Artist Life | Creativity
Does Art Really Matter?
Talking back to those who ask
I grew up working my voice because family and friends encouraged me as a singer. I wanted to sing, yes, but I also wanted to dance. That didn’t happen, though I still think about what it would have meant to me. Long hours of dance practice, added to singing practice, and perhaps a more painful body at the end of the day.
What I knew, what I always knew, is no matter what I did, I would be some kind of artist. People’s eyes light up when you say that in certain circles; in other circles, such as work venues, the reaction is often polite, but suspicious. I think that’s because artists overall are regarded with suspicion. The world sees us as spoiled, impractical, unrealistic, unaware of the very serious issues life throws at us.
I know what they are thinking. Does art really matter?
I want to answer them with a question. I will ask it of you.
What is your strongest memory of the pandemic? Fear? Panic? Worrying about health care workers who were friends? Yes, all these emotions were present. But what do I remember most today at this moment?
The strongest memory I have of the pandemic was about people in Italy listening to someone playing music out of his window while residents were on lockdown. It was about people throughout Italy singing with each other from open windows.
I think of this when the world tells me that art doesn’t matter. I think of it when the artists I know keep their talent a secret while working in offices, because they don’t want co-workers to think they’re not putting their workplace needs first.
I think of all the plays and stories and books I’ve written at home, and how little my co-workers know about them. But those people in Italy weren’t resenting artists in their pandemic-charged homes. They were loving the passion of musicians around them. Those musicians were helping people forget for an evening that their lives were in danger from a serious virus.
So when people talk in subtle and not-so-subtle ways about not needing artistic content in schools or plays, when they say more important subjects should be taught as part of our curriculum or we need more money for science and math I say, yes, I’m all for more money for those subjects. But I want to point out that when people are feeling desperate and needy and frightened, they turn to art more than science.
And we need money to support that, too.
At this moment, I am working on the third book in a middle-grade series, and a play about my father’s story during World War II. I am also trying to figure out how to adapt a classic play for yet another piece of theater.
At the same time, I am thinking about what I miss most since the pandemic, which is going to a friend’s house and singing. I’m shocked at the creativity that I lost between 2020 and 2023 — and wanting it back again more than anything I can name.
I don’t mean to be crabby about this — as a rule, I tend to be a people person and love all the activities people do to amuse themselves — including team sports or silent ones like swimming/hiking/cross country skiing. I love it when friends tell me about cooking/gardening/rock climbing/feasting or just about anything you might do on any given day.
I also don’t want to set up any sort of rivalry between our daily lives and art. I just want to give art its due, because so many people don’t, and because it deserves our interest and respect. I say this because I believe art gives us something we wouldn’t have otherwise.
Ourselves.
Because I think what most people want is to be known by others for things they can do that no one else can.
And.
The artists who create stories and books and plays want to share something that is not only about what they can do — but about the times we are living through and how they affect us. Showing us that in the midst of sickness and death, songs can help us get through any terror we are feeling.
So if you are an artist, and someone — say, a critic, neighbor, friend, relative, reader, teacher, employer, anyone — is telling you that what you do has little worth to our society or your community — don’t believe them. You could have released your work to the public too soon, maybe — and could need to revise it or start over again — but whatever you do, don’t buy into the idea that your work is useless. You have far too many reasons why you started that work in the first place, right?
If you have been attending opera school and practicing for months, open your mouth and sing something. If you’ve been practicing piano or saxophone or any other instrument for years and you want to share a song, don’t be shy about that, especially if you’re in the middle of a pandemic.
If that happens, you can be sure of one thing: there will be people who don’t just want to listen. They will need to listen. And your music may make them feel there is something worth listening to, even in the midst of a crisis the world hasn’t seen in a hundred years.
If you are a dancer, actor, singer, writer, director, producer, painter, comic or storyteller, you are needed. You are necessary. You are bringing beauty into the world, asking questions no one else can ask. You are standing up for a different way of seeing, or an art form like commedia that may rarely be seen anymore.
You are, in fact, asking people to stop for a moment on a crowded street or subway or in an airport or a bus station. You are asking them to think about someone they loved once and haven’t seen for years, or about a child they want to adopt some day. Or just about the way the sun is hitting the trees in back of their home.
You are doing this because the experience you get from listening or seeing or feeling an artistic moment is there for you, and has been since you were born.
And when people ask, as sincerely as they possibly can,
“Does art really matter?”
There is only one thing you can possibly say back to them.
Do we?
