I have friends in their 20s, 30s, and 40s who play five-a-side football, table tennis, badminton and other sports. I have friends in their 20s, 30s, and 40s who write songs, poems, novels, and stories.
Admittedly, these two groups aren’t mutually exclusive, I happen to belong to both. And yet, there’s one question (or more accurately, a series of questions and expectations) that repeatedly gets posed to the latter group, while the former hear nothing of it. The same holds for my personal experience; never have I been asked these questions in the context of the former set of activities, but when it comes to the latter, the air is ripe with the same expectations in my interactions with members of the out-group.
You’ve probably seen or heard it before, maybe you’ve even been on the giving or receiving end. It’s the idea that when it comes to creative activities, there’s an expectation that the only reason for creators to engage in such activities is the promise of a future manifestation of potential. In other words, anyone who takes up songwriting, or poetry, or acting should only do so if they can stick at it long enough to become professional musicians, or published authors, or world-renowned actors, and if there’s little chance of this happening, then songwriting, or poetry, or acting is at best a passing hobby, or at worst, a waste of time.
When a group of 30-somethings book out an astro court to play footie for a few hours, nobody who passes by looks upon them wondering when they’ll get their professional contracts to play in the premier league. When 40-somethings take the day off work to go spend several hours putting balls on the golf course, hardly anyone wonders whether they’ll ever hone their skills well enough to land on the PGA tour. So why is it that when someone says they're writing a novel, the conversation inevitably leads to questions about getting that big publishing deal? Why is it that when someone posts a video of themselves singing and playing piano, questions arise about how and when they'll get noticed and signed to the big labels? Why is it that creatives are repeatedly expected to perform their art for the sole purpose of “making it?”
This is the overarching question in this post, one that has puzzled me for quite a while and leaves me wanting a satisfactory answer. I’m writing this post in the hope that it’ll enable me to think about this issue with more clarity, and also start a conversation. So please, read on, and join in, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Here goes…
Now more than ever is the time to make art, even if just for the sake of it, for the benefit of the creator. Art creates a parallel universe that the artist gets to live in for the duration of the creation process. The process of writing a song or story helps me cogitate my thoughts, connect seemingly disparate dots, and learn more about myself, so in this vein, the process of making art is as much a benefit to me as whatever end result will ensue from the process.
Speaking of the end result, the creation process offers the added benefit of providing entertainment, enjoyment and escapism to whoever decides to consume it. It could also offer educational benefits in teaching people new things, or activism benefits in sparking social change.
On this last point, about how art can propel social movements, permit me to digress for a moment and share a short story. A few days ago, a fan took to social media to share a song of mine – Autumn Dream – which came out last year. Someone else in his network discovered the song, listened to it, and said a few nice things about it. They also drew comparisons between my “sound” and that of another artist – Nick Mulvey. I didn’t know of Nick Mulvey beforehand, and I’m so thankful for this comparison because the discovery allowed me to engage with new music and I can now say I’ve added a new musician to my list of favourites. What’s more, I instantly appreciated the comparison, because although we sound quite different, we both tell melodic stories through the mellow sounds of nylon string guitars.
When I initially searched for Nick Mulvey on YouTube, the first hit in the results was a live climate concert he performed at COP 26 in Glasgow last year. In that concert, he sang songs about climate action, our relationship with mother earth, and our relationships with our ancestors. Naturally, I listened to his songs on repeat, and in the last week or so since discovering him, my partner (and probably our neighbours too) have had no choice but to enjoy the sounds of Nick Mulvey over and over (sorry not sorry!) Dare I say that his music has restored, no, renewed my passion for art as a vehicle for social action.
In a similar vein, R. Alan Brooks explores the question of whether making art is a waste of time when the world is burning. In his 2020 TED talk, he draws the conclusion that making art is always a worthy activity. Now is the time to make art, now is always the time. This is all to say that art is powerful. There's a reason the Nazis were hell-bent on banning a whole bunch of art other than the ones that came out of their propaganda machine, and there’s a reason right-wing politicians in the US are clamouring for banning books that don’t align with their agenda and ideology. In times like this, I’m reminded of the old saying, attributed (probably wrongly) to Mark Twain, that history doesn’t repeat itself, but it does rhyme.
To return to the statements I opened this post with, hardly anyone ever asks you when you intend to go pro in the context of the sporting recreational activities you engage in. There seems to be a collective understanding that playing football, basketball or tennis as an amateur is beneficial in itself, and we’re all clued into how it helps our physical and mental health, as well as fostering social cohesion. However, there seems to be less understanding and patience in this regard when it comes to the arts. We expect amateur artists to aspire to full-time, profitable ventures, we look upon those who don’t as failures or time wasters, and there is a void in the public psyche where there should be an appreciation for, and an understanding of the benefits of art for the sake of art.
Perhaps it is time to rethink our attitudes towards art, avail ourselves of the aforementioned benefits, and foster a landscape where the public remains cognisant of the idea of art for art's sake. Art is its own reward, making art should be the end goal, and engaging in the process makes the artist successful. Anything extra, like making a living or garnering recognition for it, should be the icing on the cake.