Cassandra Lewis

Have you heard about the two little old ladies who have been arrested for running over homeless people and then cashing in on the insurance, which they’d set up for their victims? Just when the world seems like it can’t get any crueler you read something like this in the L.A. Times.

I guess this what happens when a country elects an administration that takes away medical coverage (the term “benefits” seems like it’s an extra perk when we’re really talking about basic oh-my-god-stop-the-bleeding medical coverage here) and social security–now the crime demographic has widened.

Remember when starving artists had to sell their souls just for a smattering of cobalt blue?

Those days are over for Damien Hirst. He’s the guy who brought animal carcasses to modern art museums all over the world. Hirst’s current project will cost millions of dollars. He’s dipped a human skull in platinum and is in the process of covering the entire thing with diamonds. Check out the story in today’s Guardian.

The great thing about experimental art is that I’m supposed to interpret this piece however I want. In fact, it’s the viewer’s interpretation that makes the piece complete, in theory. I’m taking it as a statement against Blood Diamonds–or Conflict Diamonds as the United Nations refers to the slaughtering of innocent human lives just so people in “civilized” countries can wear an ostentatious pebble to represent their “eternal love.”

Damien Hirst doesn’t mention any of this in his interview, of course. But here’s a Hirst quote from the Guardian: “I just want to celebrate life by saying to hell with death. What better way of saying that than by taking the ultimate symbol of death and covering it in the ultimate symbol of luxury, desire and decadence? The only part of the original skull that will remain will be the teeth. You need that grotesque element for it to work as a piece of art. God is in the details and all that.”

The article also talks about the security hell that comes with this expensive piece. We’re living in a time where art has become a hot commodity on the black market. Stolen art is traded around at the same rate as drugs and weapons. If you don’t believe me, check out this awesome book called The Rescue Artist about the man who recovered “The Scream,” written by Edward Dolnick. I stumbled upon it while doing research for my satirical novel about art theft.

While Damien Hirst finishes attaching his pretty stones, art thieves all over the world are plotting how to break through the army of security and claim the diamond skull as their own. I just hope whoever ends up with it doesn’t keep it hidden in a dark basement, but displays it in a well-lighted spot where the viewer can uphold her or his responsibility of interpretation.

Drew discovered this shot-out window while we were walking home last night. You can see where the bullet charred the curtain after it smashed the through the glass.

During the day the view of this window is blocked by a couple of junkies who squat near the doorway with their backpacks and petty arguments. It’s like this doorway is their office space. They show up shortly after rush hour and they leave as soon as the sun goes down. I’m not sure where they go, but during the day the corner is theirs.

After we snapped our pictures, I remembered hearing one single gunshot a few nights before. It stuck in my mind because it was a lone shot and usually we hear the crackling of several in a row. It was after midnight. Drew was drifting off to sleep and I was thinking about one of my fruitless writing projects while I followed the paint creases along the ceiling with my eyes, as if the lines would actually lead somewhere, when I heard the sound.

I asked Drew if he heard the shot, he mumbled, “Is that what it was?” Then he rolled over on his side and went back to sleep.

“It sounded like it was on 24th Street,” I said.

I was off by a few feet. As we left the shattered window, I boasted to Drew about how good I’ve become at gauging the location of gunshots from the sound.

He agreed and said, “We’re like a couple of bats.”

He’s right. In a way we’re all like bats–blindly foraging for something in our limited worlds. The sounds, like the lone shot, are only relevant if they lead somewhere useful, if they gain us loot or warn us of danger.

I wrote a brief article about the lack of crime news coverage for The San Francisco Chronicle, which, of course, wasn’t published:

Does San Francisco care more about pets than human life? Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against the little four-legged fur balls that perform fetching tricks and even accessorize designer handbags. But when a fatal shooting of a 21-year-old man occurred two blocks from my front door in the Mission District on March 24th, I expected the news to cover the murder and the larger crime problem. I wanted to learn why violence exists and how it can be stopped, not about the bladder bugaboos of Dinky the dog.

During my frantic internet search to find out if there were any survivors, I discovered two local television websites actually have a news category heading for “Pets,” yet none for “Crime.” Crime stories were under “Local News,” but none were recent or relevant. The San Francisco Chronicle, the only media source that mentioned it (though it can no longer be found online) posted a brief story about the shooting almost two days after the tragedy.

The San Francisco Police Department, who arrived at the scene within minutes, is often the best source of information. Each day, crime reports are added to a detailed map of the city. During my three years living in the Mission, I can attest the police department is certainly on top of things and doesn’t neglect the prevalent violence assailing our great city the way the media seems to. And this is coming from an activist. In the past there have been barricades separating the police and I.

While violent crime in San Francisco declined during much of the 1990s, the homicide rate was at its highest last year, according to an article printed last February in The New York Times. This rise in homicide should call for more crime coverage.

The Chronicle reports on crime the most when it overlaps with politics, an all too common phenomenon. But each and every murder—in every neighborhood—should get some attention too. At the very least this would put the political controversies in a context with which everyone can relate.

Most people are familiar with the Broken Window theory, coined by George L. Kelling and James Q. Wilson in an article they wrote together for The Atlantic Monthly in 1982. The theory suggests vandals are more likely to trash a place if vandalism or other destruction already exists. If the broken windows are repaired and the graffiti painted over then they’re less likely to damage the place. Like all theories, Broken Window isn’t without debate. However, it would be worthwhile for the city to apply the theory to violent crime.

If the media reports each death, and no life is without acknowledgement, then maybe the violence would decrease—or at least stabilize. News should show what’s going on in a city and it should focus on topics that interest the public. I don’t believe that the public is indifferent to violence, but right now that’s the impression the news reflects.

A story’s existence in print or on television validates that the experience really happened. To ignore the untimely and unjust deaths contributes to the greater problem of the violence. Moliere once wrote, “It is not only for what we do that we are held responsible, but also for what we do not do.”

Aside from doing their job: reporting the news, the media should put the Broken Window theory in action by taking the time to record each and every homicide. What do we have to lose besides a few less stories on pet grooming?

This picture is a little dark because it was taken under a shady cluster of palm trees while the sun glared from every direction (it’s also one of my first with a digital camera and clearly practice is a virtue).

But I like it because it portrays my two favorite things: a palm tree and Drewcipher.

My best memories from childhood involve palm trees (or goats–but that’s a story for another time). When I would fly out here with my dad during his business trips or for vacation, the overwhelming presence of palm trees brought about a sense of hope and a confirmation that anything is possible, which only a child can truly experience.

Palm trees still conjure that feeling of excitement for me though it’s slightly different now that I’m getting older (I’m taller and my eye level reaches a higher destination on the trunk) and less sober each day. Sometimes I can’t believe I’m really here, that I’ve actually made it to California-the land of organic produce and men with excellent sideburns.

I want to thank Drew for his superior cheek whiskers and for making technology a little less terrifying, for all of his help and patience, for setting up this site and translating terms like “ping.” There’s so much to learn, but I never imagined I’d be one of those people who talks to computers (mostly just pleading or cursing) and I owe it all to Drew.