Art Isn't Optional...And Artists Are Vital

Without art, this would be a dull and lifeless world

I’d always wondered how people could ignore a band while it’s on stage- you know, carrying on conversations and just generally acting like the band isn’t even there. That always struck me as rather rude. Then I played guitar with the band at our wedding…and I understood. I looked out over the 300 or so celebrants gathered on the banks of the Columbia River and noticed that while a lot of people were paying attention to the band, many weren’t. Who knows why, they just weren’t.

I suppose the same holds true for any art form. For those participating in the creation of it, it’s all-consuming. It’s everything, requiring total focus, complete concentration, and utter devotion. For those on the outside, it’s a thing, perhaps an objet d’art, something that may seem special and unique, but lacks the emotional weight it carries for the person or people who created it.

The picture above infuriates me for a couple of reasons. For one, I was always taught that books are special, something to be treated with respect and care. Even if it doesn’t trip your trigger, someone else might enjoy it, so why not leave it for them. Back in the days when I read physical books (I now read almost exclusively on my iPad), I’d leave books I’d finished in coffee shops, airports, and anywhere else the mood struck me. Sometimes I’d leave notes in them, sometimes riddles, sometimes plaintive but nonspecific cries for help (I thought it was funny at the time; in retrospect, probably not so much), and suggestions.

Two, having finished my first book last year, I KNOW how much (metaphorical) blood, sweat, and tears go into writing an almost 400-page non-fiction work. The research, the thought process, the writing, the rewriting, the editing, the arguing over words here, there, and everywhere…it’s a lot of damned work. It takes a lot out of you. It requires a lot OF you. Sure, it’s a labor of love, but it’s still (a LOT of) labor.

Someone casually tossing the work of someone else into the trash is the equivalent of symbolically sticking a dagger into my rib cage. I haven’t read Hillbilly Elegy, and I don’t know if I ever will, but that’s not the point. J.D. Vance put a lot of time, energy, effort, and soul into writing that book. I know…because I’ve done it myself. Whether the end product is considered Pulitzer-worthy or not, what lies between the covers of a book represents something worthy of respect.

As I suspect J.D. Vance is of Hillbilly Elegy, I’m proud of my book- American Evolution: Reconsidering America’s Potential…And Its Future. The reviews I’ve received by the tens of people who purchased and read it have been pretty positive. No, I didn’t make a lot of money off of it, but I self-published it, and I knew going in that I wasn’t going to A) win a Pulitzer Prize, B) get rich, or C) all of the above. What I did do was D) achieve a life-long dream.

People who don’t “get” art often don’t respect those who create it. They don’t understand that art simply doesn’t appear out of the ether. It doesn’t materialize out of nothingness for their edification as if by magic. A real person might have driven themselves something close to mad pursuing their vision to bring that art to life. That may seem dramatic, but great art is sometimes birthed from great suffering. Wherever inspiration may emerge from, though, it’s not something to be trifled with simply because someone isn’t interested or lacks understanding or doesn’t give a damn. It’s real. It’s powerful. And it matters.

I suppose this is why some truth in the old adage that “Those who can’t become critics.”

Yeah, I’d really like to casually drop something on that woman’s desk.