The Competition of the Arts

I first saw the above picture in a post made by a meme account on Instagram. Yes, this is how writers find inspiration these days. The above statement says in 53 words what I’m about to say in 1,000. That takes serious meandering skills.

Let’s take a look back at humanity, at our hunting, gathering, leopard skin-clad ancestors. Something we know of them is that they engaged in the arts, just as we do today. Archaeologists have found evidence of music, dance, and paintings, some of which are over 30,000 years old. This won’t sound very scientific of me, but I’m willing to bet that those are just the ones we can find. I think that humans have probably used percussion, song, and color to dazzle our lives for 100,000+ years. Why do I have this confidence? Well, to quote the average Woodstock enjoyer, art’s just a part of us, man. This artful penchant seems inseparable from the human condition.

An image of a stone age tribal gathering conjures in our minds scenes of drums, fire, and impassioned dance undertaken by the people. There is song, too. An old woman wails to the gods, children yelp and howl. It’s not exclusive. It’s for everyone. It’s as much a show of their humanity as laughter, smiles, and tears. These activities, at their core, are essential forms of human expression.

Something I fear we’ve done is we’ve taken the arts from a form of expression that all humans do, to a skill that only few do. How often do you hear “I’m a terrible dancer,” or “I can’t sing.”

These are only relevant statements in a culture that views art as skill. When seen more clearly as the human expression that art is, the statements lose sense. Imagine someone saying “I suck at laughing” or “You’re not a very skilled cryer.” It sounds ridiculous. Frankly, it is ridiculous to shrink something as universal as human emotion down to personal talent.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking. I’m thinking it too. It can be a bit peeving to sing along to a song with someone who doesn’t recognize a C note from a Post-It note. It’s typically more enjoyable to hear someone play guitar who has practiced, rather than someone who hasn’t. I’d rather see the work of a dedicated muralist than someone who has never painted. Why? Because art provides sensory joy. We love these sensory experiences so much that we begin to exalt them, pedestalize them, and we forget that they are integral parts of the human experience, not “skills” reserved for the practiced and the brilliant.

I hate to think my musical preference would hinder someone from exhibiting their humanity.

What I hope to convey here is that the arts, first and foremost, are an expression. It’s just an added bonus that practicing them makes for a pleasant sensory experience.

If we suppress our ability to express ourselves, we bottle up.

When I was in school, there were (what felt like) thousands of times that I could barely hold laughter in as my friend across the class mimed any number of stupid jokes to me. I engaged every bit of sinew to suppress my true emotions. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to shake and to slap my knees and stomp by feet uncontrollably. And I wouldn’t. On the other end of the emotional spectrum, there are times when my throat feels like it’s going to burst with pain as I attempt to hold back a storm of tears. Maybe it’s a funeral, maybe it’s a moving conversation, or maybe it’s just a soul-stirring movie with friends. I want to let out a good sob. Yet… I often deny myself this release. It’s hard to bottle up emotion. But, do it enough, and you don’t feel like you have to anymore. Where once there existed a bubbling urge to demonstrate a feeling, there is now just a numbness. This is not strength. When we are numb to pain, we are in danger. A numb hand doesn’t know it’s burning skin as it sits on a hot stove. A numb human doesn’t know it’s suffering from a lack of emotional outlet.

I think we’ve done the same thing with the arts. We suppress ourselves, but for a different reason. We discourage doing these things whenever we feel them, because we see these things as skills, so that if “I’m a bad painter,” I simply do not draw things. I never flex that part of my brain. We shy away from dancing in the club, bar, or party because that is now a skill, and to do so means we’ll be judged as any other skill is judged. We don’t sing for the same reason, no matter how desperately that ancient human within us wishes to vocalize through song.

When we danced around the fire, we did so because we needed to, not because we were “good” at it. Similarly, we feel a need to laugh when we see something funny, and the laughter isn’t reserved for those who are “good” at laughing. It’s hard to quell emotion, but, sadly, it gets easier the more we do so. That’s why it’s hard for most of us to hold laughter, but easy to skip out on dancing. Laughter is something we suppress on occasion, say in a meeting or at a wedding, but most of the time, we let out a good belly laugh when we feel it. Singing, drawing, dancing though? We suppress those needs just about every damn time. Now it’s second nature to simply ignore them.

What deep-seated pain within you might be the result of decades of emotional suppression? Go dance to some music, on your own, and see how it feels. Do it til you sweat. Turn it up loud. Just move with it. Think of it as a way for your arms and legs to laugh in their own way. They’re owed that much, don’t you think? And sing too, if you want. You can’t be bad at it, anymore than you’re bad at crying. There are no rules here. You’re a human, and you deserve to feel that again.

“The jester looked in the mirror, and he saw a cellist looking back at him. And a cryer. And a sculptor. And a friend. And he knew this mirror was good.”

-John