The Risk of Art

risk |risk|: noun. A situation involving exposure to danger.

What is the role of risk in the arts? Is what we do as artists “dangerous”?

As artists, we are given the opportunity to risk in many ways. We risk commercially, in that there are always internal and external pressures to be profitable, and we typically must finance ourselves in our work to some degree. We risk artistically, in that art that stands out as unique and exceptional requires that we make stylistic choices that can deviate from acceptability. We also risk our audience, for they have unspoken expectations upon us, expectations to entertain and to perform to their preconceived liking—for we love the adoration of our audience more than we care to admit. We risk being misunderstood, as artists typically battle the demons of acceptance and approval, while still maintaining our vision for our art. And we risk spiritually, in that the choices we make as artists often are accompanied by decisions to compromise our personal integrity, our morals, and even our vision for our art. These risks are both complex and entangled, both highly specific to our art and to our selves.

Risk is no new thing to artists. A 26-year-old Michelangelo risked his reputation and career on a politically vexing and immensely massive block of marble locals called “the Giant.” It was through Michelangelo’s craftsmanship and vision that the huge stone became the iconic Renaissance sculpture, “David.” Experimental painters in the late 1800s, including Monet and Renoir, suffered incessant criticism and ridicule from the established French academics of their day. Originally dubbed “impressionism” as a derisive term, this style and movement would only later became more widely recognized and applauded. In 1965, Bob Dylan was nearly booed off the stage when he unveiled a new electric, rock-influenced sound to his devoted folk audience. Ironically, Dylan was simply expressing the voice of change with the musical instruments which characterized that change. Thomas Langmann sold his home and borrowed from relatives in order to finance this crazy idea of a film, a silent black-and-white movie set in the late 1920s. His 2011 release, “The Artist,” went on to win three Golden Globes and five Academy Awards. Even today, artists around the world are being persecuted with harassment, imprisonment, and torture because their art is in response to “oppression, injustice, and despotism.” Indeed, art can be a dangerous thing.

And artists of faith are not immune to this as well. T.S. Eliot was spurned by some critics when his poetry began to reflect his conversion to orthodox Christianity. Long-haired Christian musicians in the 1970s were ridiculed and rebuked for their use of guitars and drums in the church (a pretty laughable thought in this day and age). Evangelicals continue to have a love/hate relationship with the super group U2, and specifically with their spiritual frontman, Bono. And though this is a relatively small thing, I myself remember instances where, as a Christian playing jazz fusion in the early 1990s, church audiences would actually turn their backs on us.

But maybe the better question might be, what are the consequences of not risking in our art? When we play it safe and minimize risk, what can be the result? We can be ignored. We can cocoon ourselves, either physically in our studios or metaphorically in our Christian subculture, our holy huddles. We can produce art that is cliche and mediocre and derivative. We can be dishonest with ourselves. We can spend a lot of time saying nothing.

What are the risks you are taking as an artist? Are you developing new techniques? Are you seeking new audiences, or seeking to speak to them in new ways? Are you pushing the artificial boundaries of your disciplines or genres? Are you taking some financial risks? Are you seeking to say something worth saying? Are you using your art to champion a cause or speak Truth to the world?

Reply to this blog and I’ll share some of the things you, as an artist of faith, are doing. I can’t wait to hear from you.

A Quick Announcement…

Just wanted everyone to know that I’ve recently enabled the new Community Widget on my website. Now, subscribers to “Adventures in Faith and Art” will be shown randomly as a small gravatar (your profile picture) in the sidebar of my main page (look on the right). I’m hoping that this might help us connect better with one another.

So this is what you can do.  Check out the new “Adventures in Community” sidebar on my webpage, and then surf through the many subscribers’ websites—it’s a virtual community of artists of faith. You might learn something new, see something that inspires you, or just make a new friend.

Of course, I always encourage you to subscribe to my website (see the subscribe button on the right), or just surf through other pages on my blog, including Gigs, Book Review, Web Links, Music, and other stuff. As always, thanks for your support!

Art Beyond Reason

In the last years of my mother’s life, there was so much to say, and few ways to say it. The victim of a sudden stroke, she had lost the ability to talk, and in those last few years, she began the slow and implacable slide into dementia. Once a loving but opinionated woman (not untypical of Filipino moms!), she had evolved over time into that quiet, slumped posture that marked the last chapter of a life lived long and hard.

I would visit her every other month or so, and when I did, it was always the same—the dullness of being, the puzzled look in her eyes as she first sees me, a prolonged flash of sudden knowing, and then a large smile that filled her worn but tender face.  But the smile always faded quickly, back to the Mona Lisa stare, back to the dullness that was her life.

We had moved her to southern California to live with my brother’s family, and their home was rather small, so I always stayed at a local inn. Often, I would take her on short trips to the hotel, to get her out of the house and give my sister-in-law a break. There, we would sit at the lobby windows, overlooking the pool, she in her wheelchair and me beside her. Holding her small, wrinkled hands, I would share family news and tell stories about the past and show photos of the kids to her on my MacBook. And when this one-sided conversation would begin to wane, I would wheel her to the out-of-tune baby grand piano in the lobby, and play her some songs.

This is where I sometimes felt she could best connect with me and I with her. I would usually play for maybe an hour, going from old songs on the radio to jazz standards to new songs I had written. But her favorite tune was an old Filipino classic called “Dahil Sa Iyo.” She had made me learn the song as a reluctant young boy, and thankfully, I was still able to remember and play this beautiful piece for her. As I would begin the opening bars of the song, I would glance at her to see that small smile appear from her pursed lips, see her head bob ever so slightly with the music. Obviously, I couldn’t read her mind, but I knew through her smile that she connected with the song, connected with the wave of memories it conjured.

There are reasons for this, reasons both scientific and spiritual. And I was reminded of these reasons during our recent Intersections: Faith and the Arts conference, when Tiffany Paige, director of the Sacramento ARTZ: Artists for Alzheimer’s organization, spoke to us.

ARTZ “is an organization that links artists and cultural institutions to people living with dementia and their care partners. Influenced by science and sociology, ARTZ uses artistic and cultural experiences as keys to unlock creativity, create new memories, strengthen relationships, and replace fear with hope.” In short, ARTZ believes strongly that access to creative expression is essential to our human experience.

During Tiffany’s moving presentation, she informed us that while Alzheimer’s disease affects logic and comprehension and communication, it does not affect emotion or memories. This is why her patients are so moved by the visual artwork that she presents to them. The art are triggers to memories and thoughts and feelings, and they are often able to interact with those memories and emotionally respond to them. The response has been sometimes subtle, sometimes astounding.

There is a spiritual dimension to this as well, of course. We are made in the image of God, a God who is both emotional and artistic.  He is, in fact, the most joyous, the most artistic, and the most deeply emotional Being in the universe. So we are hard-wired to feel emotion at the sight of beauty and the arts, even when void of logic and rationale.  Art extends, literally, beyond reason.

There are other examples of this that are dear to me. Arts Camp is my church’s annual summer day camp for elementary age children.  Each year, hundreds of kids from our community are offered the love of Christ through the gifts of dance, drama, music, visual arts, culinary arts, and various crafts. It is one of the most exciting weeks in our church. This year, both of my teen daughters will be shepherds in the “Brush Stokes” class, a small elective taught by my friend Susan Lee that teaches the visual arts to special needs children. Also, for many years, our church ran the The Rhythm Arts Project (TRAP), led by Steve Liberti. Through drum circle and percussion, TRAP “educates individuals with intellectual and developmental differences by embracing a curriculum that encompasses rhythm as a modality” to address basic life and academic skills. Steve led many TRAP classes for the developmentally challenged, as well as for young children, helping them gain skills and self-esteem.

Both of these are examples of where the arts are used to allow young people the opportunity to explore and express themselves beyond mere logic, beyond mere reason, into something deeper inside themselves. Indeed, young or old, we all need to connect through the expressions of the arts.

As a child, I put hundreds of practice hours playing on the old mahogany upright in our living room. And my Mom and Dad were witness to each note and scale, each phrase and flourish. As I look back now, I feel so very fortunate that I had the opportunity to give a little of that back to my Mom in her last days. Because when I played for Mom, it was not just because I wanted to see her smile. I played because I appreciated all she had done for me, all the encouragement and patience and sacrifices and life lessons. I played the piano for her as a simple act of love.

I hope she knew that. I think she did.

[NOTE: For more information, I strongly recommend that you check out the above links to ARTZ, TRAP, and Oak Hills Church Arts Camp.]