Regular readers of this blog will know that I write about the value of art a lot. As someone who makes art and engages with the creative process using various mediums, I think about how we define the value of art as a society and the impact this has on the artists themselves. These thoughts have been at the forefront of my mind recently, as I’ve just returned home, having been on the road to play at the Worcester Music Festival.
On the train to Worcester, I had a fascinating discussion with the passenger next to me. Our conversation began in earnest when, having seen that I’d gotten on the train with a guitar, he asked “Are you a professional musician?” This has always been an awkward question for me to answer, partly because of the implications and definitions of the word “professional”, amplified by the massive imposter syndrome I get from referring to myself as a musician, any kind of musician, not to mention a professional one. “Semi-professional” was my response. Understandably, this prompted more questions from him, which enabled me to expand on my answer, and opened the door for me to reciprocate and ask him questions. It ended up being a pleasant and scintillating exchange about music, science, religion, philosophy and society as a whole. We spent the entire leg of my journey in conversation, until I had to get off for a connecting train.
Shortly after I arrived at the music venue, I was approached by a man who introduced himself and said he recognised me from the photos on the festival’s website. It turned out that they (he and his partner) were travelling through the area and planned to spend a few days in town for the festival, and I was one of the acts they wanted to see play. As you can imagine, this warmed my heart, the idea that some folks had come across samples of my music or my details online, and had come to watch me play in person. The conversation with this gig-goer served as a timely reminder for an idea that’s all too easy to forget – the idea that my music serves a purpose, and although it may not be mainstream or widely acclaimed, there’s still value inherent in it. Vincent van Gogh – the Dutch artist who is widely celebrated today but died in penury, having sold only one painting during his lifetime – put it best when he said:
"If I am worth anything later, I am worth something now. For wheat is wheat, even if people think it is a grass in the beginning." – Vincent van Gogh
This is all to say that our art will always have value. It behoves us to not allow society’s mercurial and subjective perceptions to deter us from pursuing and making art, because, to borrow van Gogh’s words, wheat is wheat, even though it may not always be recognised as such.
P.S.: My debut non-fiction book, Art Is The Way, and my middle-grade novella, A Hollade Christmas, are out everywhere now. You can get them in all good bookstores and from all major online vendors.