The Dress becomes the Perfect Awareness Campaign

The Salvation Army Ad“Why is it so hard to see black and blue?” That was the slogan used by The Salvation Army in South Africa to bring awareness to abuse against women. It was released on the heels of “The Dress” that created worldwide arguments on the Internet. Some people saw the dress as white and gold, while others saw it as blue and black.

When I first learned about the dress I pulled it up on my cellphone and saw that it was indeed white with gold fringe. It was obvious. So obvious that I couldn’t understand why there were online arguments. When I got home that night I pulled up the photo on my iPad to see if I could better understand the argument. It was then that I was amazed. The dress I was looking at was obviously blue with black fringe.

I took time to research the phenomenon and was perplexed at how the image of the dress could appear more than one way. I went to take another look a couple days later and found a very impressive PSA by The Salvation Army. The picture had a woman in a white dress with gold fringe and the copy read, “Why is it so hard to see black and blue?”

The model was given black and blue bruises to help the symbolism of people not seeing those around them that are battered. The hint was subtle, yet powerful. It reminded me of a short film about people sitting in a church while boxcars filled with Jews were transported through their neighborhood to a concentration camp. No one acknowledged the sound of the train passing.

Anytime people look away from the ugly to continue living their comfortable life, many are abused. What is that phrase…”The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

The media plays a very important role in bringing awareness to society. Unfortunately the media chooses what to share and what not to share. We are no longer living in a day and age when all things are presented equally for us to make our own educated decision. Instead the media only use propaganda to sway our lifestyle to that of their choosing.

But today, I’ve decided to remind my readers that every year in America more women are beaten on Super Bowl Sunday than at any other time of the year. And, that the number one form of violence in America is domestic violence. That’s right. It’s not guns or gangs, but violence in the homes of our communities.

I recently watched a movie that suggested rifles be outlawed because 285 people were killed last year by a rifle. The numbers didn’t shake me since 1,490 died from domestic knife wounds and about 33,000 died in car accidents.

The Salvation Army did a great thing in bringing awareness by capitalizing on the free publicity that The Dress generated. Some estimated that the organization received the equivalent of $10MM in free advertising in South America and millions more worldwide by acting quickly.

Copyright © 2015 by CJ Powers

The Heart of an Artist

Artist DefinedThe Artist is a powerful creature who makes a difference in our lives. He creates for us beauty from ashes, the oil of joy for mourning and the garments of praise for the spirit of heaviness. He makes us laugh in spite of our dire circumstances and brings a tear to our eye when we need to be reminded of our humanity. The artist is a healer of our soul and one who inspires us to be our better selves.

I’m giving an inspirational talk tomorrow night to a group of business people on the topic of artistry. It’s my hope that those in the room who have mastered their craft or developed great business acumen will consider how they might bring heart into their workplace.

Revealing heart through one’s art is a risky venture, especially for those who have been abused in life. However, I can also tell you that being accepted for who you really are is far more valuable than being accepted for who you might pretend to be.

The opposite also rings true. To be rejected for who you pretend to be generates an unprecedented level of bitterness, while rejection based on who you actually are tears the heart, unless you’re confident in who you are – then it doesn’t matter.

The amount of power we find within ourselves when we fulfill who we were made to be is tremendous. It makes me wonder if those who fear the strong are the ones who program society with the hope of achieving some form of a safe haven, without any divergence. The fearful are rarely strong enough to be themselves and hide behind a cloak of societal pressures and political correctness.

It’s therefore the artist’s job to bring awareness to the masses in hopes that enlightenment might grip the heart, mind and soul of the downtrodden. To that end, all artists who choose motion pictures as their venue of choice must find new ways of expressing themselves to bring insight and hope to those around them.

Artistry isn’t black and white, but millions of colors. It takes on different forms and may even be misconstrued at times. I remember one person shared her feelings after reading one of my short stories. She was so spiritually touched that she suggested I become a pastor. A man told me after seeing one of my patriotic works that he’d vote for me if I ran for office. A teenager who felt empowered by one story suggested I become an advocate for women.

The great thing about art is that it opens minds to consider things of the heart. These people weren’t impressed by my stories and films, but by what already resided within their own heart. My art just helped them to see the one thing they held deep within themselves. It only took a spark to fan into flame their dormant passion.

The day will soon come when the people who watch or read my art will no longer suggest I become that thing stirring within their hearts, but instead will embrace their own passion to make the world a remarkable place. For its art that brings each of us to the place we need to be in order to make life-changing decisions that will touch our communities.

Copyright © 2015 by CJ Powers

The Wonders of Fresh Fallen Snow

The Wonders of Fresh Fallen SnowI woke up this morning feeling like an eight-year-old boy. It was a simple feeling generated by the fresh snowflakes falling past my window. I stepped outside onto the crunchy packable snow with a childish grin on my face.

There was a peculiar stillness in the air that caused me to look around and notice the dark contrasting trees. Splat! Smashed my snowball against the dark wet tree. Splat! Another snowball hit, and another. Soon an image emerged of a rabbit with six-foot ears and its paws outstretched, as if it was trying to cross the finish line before the tortoise.

After laughing at my artwork, I flipped over backwards into the snow. My weight drew me closer to the ground, as I heard the snow crunch beneath my large frame like a musical score from my boyhood. I lifted my arms above my head and spread my legs apart, and then I returned to the position of a toy soldier. Back and forth I did it again, forming the perfect snow angel.

I felt large fluffy snowflakes fall on my face and stuck out my tongue for a taste. The sound of little footsteps approached through the crunching snow and stopped by my shoulder. I turned to see a little four-year-old girl standing in a pink snowsuit with fur surrounding her face. She looked down at me with a quizzical look suggesting it was time to play.

I rolled over and got onto my knees to look into her eyes. Reaching down, I swooped up a scoop of white flakes and packed it into a snowball. I handed it to the little girl and watched a big smile form on her face. She tossed it a few feet and it rolled into a slightly larger ball that gave me an idea for a bit of fun.

Little colorful mittens pressed up against the snowball to help me roll it into a larger ball. We watched the snow roll off of the grass and form another ball larger than the first, leaving a carpet of brown grass in its wake. The little mittens pressed next to my gloves, as we rolled the biggest ball of all.

I strained to lift the midsized ball onto the big one and watched the little girl try to lift the snowman’s head. With a little bit of help she was successful and we quickly placed it on the snowman’s body.

The sound of a sliding glass door was heard and we both watched in amazement, as the girl’s mother walked out in her blue fuzzy bathrobe with a carrot in one hand and a box of raisins in the other.

With approving eyes looking at me, I took the carrot and fashioned it into the snowman’s nose. Then I watched the happy woman place clumps of raisins in each of her daughter’s mittens. After a quick squeeze, her mother took the small packed clumps of raisins and placed them in the snowman’s belly forming a line of buttons for his vest.

The little girl reached high to place the remaining individual raisins into the snowman’s newly formed smile, while I grabbed a couple fallen branches and stuck them into his torso for arms.

Standing back and looking at our snowman, the little girl’s mother took the belt from her robe and wrapped it around the snowman’s neck like a scarf. I added a final touch by placing my hat on his head and we all admired our handiwork.

As we stood in silence in the freshly fallen snow, the little girl reached out her hand and gave mine a loving squeeze. After a warm smile from her mother, I watched the two disappear back into their townhome, which reminded me that it was time for breakfast.

Taking time to be a child on a snowy morning did wonders for my heart, so I took a moment to make some hot chocolate, sat by the fireplace and typed out my morning blog to share the wonders of fresh fallen snow.

Copyright © 2015 by CJ Powers