Lyn, Michelle, Persimmon

Dogmatism is a problem artists have to solve in making political artwork. Sentimentality is a problem in art about children. Boredom is a problem in minimalist art. Ok?

MYTH: WOMEN EARN MONEY AND GET JOB SKILLS IN PRISON

Michelle: People on the outside believe that we are making money doing things like making license plates. In 1979, I made $2.35 a day mopping floors and out of that money, I had to buy cigarettes, stationery, shampoo and stamps. Good Luck!

As for job skills, if I could find a job mopping a floor for $6.00 an hour that I didn't have to be bondable for, I would be working right now.

MYTH: ART IS A UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE

Persimmon: Only 2% of our population goes to art galleries. So much for universal. For most people, what the art world calls "fine art" is intimidating, annoying, or worse, boring. The art world is not a world. It's a room, with no windows. It's a small-town bridge tournament.

I want more than 2% and well-heeled smiles. And I get it, too. Not because I'm the great hot-shot artist, but because the art world isn't my only (or primary) community.

June Jordan, writing about contemporary black poets, says, "I would suggest that for us the implacable operating premise of our poetry is political, is reciprocal, is a bond we embrace as morally binding: we are the poets of our people or we are nothing."

For white lesbian artists (like myself) the premise is not so implacable. If we are discreet, Canadian society will tolerate us. If we are discreet, we cannot be the poets of our people. We have that choice.

Ah, but indiscretion has its rewards. Break the 2% barrier! Win fans through indiscretion! As Jordan says, the bonds of community are reciprocal. People will support art that in some sense "belongs" to them, that reflects their experience rather than shuts them out.

MYTH: PRISON IS A DETERRENT

Lyn: I was caught mostly for property damage during my early twenties. I'd get drunk, upset, and break warehouse windows. Time after time, I'd get caught, jailed, etc., and when I got out, I'd be right back at it. No deterrent.

I broke the window of someone's place once, thinking that it was an abandoned building.