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Springing Ourselves From the Importance Trap
"We do not eat for the good of living, but because the meat is savory and the appetite is keen."
— Ralph Waldo Emerson
As I blog to you this morning from my Amtrak train seat, my eyes happened on the quote at the top of this blog. I found it on the placemat, of all places. I have been trying to find a way to express how I feel about the advocacy conversation in the arts community for quite some time, and unsurprisingly, Ralph Waldo Emerson says it brilliantly.
Essentially, when a hearty appetite happens upon good work, there is grateful consumption.
Before I go any further, when I'm referring to arts advocacy, I'm not talking about particular strategies prosecuted by government affairs people who are trying to influence immigration, visa, or Homeland Security laws & regulations for the betterment of the creative industries. I'm all for policy advocacy, especially when there's a well-defined objective in place. No, I'm talking about the droning on that arts professionals do among and between ourselves about how important the arts – we - are.
I've done more than my fair share of droning, myself, so I have helped build this trap. But, as somebody who's bored with the preaching, I want out of the choir. All this talk about the importance of the arts has not blessed me with insights or even greater appreciation.
In fact, I enjoyed these things in greater supply when I was a fourth grader acting the part of Wyoming mountain man Jim Bridger. I was clad in buckskins, a real bearskin hat, beaded medicine bag, powder horn, Shoshone Indian mocassins, and - most importantly - I carried a real musket.
It was my first time trodding the boards and I fell in love with the experience. Like most 10-year old boys growing up in Cody, Wyoming, I wasn't all that enamored with myself. I was a freckled, butch-cut, stocky, Levi-clad boy; no different from 90% of the other boys in town.
The opportunity to inhabit somebody else's identity — especially somebody who carried a real black-powder musket rifle —was a memorable and exhilarating experience. I've never since had an experience as a performer or as an audience member that has prompted more love or understanding of the arts. My mountain-man experience was a transformational one. I've never forgotten it.
My Carnegie Hall debut as a classical guitarist didn't even come close to my fourth grade experience. For one thing, when I was Jim Bridger, I wasn't puking my guts out, beforehand, in a cramped backstage restroom, writhing in wretched terror for my life and reputation. Jim Bridger faced the Cheyenne, the Crow, and the Blackfeet. I faced The New York Times.
I might have felt differently if I had thought to tote a musket on stage along with my guitar, but the temptation to take out Peter Davis would have been too great. (Think of it as a Bush-Doctrine approach to coping with music critics: eliminate the enemy before he has a chance to eliminate you.)
Nope, when I was on stage as a classical guitarist, I was trapped in my own identity. I'd traded my Levis for white tie and tails and, believe me, the eighteen years I'd aged since my Jim Bridger role hadn't improved my sartorial judgment one whit.
To this day, I have the same feeling about tuxedos as do most waiters in upscale, hoity-toity joints: I feel like I should go bus a table or something. Maybe orchestras could improve their audience numbers if they allowed the musicians to dress in buckskins or blue jeans. But that wouldn't demonstrate respect for the art form, now would it? That's what we've come to in this dawn of the new millennium: the belief that wearing 19th century evening wear constitutes an expression of respect and importance. It seems that we are as affectionate toward anachronisms as we are jealous of our principles. But I digress.
Why do we think that ad nauseum importance-of-the-arts discussions— be they instrumental or intrinsic value cases— will improve either the dinner or the diner? So much of this dialogue positions Art as Spinach. Consume it. It's good for you.
It’s more productive to learn why audiences are in decline and address those issues, instead of continuing to tell ourselves why audiences shouldn't be declining. They are, whether they should be or not. Rhetoric won’t turn the tide.
I do believe that there are still arts experiences out there that are enormously satisfying. When I talk to audience members about why they stay away, or what brings them back, what I hear is that the great music, theatre, or dance experience is all too rare, especially given the relentless promises of transforming experiences. These promises may readily be found in any ticket sales brochure that one encounters.
The good news is this: when terrific work is put on stage for audiences, the buzz moves like wildfire. On Friday evening, I was having dinner with my beloved friends Bill and Anne Backer. When I asked them if they'd seen anything noteworthy in the theatre lately, Bill nearly jumped up and down exclaiming how great was Roundabout's production of Pajama Game. He told me - if he could see it again - that he'd enthusiastically plop down $1,000 a ticket for another chance to see the production. (He'd already plunked down $500 a ticket for the last performance.) Yep, hungry people will gladly pay for savory meat.
If we want to re-enliven the arts sector (and it is flagging like a short-breathed runner with bad knees) we have to focus on delivering experiences that live up to our descriptions of them. Or, as Emerson might say, (assuming that there are still hearty appetites out there) it is for us to serve more savory meat.
Being an arts advocate - or as it is more fashionably described: "being a cultural warrior" - is not a bad thing. But, does so much time and energy spent on it steal focus from a more important and more urgent role: giving audiences the value for which they have a hunger? Don’t we have a duty to their appetite?
I’ve pondered for some years what it was that propelled the arts into this continual dialogue of self-aggrandizing self-justification. Is it that we, ourselves, don’t think that we are valued? Do we secretly fear that we are the “Toy Department of Life?� Are we still trapped in the victim role that was foisted upon us by Jesse Helms and his indignant cohorts?
When Jesse Helms perpetrated his attack on the arts community by targeting the National Endowment for the Arts, I believe that the real and lasting damage he did was not to reduce Federal funding for the arts. His crippling legacy was to let us swig the nectar of Essence-of-Cultural-Warrior. Now that we’ve tasted it, we want more. And more. And more.
The noblest warriors are not loath to discard their swords and armor for plowshares and jerseys. They do not crave conflict for its own sake. Sure, the culture wars are not over. But, I would rather wield art than rhetoric, especially in a sustained conflict about art’s value. I trust art’s persuasion more. Trying to describe the value of art is like trying to describe the value of sex. Words don’t cut it.
We need to spring ourselves from the importance trap, then get back to business - sating appetites.
When I think about good long-term strategies that are likely to build audiences, I think about my Jim Bridger experience. I believe that the best audience development approaches provide opportunities to be an artist. They are not solely limited to arts appreciation classes.
Scholarship is satisfying but, to tell you the truth, it never produced much passion in me - especially as a youngster. The squeak of stage boards and the feel of buckskin and musket steel enlivened my boy-heart when the whiff of musty pages left me uninspired. There is nothing like living inside the imagination’s engine. I can’t help but think that it’s the same for others.
I confess, that as I write this post, I am filled with more than a little trepidation. I am earnest in my sentiments and I mean no disrespect to people who believe otherwise. It is not fashionable to criticize making the case for value of the arts. It is not fashionable to imply that a great deal of what's offered to audiences is failing to engage them. But, I have never been particularly fashionable, except for my brief stint as Jim Bridger. It's a chance I'm willing to take for the greater good.
Posted on November 20, 2006 08:35 AM | Permalink
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Comments
Great post, Neill.
As I watch some "cultural warriors" fly by my window on their way into orbit, I have to say that this post is right on the money.
Our stages, just like our TV and movie screens and radio waves, are populated by mediocre work. I see your post as a call to establish a culture of excellence around our programming—to stop putting the equivalent of "Deal or No Deal" onstage. The lustre of the truly transformational potential audience experiences out there is being diminished by a plethora of programming that is, simply, uninspiring. If I want to see something uninspiring, I can turn on my TV; at least I have the option of shutting it off or changing the channel if it's REAL bad!
There will always be a need for arts advocates, because governments need to be reminded of their responsibilities, unfortunately, and one of those is to support a level of quality of life for their citizens. But we in the field can also help ourselves, by sating those appetites with great—truly special—meals.