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This blog post by Talking Heads lead singer David Byrne, entitled “Art Funding or Arts Funding,” is scary in many ways, and I suppose it is very possible to make a case against what Byrne has to say. And of course, as a musician who made his fortune in the public forum, Byrne has a particular viewpoint that informs his words. As  a former Associate Artistic Director of the Illinois Shakespeare Festival, and a theatre professor who teaches theatre history almost every semester, I can also muster up quite a few arguments myself.

And yet…

If I am consistent in my focus on individual creativity — on “bringing the arts back to life” — then as Byrne says, the emphasis needs to shift from dead guys to the living.

http://bit.ly/6AUOL3

The following is from the final paper of a student of mine, who writes:

“I was working on a final project for XXXXX’s acting class, where we had to call a theatre company and find out the audition process and the workings of the company…When I was closing the interview, I was asking the Associate Artistic Director of the company if he had any final comments or advice to add to the paper.  The Director …said, “if you don’t go to New York City in your 20s, your prime age, you’re not serious about this industry.”


This from a man who is making a living in Western North Carolina. Doesn’t he have any sense of the contradiction?

Blogged with the Flock Browser

Back on November 30, Isaac made a “Quick Announcement” that he would be attending an Arena Stage “convening” on the topic “Defining Diversity.” He writes, “I, along with a few other bloggers, have been invited to attend and participate as well as “cover” the conference for this blog. I suppose you could call this is a “blog junket”…” It turns out that I, too, will be at the convening, as I have been asked to appear on the panel of twenty that is to discuss this topic. I was flattered to be asked, and look forward to a intriguing couple days this Friday and Saturday. For those who are interested, Arena Stage will be livestreaming the proceedings at 8:00 this Saturday night. And you can participate by sending questions through Twitter at #newplay that night. I’m looking forward to meeting Isaac and the other bloggers — there are plans for an Ethiopian meal!

Sarah Jane, who often comments on this site, has an insightful post entitled “Nurturing Creativity, Part 1,” in which she discusses how we encourage young people to try various activities until they find one they like, and we support them through our encouragement and attendance, but once they get older we lose that commitment. The result is an impoverished community.

I agree entirely, and would add that in a CRADLE arts organization, should one be created, the staff artists would be expected to give a great deal of attention to facilitating and developing adult creativity.

From the MSNBC website today:

Headline:
These cities are poised to recover the fastest
Omaha boring? Maybe, but it leads list of places where things will pick up

First sentence:

Though Omaha, Neb., seems second-rate to some, Warren Buffett may have been on to something when he chose it for the headquarters of his massive holding company, Berkshire Hathaway.”

I have for several years now been writing about the Big City bias of the mass media, and been regularly pooh-poohed. Omaha has a metropolitan area of slightly under a million people, so this attitude is ridiculous. By what possible measure is Omaha “boring” and “second-rate” except by some arrogant New Yorker, which is what the author Francesca Levy is.

“Francesca Levy is a BusinessWeek reporting intern. She has written online and print articles for outlets including the New York Press, The Villager, and Chelsea Now, and Web sites such as Women’s eNews and the New York City News Service….She will receive a master’s degree in journalism from the City University of New York in December.”

BusinessWeek needs to pay closer attention to what it’s interns are writing on-line, and be reminded that New York City is an anomaly, a place that much of the US would be loathe to imitate.

When you’re stepping outside the well-trodden path and trying to create something new, you often have to find inspiration outside of the discipline itself. I tend to read books on local economics, environmentalism, and small business practices seeking analogous situations that might help to define this new pathway.

To that end, I am in the midst of reading Cradle to Cradle: Remaking the Way We Make Things, by William McDonough and Michael Braungart (highly recommended). The chapter “A Question of Design” has a segment entitled “One Size Fits All,” in which the authors discuss the Industrial Revolution’s underlying design assumption that “universal design solutions” (i.e., one size fits all) could be implemented to improve the world. They use the examples of International Style architecture and mass-produced detergent to illustrate the flaw in this orientation. I think it is worth quoting at length in order to fully understand that what has happened to the arts is not an isolated and unique historical development that was “organic” and “natural,” but rather part of a larger social movement resulting of a particular way of relating to the world.

First, the International Style of architecture as developed by Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, Walter Groupis, and Le Corbusier:

Their goals were social as well as aesthetic. They wanted to globally replace unsanitary and inequitable housing — fancy, ornate palaces for the rich; ugly, uhealthy places for the poor — with clean, minimalist, affordable buildings unencomubered by distinctions of wealth or class. Large sheets of glass, steel, and concrete and cheap transportation powered by fossil fuels, gave engineers and architects the tools for realizing this style anywhere in the world.

However, the vision of the originators was debased by those who followed:

Today the International Style has evolved into something less ambitious: a bland, uniform structure isolated from the particulars of place — from local culture, nature, energy, and material flows. Such buildings reflect little if any of a region’s distinctness or style.”…Buildings can look and work the same anywhere, in Reykjavik or Rangoon.  (italics mine)

The photo is of the Aluminaire House, and it is, without a doubt, one of the ugliest things I’ve ever seen.

Shifting to detergent, the authors write:

Major soap manufacturers design one detergent for all parts of the United States or Europe, even though water qualities and community needs differ. For example, customers in places with soft water, like the Northwest, need only small amounts of detergent. Those where the water is hard, like the Southwest, need more. But detergents are designed so they will alther up, remove dirt, and kill germs efficiently the same way anywhere in the world — in hard, soft, urban, or spring water, in water that flows into fish-filled streams and water channeled to sewage treatment plants.”

In the interest of appealing to as large a market as possible, detergent is disconnected from its relationship to local conditions.

The arts have fallen prey to exactly the same one-size-fits-all approach, not only in mass-produced art such as television, popular music, and movies, but also in art forms that have an intrinsic local orientation, such as theatre and visual art. Plays, for instance, are designed to appeal to NYC audiences and critics. If they achieve a successful NYC run, then across the US regional theatres will produce their own versions during the next couple years, and twenty years later community theatres will do their own reproduction. But is it really true that the stories and styles that appeal to a New York audience will automatically be right for one in Asheville, NC or Lincoln, NE?

Let’s think of this by analogy. Here are two pictures of places in the world:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Would these two places not lead, for instance, to very different paintings — paintings that would be created using different palettes, different shapes, different rhythms, different styles, different brushstrokes, different techniques?

And yet when it comes to plays, we see plays such as Rent being performed in Peoria and witnessed by the ultimate New Yorker, Rocco Landesman, who will judge it according to New York values. We universalize those values, and disseminate New York stories as if, like the International Style architecture and mass-produced detergent, they are completely isolated from place, from local culure, traditions, history, and values. People in New Amery WI watch CSI: New York despite the fact that it bears no resemblance whatsoever to their reality. We have become so alienated from our specific place in the world that we no longer even notice that we have been colonized by urban values, urban rhythms, urban styles, urban stories. The gangsta rap music blasting from the car next to mine in downtown Marshall NC is likely to be owned by a farmer’s son out on a Saturday night toot.

The natural outgrowth of this colonization is for the colonizer to see themselves as the pinnacle of quality, as the natural goal of all who labor in the arts.  So nobody bats an eye when Rocco Landesman, visiting Peoria and seeing the aforementioned production of Rent, is noted as having observed “earlier in the day that amateur arts are worthwhile much in the same way that minor leagues and amateur sports have value in relation to the big leagues and professional sports.” There is no recognition that local arts done by amateurs or pro-am artists might not give a tinker’s damn about the self-identified “big leagues,” that the local arts might be a vibrant end in themselves. And artists buy into this value system. Why? Because they are brainwashed with the ideas from a young age. More importantly, what should be commented on is not whether the Peoria production of Rent is “as good as” Steppenwolf (“I’m not going to let you trap me on that one,” Landesman said transparently — har har), but rather whether it makes any sense  for Rent to be performed in Peoria at all.

When are areas outside of New York going to develop some pride, some sense of individual identity? When are they going to express themselves, instead of compulsively sneezing “Me too” after every artistic twitch on the East Coast? When is a visit to the theatre in different parts of the country going to be a unique experience, seasoned with local flavor and served with pride of place? When traveling, every tourist seeks an opportunity to experience the local cuisine, whether it is barbecue in Kansas City, gumbo in New Orleans, or kringle in Racine WI. But going to the theatre is like going to the mall — once you’re inside the doors, you could be anywhere.

University theatre programs need to stop teaching this generic approach, regional theatres need to reclaim their local roots, and artists need to wake up and reclaim their individuality.

Knitting and the Arts

My wife knits. She is a part of the very active knitting community that gathers on the Ravelry.com site, she listens to podcasts and reads blogs, buys books and magazines, and is part of knitting and spinning groups. (The arts could learn a lot from knitters about creating a sense of community.)  Sometimes she buys yarn, sometimes she spins her own from a fleece she’s purchased from a local sheep farmer. From the point of view of economics, this doesn’t make any sense: she could buy a sweater in a store cheaper than what she would pay for yarn, and that doesn’t include the amount of time it takes for her to do the knitting.

Once, I asked her why she did it, and her answer surprised me. I expected that she would say something about the sense of personal connection she feels to clothing she has made using her own hands, and while that is certainly the case — and is the case for me as well, as someone who often benefits from her knitting largesse — that wasn’t the only thing. What she told me was that every pair of socks or sweater she knits she sees as a strike against corporate America. When she makes something herself she feels as if she’s supporting a more local, independent, craftsman-oriented economy instead of the global industrial market.

I love it.

And of course, this applies to the arts as well. Every time we create a play, paint a picture, play or sing music together, dance, or share stories and poems, we are simultaneously not supporting art created by the global mass media. We are disconnecting from the fame machine, from the mass distributed, non-local arts economy and instead reinforcing a sense of an independent, self-sufficient community. We support local farmers when we shop at farmer’s markets or join a CSA, we support local bookstores when we buy there instead of ordering from Amazon, we support local restaurants when we eat at owner-operated eateries instead of at chains. But when it comes to the arts, we often forget the local option.

Mass media — film, television, music CDs — is the artistic equivalent of eating at McDonalds, of buying the cheap sweater made in Malaysia. Make your own — stand up against global corporate homogenization. Create something unique, and do it with your own hands. Make it authentic. And then show it with pride.

Humbling

So my previous post, “Reruns: Fish and Sharks,” garnered a lot of hits recently. I was curious, so I went to my traffic analysis to see what was up. Yesterday, I have 84 hits on that article — pretty good, respectable. Except then I looked at the box that analyzes the search results that brought people to the site. Of those 84 hits, 82 of them were from searches on “fish,” “fish pictures,” and “pictures of fish.” I’ll bet THEY were surprised!

For a few brief weeks, I co-wrote a blog with my former professor and good friend Cal Pritner called “Thank You! Next?” What follows is a post I wrote January 9th, 2009 that I’d like to give a wider readership — something that might be valuable as we consider a revision of theatre education, of course, but also how we might reconceive the role of the artist. Perhaps artists might also help members of the commuhnity answer the three questions of the article quoted below. Anyway, a rerun:

As some of you may know, Cal is a retired university theatre teacher, and I currently teach at the University of North Carolina at Asheville. Spring semester classes start tomorrow, and I have been busily preparing syllabi and writing introductory comments for my classes this semester: History of Theatre I, Principles of Directing I, Devised Theatre, and The Hero’s Journey in Film in Literature (at a prison about an hour from Asheville). For me, the night before classes start is one of anticipation and anxiety. Anticipation because it is a fresh start, an opportunity to learn from past mistakes and try my best to touch somebody’s life.

Over the years, I have come to believe that success is less about my own brilliance than about my ability to listen to what is going on with students and respond in ways that lead them to new rooms within their hearts and minds. I have come to see my quest as being that of a string in search of a sounding board: I sound whatever notes I have found that seem rich, and then I listen to see who is vibrating to that sound, who is amplifying it. Some notes I play resonate only within me, and no matter how beautiful I think that note is, I must try another one in the hopes that it will find resonance with someone else.

A couple days ago, I was reading the wonderful Yes! magazine and I reached an article entitled “Blessings Revealed” by Puanani Burgess. Ms. Burgess, who is a “mediator, poet, community organizer, and Zen priest,” wrote (and with apologies to Ms. Burgess, I am going to quote almost the whole essay — but please go and subscribe to Yes!):

One of the processes I use to help people talk to each other I call Building the Beloved Community. There’s an exercise that requires people to tell three stories.

The first is the story of all of your names. The second is the story of your community. The third story I ask them to tell is the story of your gift.

One time, I did this process with a group in our local high school. We went around the circle and we got to this young man, and he told the story of his names well and the story of his community well, but when it came time to tell the story of his gift, he asked, “What, Miss? What kind gift you think I get, eh? I stay in this special ed class and I get a hard time read and I cannot do that math. And why you make me shame for, ask me that kind question? What kind gift you have? If I had gift, you think I be here?”

He just shut down and shut up, and I felt really shamed. In all the time I have ever done that, I have never, never shamed anybody before.

Two weeks later, I am in our local grocery store, and I see him down one of those aisles and I see his back and I’m going down there with my cart and I think “Nope I’m not going there.” So I start to back up as fast as I can and I’m trying to run away from him. And then he turns around and he sees me, and he throws his arms open, and he says, “Aunty! I have been thinking about you, you know. Two weeks I have been thinking: ‘What my gift? What my gift?’ ”

I say “OK bruddah, so what’s your gift?”

He says, “You know, I’ve been thinking, thinking, thinking. I cannot do that math stuff and I cannot read so good, but Aunty, when I stay in the ocean, I can call the fish, and the fish he come, every time. Every time I can put food on my family table. Every time. And sometimes when I stay in the ocean and the Shark he come, and he look at me and I look at him and I tell him, ‘Uncle I not going take plenty fish. I just going to take one, two fish, just for my family. All the rest I leave for you.’ And so the Shark he say, ‘Oh, you cool, brother.’ And I tell the Shark, ‘Uncle, you cool.’ And the Shark, he go his way and I go my way.”

And I look at this boy and I know what a genius he is, and I mean, certifiable. But in our society, the way schools are run, he is rubbish. He is totally destroyed, not appreciated at all. So when I talked to his teacher and the principal of the school, I asked them what would his life have been like if this curriculum were gift-based? If we were able to see the gift in each of our children and taught around that gift?

So much of education is about creating winners and losers. So many people believe that rigor means having a certain percentage of the class get C’s and D’s, as if success is teaching is reflected in the number of kids who fail your class. Researcher Robert Sternberg has created a “triarchic” model of intelligence that embraces not only our traditional, narrowly-focused analytic thinking, but also creative thinking (how you deal with new situations) and practical thinking (how you function within a system). But even that broadening, which would be an improvement, is still based on creating winners and losers. How much is the desire to learn, so strong in young children, damaged by this process of separation?

When I teach at the prison next Thursday, I will look around the room and wonder what the gifts are in that room that haven’t been recognized or appreciated. Will we separate these young men, cut them off from society and label them as failures? Or will we seek to identify the sharks they speak to and the fish they call to them?

Ms. Burgess concludes her essay with a few more questions that, like the questions above, resonate with my own internal sounding board: “What would happen if our community was gift-based? If we could really understand what the gift of each of our communities were, and really began to support that? So that for me is a very native approach—being able to see the giftedness in every aspect of life.” Perhaps like physicians, teachers’ should follow the Latin dictum Primum non nocere — “First, do no harm.” If we did adopt this foundational ethic, the entire educational edifice would have to be altered. Perhaps if we adopted this overall, our competitive society would likewise change to something richer, more humane, and more creative.

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