RISD's Commencement Speech Class 2022 (5th draft)

PROVOS KLEINMAN: Julius Cavira grew up in Chicago, Illinois. He took free art classes at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago (SAIC), where he later earned his Bachelor’s of Fine Art. After two tours to Iraq, he was honorably discharged from the US Army. His work in the Sculpture MFA program—which recently earned him a prestigious St. Botolph Emerging Artist Award—translates his experiences with the military, religion, and identity into potent, poignant forms. 

JULIUS CAVIRA: Thank you for the kind introduction, PROVOS Kleinman.  How about that folks, the very pillars of this institution sitting among us right before our eyes. Thank you for being here with us today! Let’s be nice to them! They could've mailed our diplomas! Seriously, it’s amazing to be here together today, after two years without graduation ceremonies. But this made the pressure that much greater as I considered possible topics as your grad student speaker.

First, I thought I could talk about the twisted apocalyptic thriller of our world today: natural disasters, polar political strife, incorrigible conspiracists, technological advancements that bind us to blinking screens and stealthy digital voyeurism, capitalist subliminal messaging draining our bank account apps; war-torn lands, bloodstained pavements, the hungry, neglected foster kids, the lonely elderly, the forgotten disabled. and the rest of us with the company of death that we call a Pandemic.

 

But that’s no fun. Then, I considered talking about Unicorns. That's right! UNICORNS! You know, the white one-horned mythical horse. In such trying times, is it wrong to think that a unicorn could appear, bringing hope and good cheer? Like an oasis in the desert.

 

But that’s too fun. So, I landed with writing a letter to my 3rd-grade art teacher, Mr. Yanna. It’s the early 90s, north side of Chicago.  I was a little hellion who climbed rooftops and signed my name across brick walls while looking upon sunrises and sunsets that blanketed our monolithic metropolis. One afternoon, Mr. Yanna found me outside the school, literally on the ground, broken after a little mischievous mishap. That was the beginning.

 

Dear Mr. Yanna,

My name is Julius Cavira, I can't imagine you would remember me, but you were my very first art teacher! From the bottom of my heart, thank you. You were the first to see an artist inside a frail, short child with glasses and a learning disability. To you, I wasn’t just another troubled kid from a single-parent household. I was an artist.

Under your wing, I felt I could do no wrong and had nothing to lose. Art was my only frontier. Through it, I wrestled with the nuances of identity complexes, culture clashes, and ethnic stigmas. Visual narratives invigorated my curiosity. The masterpieces you showed us were a welcome escape from the monotony of tedious tasks at school. Hours, days, and weeks flew by while I saw art, made art, and met its presence head-on, forgiving my tendencies toward self-doubt.

Suffice to say, you made the biggest difference in my life, and your influence lasted. I didn’t want to let your support go to waste. Together, we won competitions that got me free summer art classes year after year. I vowed to live out that potential you saw in me, even when life got hard.

As an undergraduate at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, I remember one day I had to pause to collect my thoughts. The immensity of financial, educational, and personal strains was almost impossible. But I had a promise to keep to you, and nothing.  else. mattered. 

I wanted to see in the mirror the virtuoso you saw looking back at me. So, I kept trying. And while trying, I practiced. The practice made me skilled but I still didn’t feel that I had made art. the kind of art that probes the mind and engages with its viewers, leaving them changed.

So, for twenty years, I tried and failed at other things. First, I was canned as a summer camp leader, then fired from a cashier job. My night owl roadie position was given away. My custodian job was too laborious. I was laid off as a stage technician, my contract was up with AmeriCorps, and I was medically discharged as a US Army Soldier. 

 

There is an old, wise saying:

 

“Failure should be…

 our teacher, not our undertaker. 

Failure is a delay, not defeat. 

It is a temporary detour, not a dead end.”

 

For me, this really is true. In 2020, I came to RISD as a graduate student in Sculpture, and after two years, I finally feel right in my skin when I say I am the very thing that eluded me all these years, a true conceptual artist. Luckily, RISD has evolved alongside me. Today, we see a proud art school appoint its first Black President and usher in new hires focusing on race and identity. We see an art museum trailblaze the path to purchase underrepresented artists and research those who are missing from euro-centric encyclopedias.

With all this change, I can foresee my own chance in the art world. Mr. Yanna, it's been a helluva time since 3rd grade. Maybe you only meant to inspire a street kid to stay out of trouble, but you did so much more. Today is a sweet and momentous day as I stand among my peers graduating from the Rhode Island School of Design.

 

From the bottom of my heart, thank you, wherever you are.

 

Sincerely,  Julius Cavira

 

Thank you.

 

But let’s get back to those Unicorns!  You might say it would take a miracle to solve the predictable and unpredictable tragedies that fall on our doorstep every sobering morning. But what we really need are Unicorns— VISIONARIES! 

 

You know, that ideas person who won’t speak up or shut up! That lonely loony-toon wallflower concocting their next revelation in the back corner. Where is that creature of the night? Or the self-driven early bird? Where do we find that character?

 

Look around, look within you—the search is over. 

 

We are the unicorns—the people who can envision the possible when everything seems so impossible. We made it this far and today, we shine. We earned the right to be called RISD alumni. 

 

Let the record show, before our acceptance into RISD we told ourselves it would probably take a miracle to get in. Rainbows would glisten in the bright sky! POTS of gold would appear on the other side! And on the horizon, galloping towards great expectations, —-US! the Unicorns!

Congratulations, Class of 2022.

 

I salute you all. Thank you.