Art's Balance Beam: A Manifesto

Not too long ago, in response to a comment I made about a particular piece, a fellow writer told me, "That’s because you’re a modern reader."

I’ve been thinking about that statement. What does it mean? What does it say about me? What does it say about my writing?

Here’s my working conclusion: Art holds in balance three things–reflecting the culture in which it is written (and communicating to that culture), transforming the culture in which it is written, and transcending the culture in which it is written.

Reflecting and Communicating–Art learns from that which has gone before it. As a musician, I learned from Bach, Beethoven, and the Beatles. I learned from Sondheim and Bernstein. Art builds on the masters and may take elements from their music: ideas, quotes, forms. As a writer, I learn from Dickens, Austen, and Russo. But it’s always changing. This is not to say it’s progressing or improving (although I hope my personal writing is). Today’s art isn’t better than the art created in the 1600s, nor is it worse. It’s different because it exists in a different culture. It’s different because of the nature of art itself. When art remains static, it dies. (This is part of the reason why we learn and heed the rules but also break them when necessary.)

Art also communicates immediately to the culture around us. In one sense, art is personal. In another, it’s communal, and that community in part is the culture (and subcultures). (Side note: we artists sometimes are in danger of wanting only to communicate to each other rather than the broader culture.) (Side note two: I don’t think this necessarily means every artist will be widely known or will want to be published/displayed/performed.) (Side note three: I think a lot of what I have to say about art in this post can also be said about Christianity, but that’s a different discussion for a different day.)

Transforming–Art is a way of finding meaning in life. It helps guide the culture in this. This weekend, I began reading The Shape of Mercy by Susan Meissner (a beautiful book, by the way). In it, the main character says, "Abigail pounced on any opportunity to discuss a book we had both read. Dissecting a book was the same as making sense of life. You have to find a way to interpret life, or you’ll go nuts" (p. 43). Others interpret life through movies or paintings or sculpture or photography or any number of artistic mediums. As artists, then, we have the opportunity to help shape this. To be honest, this is scary. It’s a heavy responsibility. I think of James, who in his letter tells us teachers are held to a higher standard. They influence others. In the same way, our work can influence others. And while God can use any art to do this (and often does: How often have I been drawn closer to him through a piece created by a non-Christian?), we have a responsibility to have a healthy spiritual life that influences our art.

To this end, while we write to communicate to the immediate culture, we do not write (or create art) to cater to the immediate culture.

This does not mean every piece has to be overt in our beliefs. We don’t need to paint only crosses or write about only conversions. It means that in the same way our everyday life is guided by the presence of God, we allow our art to be guided by the presence of God.

Transcending–I suppose this is connected to the previous idea of transforming, but it is different, too. Dickens (and he is on the brain because I recently finished Bleak House–a feat in itself!) wrote in a culture different from mine. But his themes transcend to my culture. They are universal. This is why the Bible holds so much meaning for us today, why Beethoven’s third symphony moves us, why I can stare at one Chagall painting for an entire afternoon. In one way, the themes we write are connected to our culture (looking again at Dickens and how much of his writing reflects the classism and social injustices of his day). In other way, the are connected to humanity at large.

I won’t know if my art transcends culture. I won’t know if I pass this test. Only future generations will know.

I’ve written these thoughts down for the first time today. They’ve been swirling in my head like salt water taffy pulled and stretched and twisted. I’d love to hear from some other artists regarding these ideas as I work through them in community.

What do you guys think?

Writing to Communicate

In my studies of intercultural communication, we talked about the role
of the receiver versus the role of the communicator. I won’t bore you
with the details or the debates (which center basically around the onus
of responsibility for clear communication), but the communicator has to
make some efforts to communicate effectively to the receptor (how far
the communicator has to go versus the receptor has to come–well, you
can join the debate for that one).
I write to communicate, whether
to be understood, to reveal evil or revel in beauty, to tell a good
story, to point to Someone transcendent. The question is, how far
should I go? How far should we go?
On the one hand, you have James
Joyce who purposefully is difficult and hidden, whether to force the
reader to dig out the nugget, out of some Romantic,
no-one-understands-the-true-artist position, or simply because he’s an
egotistical erudite, who knows?
Then there are those who don’t
believe in using any words which would require the reader (i.e.
receptor/receiver) to employ Merriam-Webster.
Jesus himself
demonstrated both sides. His incarnation, becoming man, becoming the
cockroach, was so that the darkness might understand the light. The
Word become flesh is the only hope we have to understanding the Father.
On
the other hand, Jesus sometimes spoke in parables. Sometimes the
parables were obvious and the Pharisees got it. Boy, did they get it
with stones in hand. Sometimes he had to explain them–and that to only
a few.
Personally, I believe in using the English language when
writing to English speakers and using sentences when at all possible.
Beyond that…