.
The weight of the injustice faced by the lives of Palestinians is not only evident in the warfare orchestrated by Israeli officials but also in the deafening silence that surrounds their plight. This silence reverberates globally, compelling me to question why the lives of Palestinians have been deemed less valuable. The overwhelming sense of despair has infiltrated my thoughts, rendering the act of writing, reading, or even watching anything of substance an almost insurmountable challenge. How can I, in this privileged corner of the world, continue with “business as usual” when the lives of those in Gaza and the West Bank, are hanging in the balance, their plea for a permanent ceasefire falling on indifferent ears?
I’ve found it almost too fitting that I’m here, in Los Angeles, during this juncture of what it means to be an artist when the world is apparently on the edge of World War III.
I can’t help but think of Joan Didion’s “The Santa Anas” and this passage:
“Los Angeles weather is the weather of catastrophe, of apocalypse, and, just as the reliably long and bitter winters of New England determine the way life is lived there, so the violence and the unpredictability of the Santa Ana affect the entire quality of life in Los Angeles, accentuate its impermanence, its unreliability. The wind shows us how close to the edge we are.”
I've also found it deeply and disturbingly ironic and embarrassing that, on the heels of Hollywood waking up to both the short-term and long-term effects of this past year’s strikes, this conflict has highlighted how censored artists truly are in this industry. If you don't toe-the-line, you get fired. Indigenous and minority voices, especially when speaking up for others facing injustice, do not seem to matter. Sarah Silverman and Amy Schumer can espouse bigoted Zionist ideology that dehumanizes an entire population and fuels a revenge war and then land a spread in the LA Times, while Melissa Barrera and Maha Dakhil (my dream agent at CAA, who represented Aaron Sorkin before he fired her) get dismissed and/or fired when voicing support for Palestinians and a ceasefire. (Make it make sense?)
The hypocrisy I’ve witnessed because of this conflict has also sadly dampened my view and respect for so many artists who I had previously looked up to as beacons of light and inspiration. How can so many of them remain silent? Especially those who have built their careers on the back of highlighting injustices faced here in the United States and the Civil Rights Movement… yeah, I’m talking about you, Ava. Just a month prior to October 7th, when speaking about her next film, “Origin,” Ava DuVernay said, “My next film, “Origin,” explores this idea — most notably, why we as a human race treat some people as less than others and how these ideas are ingrained in the systems and everyday habits that we might not be aware of.”
While I will never fully comprehend the silence, hypocrisy, and injustice that has been uncovered over the last month and a half, the urgency of the situation has not only reshaped my perspective but has also ignited a deeper resolve to engage with the profound issues at stake. Shamelessly and loudly because I recognize that the stories we tell are inherently connected to the human condition, and the way we approach engaging with challenging issues says more about our willingness to set aside our own ideas and sense of security to truly understand and liberate ourselves from a divided world where bombs are seen as a solution rather than a last resort.
This dilemma transcends geographical boundaries, as the impact of injustice touches us all, even in the sun-drenched expanses of Los Angeles. Hopefully, for those of us who are artists, the wind of this global crises shows us how close to the edge we all are, and beckons us to rethink our narratives and redefine our roles as storytellers, not just observers. May it prompt us to bridge gaps, fostering a collective empathy that reaches beyond borders and biases. May it be a call to action that resonates in every story, reminding us that our narratives can be catalysts for change and understanding, even under the sun-drenched skies of this conflicted world.
Although I have not been able to give much of my attention to anything else, two things did break through in key moments, providing a much-needed semblance of normalcy (a luxury, I know). I'd like to share them with you now, in the hopes that if you've been having a hard time navigating your place in the world at this time—not necessarily as an artist, but just as a human—they will do for you what they did for me. Or something like it.
While my creative drought may not be fully cured, I sense myself inching closer to picking up where I left off, now more attuned to the profound weight carried by my voice.
AMERICAN SYMPHONY
Helmed by the talented Matthew Heineman, this exceptional documentary unfolds as a rich tapestry, intricately weaving threads of resilience, culture, collaboration, and artistry—all centered around the profoundly moving love story of Jon Batiste and Suleika Jaouad. (I’ve long been a subscriber of her substack, “The Isolation Journals.”) As Batiste prepares for a triumphant sweep at the Grammy Awards and the prestigious stage of Carnegie Hall with his transcendent symphony, aptly titled “American Symphony,” Jaouad confronts the formidable challenge of a bone marrow transplant amid a recurrence of leukemia. When we finally reach the stage of Carnegie Hall, the payoff is undeniably one of the most riveting and exciting experiences I’ve had as a music lover. And yes, there is an almost serendipitous surprise in store, one that only Batiste could navigate through with such grace and creativity.
Upon its conclusion, I found myself irresistibly drawn to rewatching key moments, immersing myself in the music and the voices of Batiste and Suleika. For a fleeting period, they allowed me to perceive the beauty, not just the pain, that this world has to offer.
LESSONS IN CHEMISTRY
Initially, I tuned into "Lessons in Chemistry" with the intention of using it as background noise while tidying up my apartment. Much like many Apple TV shows, it was poorly marketed, and I anticipated a powdery feminist fluff series—a welcome distraction from the potential frustration of yet another Israel-Palestine debate on YouTube. However, within minutes, I found myself compelled to set aside my cleaning supplies.
The truth is, with “Lessons in Chemistry,” Brie Larson has once again showcased her prowess as one of the most dynamic actors of our generation. Portraying Elizabeth Zott, a matter-of-fact chemist who may or may not be on the spectrum, Larson's performance takes center stage. Fired from her job as a lab tech, Elizabeth embarks on hosting a television cooking program for housewives, seamlessly weaving in science lessons along the way.
While the series possesses all the elements of a great love story, it transcends those boundaries. Over the course of eight episodes, it delves into themes of grief, faith, and fulfillment against a socially turbulent backdrop. The stellar cast includes Lewis Pullman as Calvin Evans, a scientist Elizabeth encounters at work, and Aja Naomi King as Harriet Sloane, Calvin’s neighbor, who befriends Elizabeth. Both Pullman and King stand toe-to-toe with Larson, delivering incredible performances that contribute to the series' success.
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