Vacation Caroline Crew (bio) Vacation, all I ever wanted. Vacation, had to get away. Vacation, meant to be spent alone. The Go-Go's, "Vacation" (1) This refrain leaks over and over the candy-coloured synchronized watering skiing dream puff of the Go-Go's 1982 video for their single "Vacation." Tiaras and pearls and tutus and giggling. The splashing is palpable. A 1950s teenage dream of kitsch that Katy Perry is still singing. From the opening shot, Belinda Carlisle guides the pile of white women, sullen in their magazine flipping, to the promised land: vacation. Not saved by a white knight but instead given the freedom of their own tomorrow: Tomorrow's a day of mine that you won't be in. Perhaps you were not alive in 1982. Perhaps you wrote off the Go-Go's as a girl band, "ugly punklings turned America's sweetheart" in one contemporaneous reviewer's eyes. Perhaps you have lived a life that never brought you near Belinda Carlisle's voice. But perhaps you'd still recognize the song: it plays in the background of Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 as George W. Bush golfs prior to the 9/11 attacks. It soundtracks car commercials, it is montage music for countless sitcoms, it is covered in Glee: whenever you need the carefree sense of summer's good clean fun, there it is. Vacation, all I ever wanted. Vacation, had to get away. Vacation, meant to be spent alone. [End Page 180] (2) The personal is political. To vacate: freedom from obligations, leisure, release. The personal is political, unless, for a time, we have the leisure of vacating from our person. I do. I can vacate whenever I want. (3) We are in Minneapolis, at the Walker Art Center. A welcome, if brief, vacation. I sit in front of Joan Mitchell's Hemlock (1954) for fifteen minutes. I get up, leave the white room and mistake myself. I come back. This occurs three times. Later, outside, the steel skies draw me back to Joan Mitchell's exploding deep green and white. Hemlock (1954) is clearly not one of Mitchell's more famous canvases—and later proves impossible to find in facsimile, all Googling showing the painting to be overtaken by Hemlock (1956). But this earlier Hemlock is, for a few minutes, mine. I know that another person's recollection of a painting is almost as boring as listening to a friend recall a dream from last night, but hear me out. I can't tell you to Google it. Centered in a vast white block, what looks like a black hood unbillowing reveals after repeated looking to be greens emerging with darkness from the canvas. Some blue emerges, a breath of grey. The ochre emerges most slowly. As the colour moves like smoke up out of the canvas, I exhale deeply. I forget the academic struggles awaiting my return. I forget the twenty-four people killed in a bus accident in Bangladesh, the three people shot and murdered in a Milan courtroom. I exhale so deeply my shoulders drop. I forget. (4) What I forget is what I have vacated. In graduate school, my closest friend, Rana, is the only black woman in a program of sixty-six people. Our supposedly liberal faculty of fiction writers and poets repeatedly ignored her experiences of racism, labeling her an angry black woman that "hated white people" and "hated men." Perversely, a white female professor tells us the voice of Rodney King is speaking through her and that complaints must be deescalated. Read: quiet down. When hundreds of students (predominantly white) signed a letter of [End Page 181] solidarity with Rana, note was taken. The terms libel and slander were sent by the head of the department to explain Rana's description of her experiences. Those people who offered solidarity with Rana, who shared her story and their eye-witness accounts of these events, were told their actions, the act of speaking out, was "cyberbullying" against the white man as well as the tenured faculty whose behavior was in question. Repeated legal threats were made, and all for questioning the behavior of an institution that...
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