When considering the art forms of an era, two important questions which should be asked are: Who is creating the art? And for whom? Reading Jane Austen’s Emma recently, I was struck by the few but telling details about the art of Regency England. The only painting referred to was Emma’s own, of Harriet Smith; the only music the playing and singing of Jane Fairfax, Frank Churchill, and Emma herself. And the dancing: “Mrs. Weston, capital in her country-dances, was seated, and beginning an irresistible waltz...” Aside from a few novels mentioned, all art is produced by the principal characters themselves. The printing press had spun off some artistic personalities, like Byron and Scott, and art was not as anonymous as it had been in the Medieval period, but most artists were still obscure and close to home—and most, like Austen herself, were amateurs.
Two hundred years later, popular music has changed tremendously—not only in style, but focus. Our eyes are no longer on the dancers; the musicians are now in the spotlight, with bands that sell millions of albums and fill stadiums. Dancing is passe; the most you do at rock concerts is kind of sway in your seat as you let the band’s sound wash over you. This uneven relationship between artist and spectator results in a homogenous culture—a few individuals, the stuff of legend if not myth, purveyed by a mass market media into a million households.
Or at least, that was the situation up to about 1990. Since then various cultural influences, some perhaps not well understood, seem to have guided art away from mass consumption and mass media, and towards a more local setting once again. Some causes are obvious—the internet, allowing little-known artists to sell their work and spread their message; technological advances like CD burners and print-on-demand publishing; and a comfortably well-off society that has plenty of leisure time and enough economic security to encourage kids to mine their artistic gifts. Deeper currents may be at work here as well—the children of the upwardly mobile and culturally plastic Baby Boomers may be searching for something more profound and authentic in their art, something of themselves.
Poetry, as usual, has led the way; most of the poets read, bought, and talked about in the Twin Cities now are local (Joyce Sutphen, Deborah Keenan, Jim Moore). Most of the painting, sculpture and pottery sold are by local artists as well. These artists, our local legends, may remain, like Mrs. Weston, obscure amateurs—and we may love them all the more for it.
When the kids start dancing again, you’ll know things have changed.
- Joel Van Valin