Art is life saving for neighborhood collage maker

Andrew Moore may not be related to Michael Moore, but they share not a few concerns. Both are angered by the war; both are appalled at Bush’s policies; both seek ways to change the plight of young black men in our society. Andrew Moore’s collage of social ills and societal suffering graces a large portion of his front yard at 33rd and Bloomington. In his low-tech, no-budget installation crafted from found materials it is clear he’s opposed to war and to racism. When I commented that his work had a lot in common with the other Moore, he bantered that his came first. ("Fahrenheit 9/11" came out at the end of June and Moore’s sculpture/collage was up by May Day.)

For seven years, Andrew Moore has been making a collage (sculpture/installation—it’s hard to name it accurately) per year and has enjoyed the support of friends and strangers. As I stood talking with him and taking pictures, people drove by honking and waving. He said he has had even more positive feedback since City Pages wrote an in-depth story about him in June of this year. The tall, lanky Moore, whom you couldn’t guess was approaching 50, says, "There’s enough American people thinking what I’m thinking. They just haven’t put it together like me."

At the time of our interview it seemed that a current of opposition was forming to threaten his right to free speech. Someone had filed a complaint about him and he was sure he had a citation to remove the collage. (He was baffled, he said, because there were times when his back yard had been completely full of junk—getting ready to arrange a new collage—and nobody had complained at all.) However, when I called the Department of Inspections a few days later, they said a complaint had been filed (July 22, the day before I talked with Moore), an inspector had been sent out, and the inspector had found no violation. I agree with the inspector, the collage should definitely stand. It is, indeed, as Moore states, "freedom of expression." "If people can’t express how they feel, what good is the Constitution?"

In defense of his front yard exhibit, he stated, "This didn’t cost anybody anything; it’s not hurting anyone; it’s peaceful and within the boundaries of the Constitution."

Photographs, cages, tubes, a muffler and dolls are some of the found objects arranged around numerous signs that encapsulate Moore’s point of view. He says his art is about telling the truth. "The reason America is so violent is because people are always lied to."

Moore’s contempt for Bush and his administration goes deep. "No one wants to shine an ugly light on Bush before the election. [But] he shines his own ugly light on himself. Bush is about setting more poverty levels. Bush doesn’t care about people," and for that reason it seemed fitting to put his picture on the back of an old toilet. "If people in the White House came from poverty, there would be better laws," says Moore.

In another part of the collage, Rumsfeld, Bush and Cheney are pictured in a row, echoing the uncaring Bush, with the words, "They’re selling war" above and "We’re not buying" underneath.

The parallel between gang violence and war is a theme Moore presented last year and again this year, underscoring the fact that the results of gang violence are not much different than those of war. Violence never affects just the individuals involved, but the families of perpetrators and victims alike.

A few years ago Moore thought of himself as a radical rather than an artist. Now he has become comfortable with the word artist as applied to himself. He knows that emotion is a strong component of the forms and that the art is working when he gets a strong feeling from it.

He considers the process of creating his projects to be very therapeutic. It’s a therapy that can save him. "I’m not afraid to say what’s on my mind. I’ve got no gray hair and no ulcers. It’s easy to deal with issues when you express yourself. There is a way to vent your anger other than violence. This art is my outlet, my therapy. I stay angry, but I stay smart."

Moore is thankful for his ability to be nonviolent as a result of his art work. He says, "I put my feelings in here. It keeps me from being violent." He doesn’t hide the fact that it is easy for him to react to problems with violence. For a period of time he was removed from Loaves and Fishes, a cooked meal program at St. Stephen’s, where he works as a "bouncer," because his approach was too rough. Now he tries to be more gentle.

Moore’s gradual movement into an artist identity seems consistent with his ability to soften his bouncer approach. He’s willing to take new evidence or new experience and grow into new conclusions. Just recently he was pulled over by the police, and the officer treated Moore decently. So now Moore says he can’t think of them all as "pigs" and "cops." He knows there is at least one "peace officer" out there.

Moore’s life path demonstrates a personality that is not stuck in one place. He started as an angry young man who got shot, stabbed and mangled in car accidents and then spent 10 years in prison. Now he has become a wiser, older man who has daily contact with kids in gangs, trying to help them get out from under all the forces and the programmings that push them into the gang corner and often kill them. He says the system, that is, our inhumane society, programs them to become gangbangers. They can’t become deprogrammed by going to psychiatrists because those people are part of the same repressive system. People have to deprogram themselves. Moore says he’s been able to deprogram himself with the help of God. “God brought me this far —it had nothing to do with humanity.” He tells the young men they have options, but he doesn’t tell them what to do. He points them in the direction of black voices: Moore commends rap star 50-cent as an example of a black man who can express himself and “doesn’t have to rely on the system like we do because he’s a millionaire.”

Ultimately, though, the young men have to find their own way, just as Moore has.