Artsy Fartsy
I was down a pub a few weeks ago, listening to a couple of people explain how art works.
Or maybe that should be… How Art Works.
“Well I want to be a musician, that’s what I really want. I work as a corporate lawyer by day, but I really do feel that I have a lot to say with my music….”
“I’m writing a novel, it’s about the nature of the universe, it’s high-concept dystopian YA….”
“… but the thing is, well, I can’t get the sales. I was talking with a producer, like, a really big guy, really interested in my work, but he was saying until you’ve made it you can’t make it, and I was like, what does that even mean and….”
“… making films, they make some of the biggest films ever but even they don’t know what makes a hit….”
“If we knew what the next J.K.Rowling would be, we would publish it, but we don’t….”
(So at this point, so far so good, I’m thinking. Fame and success in the arts is a fickle cow and no one knows where it’ll next poop in the fertile field, except….)
“The thing is. People these days. They just seem to want shit, don’t they? I mean, they just want X-Factor and like, teenage boy pop bands, and like, music which has nothing to say….”
“… pulp fiction….”
“… musical theatre….”
“And the great shows, the great songs, no one bothers with because actually, as a culture we’ve got really shallow, haven’t we? People don’t want to be challenged, they don’t want to be threatened, they’re just really unimaginative and if they actually knew what good music was, I mean, if they actually listened to Mozart or something, then they’d begin to understand….”
Now. At this point, I’m getting a bit tense.
Don’t get me wrong: there’s a lot of crap out there. There’s a lot of crap written, and a lot of utterly banal songs sung on topics as exciting as being dumped and… well… on being dumped, mostly. And sometimes it makes me sad and angry, and sometimes I like watching/reading a bit of crap. Sometimes there’s nothing quite as therapeutic as shouting abuse at the Musketeers or watching a shitty film while eating ice cream from the tub. Sometimes you need that. And frankly, entertainment is good. Entertainment is fun and noble and if it makes you laugh, makes you smile and lifts the burden from your soul: awesome. I prefer the works of Garfield to Charles Dickens; doesn’t mean I think Dickens is bad or Garfield has some sort of greater merit, it’s just the way my taste falls out. And yeah, sure, it’d be nice if the commercialisation of what we’ll dubiously call ‘art’ was a bit braver in its assessment of its readers/viewers/listener’s intelligence sometimes, and if as well as being entertaining it also promoted concepts of shared humanity and emotional significance, but meh, we’ll cope. Freedom to choose is a luxury; having time and access to what you enjoy is a privilege. Sometimes entertainment is also uplifting, thrilling, mind-boggling. Sometimes it’s just a funny bit with a dog, and that’s ok too. Not as awesome, but still ok. As a society, we can keep on striving, and until then I’m not about to start ascribing ‘worth’ or ‘goodness’ to a thing as subjective as a song sung on a darkened night.
So what’s the problem?
My problem, I think, is that implicit in everything expressed above is that there is a contempt for people at play. Not just for certain forms of art – and I still stand by the view that there’s a lot of rubbish made – but for the people who enjoy it. As readers of this blog know, I loathe Fifty Shades of Grey, but that doesn’t for a second mean I think any the less of people who like it. Every book means something unique unto its reader; every reader is a human being stirred up by stories and emotions true to them. And if we, as an artisticy farty community, walk around condemning people for not liking what we do, then frankly I think we’ve missed the point of art as an empathic tool for humanity.
Opera-snobs: just because you don’t like pop music doesn’t mean it’s not great to bounce along to with your mates on a Friday night.
Pop-snobs: just because you don’t get jazz, doesn’t mean it can’t carry away the hearts and souls of millions of listeners around the world.
Book-snobs: there are other books out there which will lift your heart and mind into new realms of existence, and there are books which are about aliens blowing stuff up. Both, if they’re well written, have their place, and to love either is to still love stories, ideas, and words.
Theatre-snobs: sometimes it’s ok to do Hamlet straight. And sometimes it’s also ok to do it as an interpretive bit of physical theatre. The story, the emotion and the meaning is all, and that doesn’t always have to be conveyed by a dude downstage centre with a skull.
People-snobs: let’s try to avoid dissing people for their artistic tastes, shall we? I know it’s tough. I know we all invest a certain amount of identity in the things we love, and conversely there shall also be some identity inevitable invested in things we dislike. Avoiding a knee-jerk reaction when we encounter them is challenging, but if we try really really hard, perhaps this mantra recited regularly will help….
To apply a concept of ‘worth’ to a subjective art form is in and of itself, an entirely personal act, and should not be allowed to reflect upon the value of people! People are more than the sum of their artistic experience!
Wash and repeat.
