All the Pretty Horses
I see them every time I go to the post office, here in Ventura. They’re pretty, all right, in a stylistic way. Sleek, and earth toned, long and very two-dimensional. They’re also pretty pissed off. Teeth bared, they appear to be about to nip each other. There are too many of them on the flat green field, the pasture, with the brown hills of southern California behind them. I’d be pissed off, too. It’s a little too close for comfort in that crowded pasture.
The horses were painted by muralist Gordon Grant for a 1930s Work Project Administration effort, itself a part of Roosevelt’s New Deal, and there are a number of other such murals in southern California post offices of that era. The WPA’s Federal Art Project hired hundreds of artists to create murals and other art in municipal buildings all over the U.S., a worthy expenditure of tax payer dollars if I’ve ever heard of one. The painters followed the lead of muralists Diego Rivera, Thomas Hart Benton and others, and their ranks included notable artists such as Jackson Pollock and Philip Guston. Fans of the FAP say that art helped pull America out of the Great Depression. Hard to argue with that.
Adjacent to the horses is another panel by Grant, depicting workers packing produce for shipping. Combined with the horses, it’s obvious that one theme of these mural is the bounty of California’s resources, of its agriculture. There is a ton of produce being placed in boxes, which roll on conveyer belts to waiting trucks. California feeds the nation. Only thing is, I can’t tell what the nation is eating. The produce is whitish, maybe even a little brownish, kind of round and kind of square. Yellow onions? Certainly not tomatoes, or the produce the verdant Ventura area and Oxnard Plain are known for: citrus, avocados, strawberries. In fact, the produce look a lot like Parker House rolls, or Kings Hawaiian rolls. Maybe the produce is meant to be ambiguous, almost as if it doesn’t matter what it is.
But, like the horses, the workers aren’t particularly happy. Every one of them has his or her head bent down in focus – if not dejection - as produce is packed and shipped. All their faces look are exactly the same, whether male or female, like Small World dolls, only these countenances are grim and bent to their task. No joy at all. Accepting of their fate, as produce pickers and packers, as migrant workers, perhaps. All the men are dressed exactly like each other, as are the women. Are they automatons? Cogs in a wheel?
All this made me wonder what the artist was saying about this type of work, the nature of work itself, the nature of California, even. Is this about the drudgery of this type of work? The plight of migrant workers? This was painted decades before Caesar Chavez bought the plight of migrant workers to the nation’s attention, and the workers certainly don’t look poor or ramshackle, the conditions don’t seem deplorable. The work came on the heels of the Great Depression, when work was not a given at all, when many were lucky to have jobs. Is this about the myth of California, the myth that beckoned Okies and others, the Tom Joads, to leave the Dust Bowl and other grim places and head West for the land of green pastures and abundant fields? Only to find out that life was drudgery here, too, only a little warmer and milder?
Was this about the mixed legacy, the checkered history of California’s mission system? Grant was an authority on Southwestern Native Americans, who were the subject of some of his other art. In fact, his brother was Campbell Grant, who also focused his work on Southwestern Native Americans. I was familiar with his work. Campbell Grant had published a book, Canyon de Chelly: Its People and Rock Art, which was an important reference source for me when I was a Ranger at Canyon de Chelly National Monument in northeastern Arizona.
Which brings us back to the nature of work. I was lucky, I think. Thirty years with the National Park Service. As a wildlife biologist, I worked on an endangered species. Then six years teaching science to middle school students. All my career spent doing fun, challenging, rewarding work (although it left me with relatively little in the bank!). And I wonder, do most people enjoy their work? Certainly most folks I know do, but that may be a socioeconomic artifact, may be even a product of white privilege, to a certain extent. I, and many others, enjoyed and took advantage of the opportunities provided by the life I was born into. Others have not had those opportunities. Do those others enjoy work all the same?
When I buy stamps or mail a package at the Ventura post office, I often do so from Bill, whose counter sits under the mural of not-so-happy produce workers. Bill, a Federal worker like myself, has been with the postal service for over 50 years, a Federal career that far eclipses mine. He could have retired years ago, but hasn’t, and I figure he must enjoy his job. I myself cannot imagine 50-plus years of selling stamps. But Bill is there every day, and, as you might imagine, knows many of the folks who come to his window. He may appear outwardly gruff, maybe due to his thick gray moustache which masks his facial expressions, but he is not gruff or brusque. Steady and taciturn, maybe. But he engages fully with everyone, and I appreciate that. I hope that he is happy and fulfilled in his work.
I reflect a lot these days. One conclusion I have come to, and this is not insignificant, is that I became exactly what I wanted to become, career-wise. I could not have done anything other than what I did, and been as fulfilled. Not national park superintendent. Not environmental lawyer, college professor, archeologist. Not even professional baseball player. It wouldn’t have been the same. And so I am grateful for that, and at least I have that in my back pocket. I hope Bill feels the same, though, of course, there are other aspects of life, such as family, that are even more important sources of fulfillment.
Those horses, though? Maybe horses don’t think of themselves as having careers. Or even families. So, I just wish them green grass (and high tides) forever. Leave the work/career angst for the rest of us.
