9 Dollars

While folding 9 dollars into this bit of dissident art, I was asked by a friend for one dollar because he hadn't eaten anything yet and wanted to get something from the vending machine to hold him over till a later meal. I gave up the ninth dollar and thus couldn't finish the piece, I was now missing an "n." In a sense though, this moment is the more powerful metaphorical statement. Our lives bend to these bills; they are now the only path to food, shelter, to freedom. In this world, art and thought is a luxury not permitted to those without dollars to cover food. And I too was forced to make a choice, even with my excess, to create art, or to provide for someone. Of course not providing for someone is the inhumane choice, but there is something subtly unhuman about the consequence. The sacrifice can prevent the fullest realization of what it means to be human: to create. Scarcity of dollars. Now that we are irrevocably held by this structure, too many must choose between meeting the needs of the flesh and the needs of the soul. How can we be truly human when we deny the right to flex that which makes us distinct from creatures of no consciousness. What do we deny when we withhold creation and freedom, when we rob Peter to pay Paul, when we stifle expression to meet physical necessities? This question is posed in some way every day, to policy makers, to businesses, to people. What could be were we not bound to our baser needs.