Art and Athleticism

Nothing draws me to the television faster than the Olympic Games.  It’s not grandeur or the pageantry; it’s not the magisterial music written by John Williams (although I am a HUGE fan), and it certainly isn’t the treacle that passes for “biographical sketches” of hometown athletes overcoming some gargantuan struggle.

No, it’s the competitions themselves.  Whether table tennis or judo, indoor cycling or synchronized diving, I just LOVE to watch finely tuned athletes compete at the highest level of their sports.  Last night I watched one of the most incredible games of soccer (football? what?) between Canada and the US and there was hardly a player left standing at the end of the match.  They’d left it all on the field and it showed in their faces—some grim and disheartened, and others joyful but exhausted.

Early last week several stories were served up on NPR about how the modern Olympics under the leadership of Baron Pierre de Coubertin had included poetry and art competitions as well, starting with the 1912 Stockholm Games.  They stopped them after the 1948 London Games evidently because no one cared and, based on the few samples that I heard, the poetry and art was really amateurish or, to stay in context, “not of Olympic caliber.”

Why, I wondered?

Some art forms lend themselves very well to competition. Why isn’t there an Olympics for dance, for instance?  Fox has figured out, with the genius of Nigel Lythgoe, a stunningly successful formula for “So You Think You Can Dance?”  Why can’t that competition be adapted for an international stage?  The dancers on that show are probably as close to committed to their art as Olympic athletes are to their sport.  The entertainment value is just as strong, if not stronger.  And sharing multicultural experiences on a grand scale has to be at least as important to the world’s psyche as sharing the 100-meter dash or the marathon, doesn’t it?

Baron de Coubertin’s foray into an Olympic Art competition sounded doomed from the start.  First, in his world-view, nothing was more grand than the gifted amateur, sacrificing everything in the pursuit of Olympic excellence.  The fact that this attitude towards sport doesn’t work as well for painting and poetry seemed lost on him.  Gifted amateurs can still put up a spirited and entertaining sports competition.  But for the most part, art and poetry requires a much more nuanced approach, a level of sophistication on the part of the creator and the audience that is probably not going to be found in the broad popular context of an Olympic Games.  And let’s just say that except for Poetry Slam competitors most poets, like painters, tend to shy away from competitions.   Listening to the NPR report I had to admit that  nothing could have sounded more pompous and self-conscious than de Coubertin’s own  “winning” poem (anonymously submitted!) that began, “O sport!...”

Ugh.

But what if we COULD pull it off, what then?  Judging play writing couldn’t be any better or worse than judging gymnastics or figure skating.  Same with singing, dancing, acting, playing the bassoon or a myriad of other artistic pursuits, right?  Some countries might dominate in some areas for years at a time.  I bet Great Britain, for instance, would be a dominant player in play writing competitions, much like Jamaica seems to be dominating the sprint competitions.  What’s the matter with that?

It would be entertaining.  It would be exciting.  It would be worthy of an Olympian effort.  And it might just change a whole lot of people’s attitudes towards the arts…

Why not?

A Study in Contrasts

As part of my ongoing travels throughout the State, I frequently witness startling contrasts.  Most have to do with views or weather. After all, this is Vermont, and we have plenty of varieties of both.

But my recent travels have brought me into contact with two communities, in very different parts of the State, each of which are remarkable in terms of what they offer from a cultural perspective (or don’t), and more importantly, how they view the role of art and culture in their community’s future.

The first community, which I shall call “A,” has for years suffered from the manufacturing flight of the past couple of generations.  Hundreds of thousands of square feet of former factory/mill real estate has lain empty for a long time, and several attempts to “bootstrap” an economy have met largely with mediocre (if that!) success.  Community “A” has not, however given up.  In the past few years they have converted some of the space into a community health center, and looked at what other communities have done that have resulted in new public/private investment.

It seems to be working.  Last week I attended a public opening at a new (re)development in the heart of the downtown, and it was clear to me that the town and the developer of the property had their priorities squarely in the right place.  As Mayor Richard Riley of Charleston SC famously said, “If you want to build public value in a community, give the best parts of the community to the public!”  This community, this developer took the centerpiece of the property and turned it into an open gallery/community use space, taking advantage of the nearly perfect lighting that the clerestory windows drew from outside.  They had invested time and energy into selecting works of art that both captivated the viewer and reflected back the town’s new-found energy and commitment to its future.

Community A still has a long way to go.  But they now have a significant cultural entity with which to draw visitors, to attract workers and their families, to attract entrepreneurs, and to attract additional investment.  The positive energy was palpable, and the community’s sense of pride and achievement is well-deserved.  [And I should also add, the next town over also recently installed a new art center so now each community can build on the strengths of the other as they look to bring people into Vermont!]

Contrast this with my encounter in community “B.”  This town has a storied history, wonderful cultural entities who have been serving as the primary draw for visitors and residents for well over a century.  Their cultural assets include several buildings (museum, library, performing arts facility, and theater), and a school with a strong national reputation for educating well-rounded, culturally aware students.  There is a thriving population of artists and craftspeople whose work is visible in many locations throughout the community and whose combined interests support multiple arts and community festivals etc.

The difference between community A and B is the level of engagement by their respective elected or appointed community leaders.  Community A’s leaders, especially the business leaders, are totally behind the new efforts to establish use this new arts facility as a calling card, a beacon of light to attract new life-blood to the community.  Community B’s leaders seem content to quietly ignore the considerable cultural assets in their midst.  On a recent trip there I stopped by community B’s visitor center, having previously attended many meetings there to discuss how to kick-start their “creative economy,” only to find that the visitor’s center had been moved at least three miles out of town, past “the strip” and its large contingency of car dealerships, fast food restaurants, and mall shops.

What visitor to community B is going to want to find his/her way three miles out of town and then turn back again?

The point here is simply one of perception.  Community A perceives this new art venue as a draw, as a catalyst that will help turn their town around psychologically and, eventually, economically.  People in community A have committed themselves to the arts, and placed one of the most valuable new pieces of real estate in the hands of curators and artists to carry their community spirit forward.

Community B perceives the arts as something very different.  Perhaps the community leaders have grown up with these incredible assets and their stately familiarity is simply not something they see much value in.  Lucky for community B, the people who manage, who perform in, who visit, or otherwise attend these cultural entities are loyal and committed to the work that is presented.  They carry on despite their local community’s leaders’ apparent neglect.

This is a pity.  Community B will have a much more difficult time, despite its significant cultural advantages, in attracting new audiences, new visitors, new investment, and new blood than community A. 

It’s an interesting contrast.

Education and the Arts: Vermont

[Taken from the annual State of the Arts speech, given at the Annual Meeting of the Vermont Arts Council, June 5, 2012 in the Vermont State House, Montpelier, Vermont]

In the middle of my sixth grade year my family moved from upstate NY to Brooklyn and enrolled me in a highly progressive experimental school called St. Ann’s.  Not quite 11 years old, and wearing a Nehru jacket that my mother assured me was all the rage, I walked into the school on my first day, with my heart pounding in the back of my throat.   

The very first impression I had was that, compared to the sedate western Massachusetts school I had said goodbye to the Friday before, this was complete chaos.

First there was the noise.  The hum of Brooklyn’s streets, gave way behind the school’s front door to shouts of glee from young children rushing to their homeroom; crashes from the dining hall as early arrivals finished their snacks and vied with each other for the honor of clearing their dishes the loudest.  Then there was the smell: a combination of industrial paint, disinfectant, chalk dust, fruit cocktail and overcooked green beans.  And of course there was me, smelling of fear and damp, woolen, Nehru jacket.

Most astonishing was the two-story carpeted grand staircase which led past the admissions offices on the mezzanine up to the first level of classrooms on the third floor.  It was a stunning visual introduction to a school I’d barely even heard of a week earlier.   

On this grand staircase, kids of all ages congregated; some to chat or gossip, and others to compare notes prior to attending their classes.  

One kid named Peter proclaimed loudly to anyone listening that he could descend the entire staircase in fewer than six leaps.  After skipping four steps on his first leap, he realized he’d have to skip even more in order to reach his goal.  So his second leap he cleared five steps.  It was his third leap, now trying to clear six steps, that misfortune struck.  Upon landing, his feet came out from under him and he thrumped his way down the entire rest of the staircase on his ass.

Unhurt, he popped up onto his feet, saw that I was looking in fear and admiration at his extraordinary fall, and said sagely, “that was a dumb move.” It was years before it occurred to me he was referring to my Nehru jacket, not his fall. 

St. Ann’s was and still is a truly arts-integrated school.  It didn’t give grades, just comments.  It placed you in classes by ability, not by age.  In this school, I sang my first solo, drew my first nude, wrote my first and only play and starred in it as Spock with a stunning classmate improbably named Davina opposite me as Capt. Kirk, all by the end of my ninth-grade year. 

In this school I discovered that despite my initial fears, a country boy who liked nothing better than digging in manure, fishing with night-crawlers he had gathered himself, and building forts in the woods with his brother, could survive and thrive in an arts-rich, urban environment all while learning the requisite materials in science, math, history, literature, and foreign languages.

I tell this story because the Arts Council has spent a great deal of time this year putting together a strategic plan, and one of the most significant “aha” moments came  last fall when we realized two things:  One, that far from gaining any traction in this post-911, NCLB, STEM-oriented world, the arts were, in fact, facing ongoing, and ever-increasing deficits in our schools; and two, that if we are to “stem” this tide (so to speak), we have to have a radically different vision for Vermonters and their access to the arts going forward.

So this year, our Strategic Plan in addition to calling for a greater emphasis on evaluation of programs and accountability, also calls for a renewed emphasis on arts education—particularly on the pre-K through 12 cohort in which young boys and girls transition into young adults, test societal mores, and make decisions that can profoundly impact their future for better or worse. 

Our vision is for all Vermont students to have access to a thorough, integrated, sequential, learning plan or program that includes instruction in the arts as well as instruction through the arts.  We believe this can only happen when communities demand that their schools turn STEM-only mandates in to “full STEAM ahead”-mandates in which in which the arts and creativity play a central role; in which professional arts instructors, in addition to their teaching duties, help integrate the arts into other areas of the curriculum and supplement this work with local artist- and arts organization-resources. 

Our role is to support schools in this work through showcasing successful models, providing networking and convening opportunities, and collaborating with the Department of Education and the Agency of Human Services to ensure that ALL Vermont students, especially those in difficult or constrained circumstances, have equal access to these vital programs as well as the research that justifies this type of dynamic approach.

Another much longer-term vision and thus much more difficult to develop evaluation metrics for, is for Vermont to develop a reputation for graduating young adults from its secondary and post-secondary schools who are not only well-educated, but whose ideas about the importance of civic engagement and self-awareness are informed by their knowledge of and appreciation for creativity and the arts. 

Statistically, nearly half of all students who graduate from college leave the state their school is located in and settle elsewhere.  We want those students to value their own Vermont education experience so much that either they are compelled to return when they’re ready to start their own business or raise a family, or they do everything in their power to recreate it wherever they happen to live—even if it’s in a place like Westlake, Louisiana.   

Last week Governor Jindal proudly announced that Louisiana has “privatized” its entire public school system.  Now tax payer-funded vouchers are available for parents want to send kids to schools like Eternity Christian Academy in Westlake which teaches a “Creationist perspective of Science” with no mention of the Theory of Evolution because (and I quote its Principal) “we try to stay away from all those things that might confuse our children.”

Art can certainly be confusing. But isn’t that in part the point of knowing something about it?  Unpacking the meaning of a painting, or a poem, or a song—exploring its deeper, universal meaning—isn’t that kind of what life is all about?  Studying the arts is the nearest substitute we have to studying life itself.  In fact, take out the word substitute.  Art is life.  But then, if you’re reading this, there is a good chance you already know it.

About a month ago I paid a visit to the Arts Integrated Academy in Burlington’s North End.  As the door closed behind me and I climbed the stairs to the main floor, I was struck at the overwhelming similarity to my first arrival at St. Ann’s more than 40 years ago.  Even without a Nehru jacket, the sounds, sights and smells were nearly identical.  I could tell instantly that this school is Vermont’s future. 

No, there wasn’t a grand staircase, but there was art on every wall, notices about music, field trips, teaching artist visits and the like.  Most importantly, there was a full class of multi-ethnic, non-English speaking students of all ages working on a group puppet show.  This was their introduction not just to the English language and the American education system but to life in America itself, and I was so so proud of them and of the good people at the Academy and the Flynn whose diligent stewardship has turned this school into such a dynamic learning environment in just three short years.

This school is the antidote to what is happening in places like Louisiana where public policy makers have essentially given over their responsibilities to the next generation completely to the private sector.  It is today what all Vermont schools should be like tomorrow.

Our job—the Arts Council’s  job—is to make it so.

Tropical Storm Irene’s Unwanted Offspring

In the nearly nine months since Tropical Storm Irene ravaged Vermont, much has been reported about the outpouring of support for those impacted and the speed and efficiency with which communities and state agencies (particularly the Agency of Transportation and Commerce/Community Development) responded to the destruction of roads, bridges, neighborhoods, and foliage/holiday-season tourism.  Those efforts were truly outstanding, and continue to be so for the foreseeable future.  Looking at the huge swaths of Rte. 107 along the White River that were affected and rebuilt within a few short months gives anyone driving a sense of awe about what Vermonters accomplished.

One of the particularly gratifying responses came from the arts sector.  Final numbers may be impossible to pinpoint but within a few months of the disaster, at least $2 million had been raised and deposited in various funds at the Vermont Community Foundation mostly from artists, notably Phish and Grace Potter and the Nocturnals, stepping forward and offering their services.

There have been dozens, if not hundreds, of events and activities that have supported the Irene Recovery effort—most in the form of community concerts, arts and crafts auctions, house concert parties, and a very successful graphic design (“Vermont Strong”) that, as a license plate, has raised several hundred thousand dollars for the State’s long-term recovery efforts.  Artists of all genres and abilities have participated in this outpouring of support and their efforts have been greatly appreciated, whether they netted a few hundred or a few thousand dollars.

Here we are, however, nearly nine months later contemplating what I fear may be an unintended (though perhaps not unexpected) outcome of this magnificent response to Irene: the disappearance of contributions to other charitable-purpose organizations, specifically arts organizations.

In the last few weeks one of Vermont’s pre-eminent cultural institutions has been turned down flat by its second long-standing business supporter in a row.  The reason?  Those businesses are focusing all their charitable giving to the Irene recovery effort.  This isn’t really an example of “Donor Fatigue.” This is more like “Donor Abandonment.”  And it should be nipped before it buds.

It would be extremely short-sighted for arts-friendly corporations to abandon their support for cultural entities in their zeal to “set Vermont back on its feet.”  First, most of those cultural entities were, and continue to be, at the forefront of raising funds to support the same effort.  Second, individuals were able to dig deeper than ever this year to put a few extra dollars towards the Irene Recovery effort, so why can’t businesses be expected to do the same without compromising their other commitments?  Third, and perhaps most important, Vermont’s cultural organizations tend to live pretty much hand-to-mouth even in years where the economy is good and people are gainfully employed.  Simply saying no because of a single natural disaster does nothing more than reveal how much, or little, those businesses value the presence of art and culture in their lives and communities.  Is this really the message business wants to convey?  What kind of Vermont will be set back on its feet if it doesn't include the arts?

We are already seeing that in our zeal to repair many of Vermont’s waterways we have removed all the large rocks and downed trees from many riverbeds, thus (ironically) exacerbating the damage future flooding could cause.  Are we ready for similar consequences should it turn out that in our zeal to support the near-term Irene Recovery effort, we do permanent, long-term damage to the cultural sector’s financial sustainability?

It is probably true that no single decision that any one business makes about whether to support an arts organization it has supported for years is going to make too much of a difference to the health of Vermont’s arts sector.  But before two “Nos” become a trend, I want to make sure the good people in charge of making corporate funding decisions understand that their actions could have grave consequences for a field that adds so much to our way of life.

Whither the Non-Profit Arts Sector?

 A recent post by Brooklyn Philharmonic CEO Richard Dare set the nonprofit arts world all abuzz.  It gave a lot of statistics about the number of orchestras that are failing and the general fragility of the non-profit art sector—in short, the kind of alarm-ringing I, for one, have heard since the early 1970s when I began my career in the arts.

The interesting thing is that Dare is right.  He’s right if you define the arts as they are traditionally considered: those art forms handed down to us from, mostly, Europe.  Classical music, fine arts, theater, dance—these are the art forms that many of us have labored for years to sustain, to bring to the farthest corners of our nation, to extol as the epitome of creativity.  And to a large degree, we have generally accomplished our goals.  Orchestras, opera companies, theaters, museums and galleries no longer exist just in large major metropolitan areas.  They are everywhere.  Maybe, just maybe, we have been too successful…

Seventy-three percent, according to Dare, of all orchestras are running deficits, 18 percent are barely breaking even, and less than 10% are showing small net incomes.  It certainly looks like a sector at risk.  Dare uses the right statistics but I think he misses a few important points.  First, looking at the growth of this classical artistic sector in the past 40 years one has to wonder, what has taken so long for there to be a shake-out?  Second, Dare goes on to suggest that, based on these statistics, the problem with our sector must be the very model on which it is based (the non-profit business model).  Good grief.  A sector has some massive issues, therefore the problem is with the business model?  Really?  Would he apply the same logic to the for-profit sector when, say, a tech bubble or a real estate bubble bursts and sends the entire economy into a tail-spin for four or five years?  Jeez…should we ditch capitalism?

I don’t think so.

From what I have observed (so my view is not at all scientific), the solution for the arts sector involves actively exploring four paths:  Expanding the definition of what we mean by “art;” Being real to your community; Embracing change; and Serving a greater good.

Expanding the definition of art

Politically speaking, most discussions about art are about the marginal utility of supporting “the arts” and they frequently result in a diatribe against the “elitism” that pervades the arts.  Why should anyone with a ton of money get a tax deduction for supporting something that only his or her equally well-heeled friends get to enjoy?  The fact is that since the 1960s the arts ESPECIALLY in this country have evolved very quickly away from this Euro-centric view, and continually embrace the creative expressions of many other cultures.  Whether it is a blending of expressions (hip-hop/modern dance) or totally new expressions (new, that is, to someone brought up in a western classical tradition), the non-profit sector has found room for all of it.  And those that are really embracing the new art forms seem to be holding or even increasing audience share.  At least as far as I can tell…

Being real to your community

I once got a call from someone who wanted to open up a new ballet studio in a small town (pop. 12,000-ish) that already had two working dance studios, a dynamic cultural scene (theaters, galleries, etc.) and an even more robust outdoor recreation program for its school-aged children.  When I asked if she had done any kind of market analysis to see what the barriers might be to her desire to open up a studio, she said it didn’t matter.  No one was teaching the kind of dance she intended to teach.

I tried to advise her to start with one of the already-existing dance studios, to offer a few classes to build a reputation, and only THEN to establish a separate corporate identity.  She wouldn’t listen.  Her naiveté points out the importance of context.  Her community is a real place with real people and real limitations for what she wanted to achieve. 

We don’t expect a village like Island Pond (in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom) to mount a production with anywhere near the same values as one might find in Burlington or Montreal.  But does that mean the artistic experience for a performance in Island Pond, especially for the audience, is of any less value than that of an audience in Burlington?  No, not at all.

Not all organizations can be Mass MoCA.  But now that Mass MoCA exists, plenty of other communities want to imitate it.  But they can’t.  Their expectations are, “all we need is your money, and we can take care of the rest.”  But they don’t understand that the roots of Mass MoCA were put in place nearly 15 years before it opened; more if you consider Mass MoCA’s operating environment to include the entire brand identity of the Berkshires.

The point is, the minute a non-profit arts organization stops behaving like a crucial piece of its own local community, it starts to become irrelevant.  The real trick is to make sure you know who your community is.

Embracing change

I read that the Metropolitan Opera’s annual budget last year was close to $400 million.  More startling than the sheer magnitude of that dollar figure was learning that what had put them into the black for the year was not a particular donation or sponsorship, but the “profit” they made on their digital broadcasts to theaters all over the country.  As one venerable member of the Vermont Arts Council’s board said, “I’ve been to the opera all my life and I love it.  But until I went to one of these digital broadcasts, I had NEVER felt like I was onstage with the performers.  It was stunning; a whole new experience.”

Hey, if the Metropolitan Opera can do it, so can the rest of us.  No, I’m not talking about digital broadcasts, I’m talking about embracing change.  I remember the fights the opera world had in the 1980s when the New York City Opera used supertitles for the first time. (“Sacrilege!” they all cried.)  I still hear the debates between respected artists over whether the public should support only “absolute artistic excellence” or “relative artistic excellence.”  What a load of b.s.  Seriously.

Everyone agrees that William Shakespeare is still the greatest playwright that ever lived.  But does a theater company ALWAYS have to resort to putting up “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” when money gets tight?  Do ballet companies ALWAYS have to perform the “Nutcracker” at Christmas?    I’m a huge believer in Michael Kaiser’s exhortations to embrace new productions and market and promote them well.  Change is good for the brain and for the soul.  Done right, it is also very good for the bottom line…

Serving a greater good

“But we’re artists.  We don’t do things that way.”  How often do communities hear this from their cultural leaders?  I have been arguing for years that one of the best indicators of the well-being of a community is the degree to which its artistic community is engaged, not (just) in art-making, but in serving on school boards, planning commissions, select boards, mayors’ advisory councils.

Most arts organizations have long since learned that today’s student-matinee attendees are tomorrow’s audiences.  But how many have taken that a step further and looked for ways to participate in or create programs that reduce recidivism, or improve the quality of life for PTSD or brain-injured patients at the local VA hospital?  How many of established outposts in the poorest neighborhoods to bring a ray of light and hope to some of the most underserved of our citizens? 

The answer is, actually, quite a few.  From the Bronx to Chicago’s West Side, to the Barrios of LA, there are dozens of arts-based organizations inviting people of all socio-economic and ethnic backgrounds to share their cultural expressions.  No, they don’t pretend to be the Met.  They don’t have to.  They are providing meaningful connections and bridges between and among people who are in desperate need of a creative outlet and nurturing.  Trust me, even if the rest of the nonprofit world dies off, these organizations will thrive.

So, what’s going to happen next?

I think we are seeing a huge shake-out in the nonprofit sector.  It’s been a long time coming.  There will be winners and losers.  There will be mergers and acquisitions.  There will be bruised egos and probably a few “pewter parachutes” (not enough money for gold!).  But the model itself is quite strong.  It’s what we do with it that matters.  Just like in the for-profit sector.

Make an Introduction

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 11^th 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.

Using the Left Hand

It was said of Maestro Eugene Ormandy that his was the most expressive right hand in classical music.  As music director of the Philadelphia Orchestra he could pull more lush sound out of 110 players—particularly string players—with just his right hand than anyone else on the planet. 

A short man, accustomed to getting his way, he spoke softly, wielded a small stick and demanded perfection from every musician that worked under his direction.  His left hand, for the most part, hung by his side and only rarely made a small gesture to players to indicate their cue.  These, however, were nearly always invisible to the audience.

Only once, in four summers of singing with the Saratoga-Potsdam Chorus under his direction, did I see Maestro Ormandy use his left hand to dramatic effect.

We had rehearsed Verdi’s Requiem for weeks and there was a particular choral entrance he wanted emphasized.

“I’m going to wind up and give you the biggest cue you will ever see, and I don’t want just the basses to enter.  I want the tenors and altos to also come in on that note.  I want the audience to be knocked flat by this entrance.  So watch for it.  Don’t be late…”  So there we were, rehearsing again and again that five-second moment that would make or break the performance.

The night of the performance, Saratoga Performing Arts Center was sold out.  7500 in the shed and another 2500 on the lawn; a beautiful evening; the soloists sounded amazing.  Our big moment arrived and we geared up for the entrance.

A couple of measures before we were to sing, we all realized something was not quite right.  Having been drilled by our chorus preparer, the late great Brock McElheron, we kept the mantra “hearts on fire, brains on ice” close to our thoughts.  Sure enough, it happened.  Maestro Ormandy, with a look of intense concentration on his face, took a short step back and fired off perhaps the biggest cue he had ever given to the largest chorus he had ever worked with…

…a full measure early.

Not a single person came in.  Ormandy, leaning forward to brace himself against the expected wall of sound, almost fell into the second violins.  Then, with his cue fresh in our minds, all 300 of us, with the full brass, wind and percussion sections of the mighty Philadelphia Orchestra, entered in full voice. Maestro Ormandy, in the process of recovering from his near fall forwards, was now knocked backwards—nearly into the front row of the audience.  What saved him was the railing that stage management had thoughtfully built into the podium.

Reeling, Ormandy recovered his footing and, by now panicked, wildly looked around trying to fix what surely had been one of the greatest missed entrances of his career.  But as a few more seconds passed and those incredibly fine-tuned ears of his reasserted themselves, he realized that we had come in exactly on time, in exactly the manner he wanted us to, and that the only thing wrong was that he had given us our cue a measure early.  All was, astonishingly, well.

A few more bars passed, the chorus continued through the “Salva me…” section of the Requiem, and then it happened.

Up came the left hand.

In full view of the audience, and in the slowest and grandest of all gestures, Maestro Ormandy pointed his left index finger at his left temple, his thumb “cocked,” and pulled the trigger—all with the most beatific smile on his face. 

His full and very public acknowledgment of his mistake, while the orchestra was still playing and we were all singing, was one of the greatest moments of my life.  It left me reassured that any of us, no matter our aspirations, can find ourselves having to confront failure.  The lesson was not in avoiding the failure but in moving past it with grace, dignity, and greater wisdom.  In that sublime moment, Ormandy demonstrated his humanity and his greatness.

I wish all politicians, all public servants, could have lived through this experience and seen for themselves how Maestro Ormandy handled himself.

The quality of our political discourse, including the debates we are seeing from our Presidential candidates, is disheartening.  Even worse is the quality of discourse on the internet by people on all sides of the aisle who parse every action, every statement, and every fashion choice, and lob the most withering, incendiary comments that demean and denounce the candidates from the safety and privacy of their living rooms.

The chief executive of any enterprise, whether it is a small business, a symphony orchestra, or the President of the United States should be judged not just by what he (or she) knows or by his past actions, but by the qualities and capabilities of those with whom he surrounds himself, and the degree to which he is comfortable in taking responsibility for their actions.

I no longer believe we elect a President.  I believe we elect a Presidency.  We elect a point of view; a set of values; a change of scenery.  The President, while aspiring to be as communicative, as expressive, and as clear as possible with the right hand, must also know when to use the left hand.  And so, for the record, should all of us.

A President or CEO that has not learned yet the importance of his/her left hand is lacking some critical skills…

…and probably should attend the symphony more often.