Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose,
Nothin’ don’t mean nothin’, if it ain’t free.
If feelin’ good was easy lord, when he sang the blues,
You know feelin’ good was good enough for me,
Good enough for me and Bobby McGee.
(Kris Kristofferson, 1969).
It’s been eighteen months now since last I went to work. The transition went quite smoothly really, going from working afternoon shift, ten hour work days plus an hour or so of commute down to a whole lot of open ended spare time.
Freedom!
I did not know that freedom was actually quite daunting. Losing the ‘corporate-ness’, the thinking in terms of the allocated work, the uniform, relationships more focussed on the workplace than really getting to know people, the guide-rails of judgement to know when things were not quite right. To suddenly lose that sense of belonging, even if there were constraints in place. To lose another form of self definition, that of worker, earner, tax payer, employee, work mate and so forth.
How quickly the time has filled with activities and a connection with community, engaging in community-based activities and the freedom to hook up the caravan and travel, unpressured by time, a closely planned couple of days can stretch into a week or two. The occasional commitment to a family activity, birthdays, weddings, that sort of stuff, and of course the commitment to the various group activities taken on.
Last week we cancelled everything, my partner and I went south the the Margaret River region to visit a number of artist studios during their Open Studios event, to marvel at the creativity of the various artists, the different ways in which these superbly talented people express their ideas through various mediums, canvas, photography, etchings, sculptures, a seemingly endless way of producing amazing works of art. The freedom of expression in art is beautiful.
To see old bits of ‘junk’ repurposed into something beautiful. The creative freedom to imagine and re-imagine things, old bits of rusted machinery or discarded traffic signs made into sculptures, a cheeky looking kookaburra made of recycled copper pipe, stuck on a recycled jarrah fence post.
Or the Flying Monkey, the narcissist toying with the mind of its victim, made from up-cycled gas cylinders and landscape supplies. Therapy for the sculptor perhaps but a fun item to have hanging around in the garden.
But most importantly to have the opportunity to talk with the various artists, engage in conversations about their work, their motivations, their lives. The word ‘freedom’ came up in a number of conversations, freedom in various contexts.
There were a number of artists who really stood out and opened up in conversation about their journey and the freedom, the liberation they found in their crafts. A landscape photographer who collaborates with local artists who reimagine his photographs, one of a boab tree in the Kimberly became the model for a sculpted tree made of recycled steel and corrugated iron, and another artist depicted it on a canvas. The freedom to let creativity flow, to share the experiences which allow others to grow.
Freedom of association was an interesting topic with one artist. His work crosses cultural borders, mixing all sort of images and icons to produce thought provoking work. This one is ‘Superman meets the Archangel Gabriel at the Widgi Sheepdog Trials’. Ah the fun mixing of cultures and times, sheepdog trials, superman and the Archangel? But they work together wonderfully.
My thoughts went to Salman Rushdie who also plays with the interactions of different cultures… and it nearly cost him his life. This artist has not been subjected to a fatwa.
Discussions included the freedom one artist has given to his children as they grew up. They are now adults, but the house was filled with fun activities, photography, art and music, sport, games, adventures. The freedom had some guide rails, but encouraged the children to follow their dreams within the constraints of both family life and engagement with community. But the deepest conversation was with a man who’s wife suffers dementia.
Life brings its challenges but to live with dementia, to see a loved one lose connection is painful both for the patient and their carer. And it brings questions on the freedom to end one’s life.
One of the recent changes we have seen is for Voluntary Assisted Dying to be an option for a sufferer, but the limits to it include that the person must be of ‘sound mind’ and able to willingly take the medication that will end their life. A person with dementia does not satisfy that criteria. They are not ‘of sound mind’ and may not be able to self administer the medication as required by the legislation. Would a ‘living will’ satisfy that criteria, if I were to write a will that states that if I was so far gone with dementia that I recognise no-one, remember nothing and life has become meaningless, that some qualified medical person who would under the current legislation supervise the action, can administer the medication to end my life? Is that a freedom too far?
I guess we really need to look at what freedom really means in the most critical of times, more than just the freedom of expression, the freedom to live life as we choose. One person in the discussion mentioned that someone she knew suggested they should form a committee to demand freedoms, propose it to politicians that freedoms should be legislated, but that appears a littler counterintuitive to me. By demanding freedoms, surely that is freedoms as defined by the committee or the parliament of the day. In fact, such a move could restrict freedoms much the same as ‘morality police’ have done through the ages.
So if the definition of freedom is as broad as the dictionaries suggest, that it is the power to act, speak or think as one wants, should there be some sort of guide rails there? In the case of a dementia sufferer and the freedom to ask for life to end before the dementia established itself to make life seemingly meaningless, is that an unreasonable freedom? And who should decide?
Or is freedom broad enough to allow me to vilify someone who disagrees with me? Does freedom of speech allow an accusation of supporting terrorism because someone sees the inhumanity of war and promotes a humanitarian response to the suffering war brings about?
Or does freedom give license to name call people who you don’t like, whether disparaging racist terms or attacking their sexuality whether out and about in a social setting or on the football field.
Perhaps freedom is singing Me and Bobby McGee as we wander around. But there may be some who would ask us to stop because they don’t like the song.
How free should freedom be?
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