"Antarctica shouldn't be a continent"

Joseph the Street Artist

Context, context, context

Of all the questions that we ask people, I’m beginning to find the last one the most interesting. We ask our questions about America—what to you think being an American is all about? of all the Americans you’ve met, is there one thing they all have in common? and, what do you think the American dream is?—but to conclude the interview, we ask everyone to tell us a little something about themselves. This part is my favorite. Our first questions are interesting in a different way. Asking someone to talk about an abstract idea—American identity, for example—draws people out of their skin in ways I simply find fascinating.

Asking questions concerning common ideas seems to do more than provide a space for personality exhibitions—though these are inevitable—it provides an opportunity for a person to talk about ideas that have impressed them, become impressed in them, about concepts that involve more than one person, more than just themselves. “American” is a term applied to more than one person.

But several people have answered: “Being an American is about being out for yourself;” a yogi we met on Bourbon Street believed the American dream was “ultimately just an excuse to live how you want to live at the expense of others.” We met a couple in Austin who thought that even though Americans are supposed to be free, they are still restricted in many ways. But the woman added that as a woman, she did appreciate the freedoms she was allowed in this country, comparing it to other countries in which women were forbidden many things women enjoy in this country—driving for example.

Stitching all of these positions together to form a complex definition of American identity would be a murky affair—and it is not what we purport to do. We are seeking, rather, to put together an exhibition, a show, a display of America in a variety of poses—through several lenses, ours, theirs, yours. Definitions are for people who believe in them. What has been put into the camera may become something very different when it projects onto the screen, when the images are woven together and seen in each other’s contexts.

It is important not to forget about context. When we approach these random people, and ask them questions that they are not necessarily prepared to answer, we receive answers that usually flow pretty quickly; they seem to come off of the tops of people’s heads. It is a lovely thing, to see the ways people describe the country they live in, or are visiting—the country they are in—whether or not they even identify with labels like American in the first place…

(Alex)

Preconceptions about ‘gringos’

I left my preconceptions about 'gringos' at my door in Bolivia. There, many people say: "Gringos? Oh yes, they are fat and always busy, rushing around and buying things all the time..." Familiar to you?

Having lived in the US for over five years now, I may now safely dismantle that stereotype—or at least recognize that stereotypes about a culture never really define the whole. ‘Wholes’ resist definition. What can you say about life as a whole, or Americans as a whole, or whatever, as a whole?

I like what Whitman says in “To a Historian”:

“You who celebrate bygones,

Who have explored the outward, the surfaces of the races, the life

that has exhibited itself,

Who have treated of man as the creature of politics, aggregates,

rulers and priests,

I, habitan of the Alleghanies, treating of him as he is in himself

in his own rights,

Pressing the pulse of the life that has seldom exhibited itself,

(the great pride of man in himself,)

Chanter of Personality, outlining what is yet to be,

I project the history of the future.”

Democracy seems to thrive on this fancy of Whitman’s. In a democracy, the people are supposed to be able to decide what the future has in store. We democrats are supposed to be able to decide what the good is, rather than simply obeying and defending traditional values. We democrats are supposed to be able to mold our own futures—and not only our own, but the future of our children. But to what extent do we draw from things past in order to find out how to create the future? We might be born blank slates, but very quickly, we begin to learn—about history. About where our mothers and fathers have been, so that we may decide where to go from there.

Some of the folks we interview respond to our questions by defending traditions—“What does it mean to be an American?” we ask, and they say, “It means having pride in your country, respecting your president no matter what…”

Then we get the creative responses—take Ashley the Bourbon Street Queen: “I am an American because I am who I want to be.” S/he is transgender, transsexual, and gay. S/he has decided to create for herself an identity of her own making. Being an American, for her, is not about respecting your country’s ideals (whatever they may be), but about creating a personality for herself that is uniquely her own.

So what can one say about a collective American identity? Can one say anything at all? Are we going to take these interviews and claim “Americans are like this… or this…" based on the sample of the population we chance to encounter? Are we finding connections between these people—these citizens, these members of a country? Or are we simply getting to know a bit about distinct personalities? About people in themselves in their own rights?

(Alex)

It seems like... we just had to post this

The road (from the driver's perspective)

How do you measure a road trip? Not in miles traveled, but in experiences had. So how then do you measure the traveling itself? Too much of the trip is spent on the road in the car to be ignored. For this trip, I have assumed the role of driver. I do not have the luxury of contemplating hay bales or snapping a picture of every single water tower I see (though I do throroughly enjoy listening to Alex describe the scenery and love the excitement she experiences at discovering yet another water tower). My eyes are on the road and my fellow travelers to ensure that Alex and I arrive at our next destination. This is my best attempt to describe traveling America from behind the wheel...

 

In Lafayette, LA, Alex and I found that most people drove around in their cars and there was not really anyone walking on the streets to interview. At first I thought this was absurd. Walk much, Lousiana? Then I realized that it is the same where I live. People drive everywhere because the city is not really conducive to traveling by foot. This, and a random conversation we had with a yogi on Bourbon St., made me realize that our posessions very often seem to become an extension of ourselves. Though I am certainly not an automobile, and I wouldn't identify with one if you asked me, as I drive over the various streets of America, my little green SUV becomes an extension of myself. I connect with the roads, the veins of America's body. My fingers become its tires, tracing and caressing the road's every curve. I sway with every strong gust of wind that carries me on to the next destination. Its exciting to be traveling at such speed on, what I am convinced is the only thing that connects and unites the American people, the country's roads.

 

So then, how do you measure the car trip when you're driving? Sometimes minutes feel like hours and hours like mere moments so I can't say that I count the time it takes. I don't measure it in the miles that my poor little Kia is conquering on its Westward trek because to me measuring miles is meaningless. I have nothing to compare the immensity of a mile to and miles go by so quickly in the car. I would have to say that I measure the trip in bugs on my windshield. Each tiny squashed insect carcass is a welcoming splash from the next city. Some are little splotches from small cities who want to leave a mark on my life, but don't know how. These bugs squeak, “Thanks for passing by,” as they collide with the glass that has become my second lense. The biggest one so far was an oversized welcome from Texas, the state where everything is bigger! “Check out the quail farm,” it urges me before crashing against the windshield, “you can buy them live or frozen!” Each smudge is another battle scar on our green chariot that pushes further and further into new territory.

 

It would be interesting to see how many little insect bodies have found their way onto my windshield by the end of this trip, but at each gas station, I have to clean them off and make room for the next state's bugs to crash into me.

 

(Sarah)

Oh Your God,

Magnolias

Ashley the Bourbon Street Queen

The Queen of Bourbon Street welcoming us to N'awlins

Destroying the Tourism Industry

We met Camerron on Beale Street in Memphis, Tennessee.  His project is brilliant!  If only it were as easy/safe for two chicks to ride share and couch surf across the country, we'd be all about it.  

Our Movement

I love the pace of this trip. 

No, we don’t have weeks to spend in every state. We’re spending no more than two days in each place. We begin to get to know each city, connect with strangers, then we pick up and we’re off to a new.  

I guess I’m beginning to understand the beauty of detachment. But Sarah and I are not roaming Buddhists. There’s that whole dispassion bit—that just doesn’t fly with us. It’s impossible not to feel, not to be lifted and absorbed by this movement, these vibes, these voices. 

Pieces of everyone we meet remain with me, impressed somewhere in my memory—some have even become my skin. Their words in reminiscences fly from my lips, we laugh. Some words linger longer than others. Some smiles seem warmer than others. Some responses more grave than others…  

And sure, the ultimate goal of the trip is supposed to be the making of a documentary on American identity. But it’s not only the people that speak. It’s not only people that define America. Landscapes speak volumes. Sarah listens to me talk about landscapes and laments that she cannot appreciate them like I do—she’s looking at the road. Sure she sees what’s around her, but she’s focused on not killing us, and I thank her for that. So I promise to write about them. I almost can’t help it.  

They’re singing—these planes, these hills, these roads, these trees, and even the cars.  It’s a symphony that no one in particular is conducting, and every note is unique.  

It’s as if I’m a radio transmitter, with a few extra capacities. Sounds go in, and become images.  Images go in, and become concepts, ideas. Then I mess with them; I think about them and write. Sometimes I have to talk about them before I can really think.  Sometimes I just sit.  

Then we get up again and move. I can’t get enough of this movement.      

(Alex)

On the Road to Ocala

On our drive to Ocala—the first stop on our trip—I began to obsess over cows and hay bales. The fields just multiplied; it was beautiful. 

The Florida flats molded into hills as Georgia approached, but for miles the roadsides sang the poetry of pastures green and bales of hay. 

There’s just something about hay bales… They’ve been around for ages, but when did they get so perfectly cylindrical? They at once remind me of archaic farming and the fruits of modern industry. They often sit on the fringes of a pasture, usually a forest behind. Almost invariably, in the middle of these private roadside pastures lies a single tree, with a wide circumference of shade, like some oasis for cattlemen’s daughters. 

They’re hilarious—these trees. What do they stand for? Does anyone ever go out there, sit under their bountiful shade? Whatever they’re ‘for,’ they say so many things. First of all, they don’t resemble any of the other trees you find in the forests unmanicured near the roadside. So they’re planted. The land is cleared, and a single tree is planted to grow up like an island. 

It’s a wonderful trend—those stretching branches reaching out into empty space, they give the roadsides character, regardless of what they signify.       

(Alex)

Road Food

Spaghetti and Swiss Pitas and Hummus and Carrot Taquitos

Ah, the cuisine of frugal travelers...

Cinco de Mustache

We had lunch at a Mexican/American restaurant on Cinco de Mayo in Tuscaloosa. Thought we might share a little belated Cinco de Mustache action...

Alex á la mariacha Dalieska, Sarah á la Hitler homosexuelle (nice, Sarah).

Who ever said research had to be boring?

Exploring a concept can be an interesting and amusing endeavor. You can go about it in a thousand ways.

You could play something like the arithmetician and deal purely in abstractions, removed conceptual realms—trying always, of course, to remain ‘objective’.

You could be creative—an artist—play the Deleuzian and explore movements, discourses, colors, sounds, intensities becoming concepts.

You could be an early Platonist, treat movements and intensities as if they manifested and referred back to old concepts, rigidifying them, proving them, attempting to convert your ‘findings’ into law.

You could be a skeptic, distrust everything.

Etc., etc…

Our method most resembles the second form aforementioned. The questions we’re asking, as Sarah said, are designed to be as open ended as possible. The interviewee may take the questions wherever s/he wants to go with them.

Sarah also mentioned a few ‘disclaimers’ in our introduction—that we acknowledge the limitations of our scope. Attempting to ‘capture the essence’ of anything can quickly become a matter of conceptual violence—dogmatism. Who, really, can claim to be objective in capturing essences? In defining them? Against what measure is one expression judged to be more accurate than another?

What happens if essence is nothing but a metaphor? Well, in this case, we weave a quilt of metaphors. We make something out of them. Stitch them into a film. Then they have an effect, become something else, presumably. Maybe you take a piece and run with it.

Maybe we create an image that moves, that is itself moved and moving. Film is a great medium for that, especially for traveling research (at least as far as we're concerned).

So far, we’re getting pieces of America, sound bytes, gestures, responses to our questions coming in myriad forms. The farther we go, the more people we talk to, the stranger this idea of 'Americanness' becomes—and it’s fascinating. The word is not becoming meaningless, despite that we no longer can hold onto any stable definitions, like children hanging onto our mothers’ skirts. The concept is forming itself, becoming deeper and richer.

You can see it in people’s eyes. You can see them thinking. Sure, you can see some of them regurgitating ideas that have been sanitized and popularized, made palatable and sweet. But you can also see people forming very intricate ideas, problematizing them, on the spot, with these eyes, these honest seeming eyes.

It's amazing how you can get people to talk. You can approach a random person on the street and ask them if they’d like to answer a few questions and most of them are more than willing to.

A frequent answer we've been receiving from Americans and foreigners alike is that Americans tend to be quite hospitable and friendly. Perhaps the fact that almost everyone we have asked to interview has allowed us to attests to that. Or perhaps we have just encountered so much 'Southern hospitality' down here in the Southeast that we are beginning to make assumptions about the whole of America—tisk, tisk.

We'll see what things look like further West.

-Alex

Cheesy Americans

By far one of our greatest interviews yet.    

An Introduction

Hello friends, family, fellow travelers and random cyber-nomads!

My name is Sarah Burt and this summer Alex Fisher and I will be making a travel documentary. We are taking a road trip across the United States and conducting a sort of cultural research project. The point of the project is to explore the American identity, or see if there is indeed any such thing as a collective American identity. We are hitting the streets of various cities and asking people three questions:

1) What does it mean to be an American?

2) Of all of the Americans you have met, what is one thing they all have in common?

3) What is the American dream?

There are two disclaimers that come along with this project -

The first being that the scope of our research is limited. Due to time and financial constraints, we only have seven weeks. Seven weeks is not enough time to visit every state, let alone enough cities to constitute a good sample of the American population. Even if we did have the ability to take a somewhat more accurate sample of the population, this would still not entirely be able to capture the essence of "Americanness" for all of time. It is always changing, being redefined, and constantly being expressed in new ways. Rather than suggesting that the results of our ‘research’ will somehow define the concept completely, our goal is to create a portrait of Americanness in this moment based on our findings from the interviews.

The second issue that arises is that of objectivity. Alex and I have created questions that can be answered by anyone we ask. The questions are not necessarily political or controversial in nature. Our goal is not to lead the interviewee in any way or steer them toward a preferred answer, but instead to provide an open question to which the person can answer in any way s/he chooses. That being said, in the very act of creating a film we are constructing an image. The portrait that we paint of American identity is ultimately going to be through the lense of Sarah and Alex. As we edit we will be choosing which footage to include and which to exclude. We will be choosing the order, pace and flow of the footage and in the end will create a picture of American identity that is ours. That being said, this image will hopefully be shaped by the many people we meet on this trip and not stifled by any current conceptions we have of America.

Our reason for making this documentary is just that, we don't know what this portrait of American identity should look like. If we asked ourselves the same questions we were asking participants in our project, we would have a very vague idea of what our answers might be. Both Alex and I have certain preconceived notions of America and its citizens. The goal of this trip is to form our own ideas about the country we live in by simultaneously exploring its landscape and conversing with its people.

This blog will serve as our space to reflect on our travels and work out our own ideas on American identity and even the act of attempting to “capture the essence” of America. Besides the written blog, we hope to also post “video diaries,” as I like to call them, which will be our personal reflections and also pieces of discussions that Alex and I have as we trek across the U.S. (We've only been on the road a week and have already encountered many issues with attempting to define the vague notion of a country). We will also post some rather raw footage as we collect it – whatever we deem most interesting from our day's journey. This will give you all a better idea of what we're doing and also give you a sneak peak at the types of interviews we will be including in the documentary. And of course, we will post pictures!

Whether you are interested in this idea of Americanness, or you just want to live vicariously through us on our trip, please follow us and leave comments!

Enjoy,

Sarah