So, thoughts from Devoted and Disgruntled this weekend. I've got a few. But first, a song...
'This is the song I am singing,
I am singing this song,
This is the song I am singing,
Why don't you sing along?'
I imagine it being sung in the streets of a city in the not-too-distant future where every human activity has been weighed and assigned a relative fiscal value, and any behaviour that cannot be accounted for in terms of its health benefits, educational value, or contribution to the economy has been quashed. It is sung quietly in one or two corners of the city at first: late at night in dark empty alley ways, or whispered under covers by lovers in bed. But the sounds starts to swell, and the governors, the ones who weigh and measure from the buildings in the centre of town, catch a whisper of it on the breeze. They use their instruments to measure it and cannot understand why anyone would raise their voice to such meaningless words: they try to grasp it, to crush it, but it is insubstantial and lighter than air- it slips through their fingers.
There is something insistent in it... the melody, the rhythm... and it becomes a virus, spreading through the city. The people, hearing it, are reminded of something that they have lost. And listening to the voices bubbling skyward, growing louder every day, the governors, despairing of their inability to crush it, are forced to ask: 'why?'. And the only reply they receive is the song.
I managed to wander into a session I would never normally have chosen at D+D, in which we were invited to 'compose a song for the dark times'. This is what we came up with, and I love it. I think that some were disappointed that it didn't have a more overtly political content, but the reason why it pleased me so much was that it seemed so pure; it became a song that existed 100% for its own sake, and had no greater purpose. But through being 'only' a song, it became political for me- because at a time when we are continuely being forced into conversations about the 'value' of arts, its contribution to the economy or education or stopping knife crime, it's easy to forget to speak about art in its own terms: that art is wonderful because it is art. And so we sing this song with no greater purpose than to sing this song- but that is more than purpose enough.
This feeds in rather neatly to some thoughts from the same weekend I was going to write up in a separate post, but since they are in keeping I will continue here. I wanted to talk about a question I've been thinking about a lot in my capacity of an 'arts PR', which is how do we communicate the value of the arts to someone who doesn't 'get it'?
In fact I'm even a bit bothered by that question, because 'value' feels like it implies an equivalent measure: a system by which the worth of something can be quantified. But as I've outlined with regard to the song, I don't think we can judge the arts in this way.
Let me put it in more concrete terms. There's a recession. The government has to make cuts. You get into an argument, attempting to defend the importance of arts funding.
"Yes, the arts is important,' admits your adversary "but what if that money could be used to pay for hospital beds instead, and could save lives?"
You suddenly find yourself forced into an absurd position- you have to weigh the value of a human life against the value of 'art'. Of course it is impossible, but it is the position we increasingly find ourselves in, because if someone doesn't already 'get' why the arts matters, we have to argue for it in their terms: and so we are destined to failure, because we inevitably debase and reduce what the arts is by not viewing it in its own light. It makes me think of all the debates I used to have about the existence of God in my A level Theology class; no matter how rational and smart the Ontological Argument for God's existence is, ultimately, either you believe in God or you don't, and I'd be amazed if anyone had ever converted to religion on the strength of a bit of logical debate, no matter how compelling (and if they have I can't help but think it would be a rather colourless religious faith to have).
This was the crux of the discussion I convened about 'Theatre in the Public Sphere: are we representing ourselves well and could we do better?'. The conclusion I came to, after discussing it with those who attended the meeting, was that in order to have a genuine appreciation and understanding of the arts, one needs to have had transformational, and probably frequent, personal experiences of the arts. The earlier in life this happens, the better: before prejudices have an opportunity to form.
But so many of our early theatrical experiences are bad ones. People say 'I should go to the theatre more', the implication being that theatre is not about enjoyment, but that it is some how good for you, or an obligation: an idea, perhaps, that stems from childhood, from the painful readings of Shakespeare around the classroom or school trips to see dusty, reverent renditions of 'the classics'. Not to mention the damage potentially caused by some of the worse examples of amateur dramatics. I say 'some', because their are undoubtedly some outstanding amateur theatre programmes, and my own life long passion for and involvement in theatre is certainly rooted in my time with the Theatre Royal Bath Young People's Theatre: I think many, many other theatre professionals would identify the significance of similar experiences.
So the conclusion I reached from all this, is that if we wish for a future where the arts is a central strand of our society, we've got to start taking theatre with and for children much, much more seriously. We need to subsidise it, we need to pay attention to it, we need to respect it, we need to celebrate it, and we need to stop making allowances for bad work. How this happens is a bigger question; but at least having a consciousness about it is a good starting point. And then perhaps we can look forward to living in a country where people genuinely sing for singing's sake.
Incidentally I should credit those who participated in my session, and the singing session, with helping cultivate these thoughts- and write the song! I don't have your names but it was a pleasure talking to you- thank you!
