When I was a child my parents made sure that I was exposed to the
arts. Each summer we would pile into the
car for the 2.5 hour drive to Stratford, CT for the Shakespeare Festival; in
the winter we would pile into the car for the 2.5 hour drive to New York for the
Nutcracker or the Messiah. In between
times there were the occasional performers who would come to our part of
upstate New York (courtesy of the local arts council) and we’d go to the High
School gymnasium or auditorium to see symphonies, theater, and even the
occasional “modern” dance company.
The entire time this was going on, I would think to
myself—just once, I wish they’d take me to see the Beatles or Led Zeppelin in concert. In my frame of reference the release of
“Rubber Soul” meant far more than attending yet another weird (!)
dance program by some group called Ailey or Bejart.
It wasn’t all bad…
I did get to meet Judith Jamison
once. I was about eight, and I brought
one of my pet gerbils with me to a post-performance reception, of which my
mother was a host. I allowed it to crawl
up my arm while shaking hands with some of the dancers. It magically appeared out from under my
collar just as I got to Ms. Jamison. Oh
how I wish I could report out about the whooping and hollering that should have
followed…
But, no, she calmly put her plate down on a side table,
leaned in close to look at it, and said, “that is an adorable gerbil! May I pet
it?”
I still recall her perfume.
Several years later, after moving to New York and
attending Friday afternoon concerts at Alice Tully Hall thanks to my
grandmother, I was shipped off to school.
With my growing collection of records by Led Zeppelin, the Beatles, and
many others I was lucky enough to be assigned a roommate with a portable
stereo.
In 11th grade I finally “discovered”
Beethoven, an event so profound I think I still haven’t quite recovered--and it’s been almost 40 years. Just last
weekend I found myself listening again to the Waldstein and Appassionata
sonatas several times in succession. My
kids thought I was taking a nap on the living room sofa. No…I was simply
transfixed for the umpteenth time by the depth and passion of these great
works, performed by Emil
Gilels.
Ask yourself, as an intellectual exercise, what art will
survive the test of time? In 250 years,
what will our descendants listen to on a Sunday afternoon? Will it still be Beethoven, Bach, and Brahms?
The truth is, it
doesn’t really matter.
I believe that people come to the arts in their own way
and in their own time. Most kids take
art and music in school (at least they are supposed to!), they attend local
productions of theater and musicals, or chorus and band, sometimes for no other
reason than to support their classmates.
A few get special recognition for a painting they
have painted or a pot they have thrown. But most only know the popular art forms and for them, that’s where we have to start. I started with the Beatles and Led
Zeppelin. But my parents never gave up
on me.
It begins with exposure, and for the lucky ones with
talent, it can quickly become a creative passion if nurtured. For most, exposure ultimately leads to
appreciation and understanding. People
usually fear and mistrust things they don’t understand. Some kids at first don’t trust art, music,
dance, and theater. But if they see their
friends and peers engaged in them and enjoying themselves, then soon their
attitude changes. The arts always become
less strange over time, and I’m never surprised when even the most cynical
among us come to appreciate it and support it—even though it may still be, at
some basic level, beyond their understanding.
The bottom line is that every one of us deserves an
introduction to the arts. For most, that
introduction happens in elementary school and is reinforced every year in a
sequential program of applied learning in the arts. But now that introduction is at risk. Our state education agency no longer has a
curriculum specialists devoted to the arts.
Most schools have only “portions” of art and music teachers working with
kids for less than an hour each week.
The Vermont Alliance of Arts Educators recently shut its
doors for good—not out of want of trying, but out of lack of support for its
mission. In truth, looking at the
current state of arts education in Vermont, we have reason to be concerned.
So what do we do?
To start with, we need to go back to basics. We need to start in our own families, making
sure that we parents introduce our kids to art and culture as often as we can.
We need to support our schools' and communities' art programs, which often only mean just
showing up. We need to insist that our
school budgets have sufficient resources for at least an art and a music
teacher. We need to insist that our
children learn how to attend shows (both visual and performing) with respect
and appreciation—even if, as they will surely tell you, they didn’t like the
art itself.
It starts at home.
It reignites in school. And once
a child has had his or her introduction—and really begun to understand that art
is about something more profound than appealing to their immediate “popular” likes
and dislikes—then we can let them go explore on their own. Our job as a parent and teacher is done.
Who knows? Maybe in 250 years a work created by a kid
I introduced to the arts as a child will be part of the standard repertoire.
Right up there with Stairway to Heaven.
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