Art in Community
How embodied experiences of art shape us
In February, I celebrated my birthday by throwing a house concert. Two bands, whose members are friends of mine, played original songs.1 Other members of my community stood up to read poems between songs. It was a fun afternoon. The music was excellent. The company was delightful. I will never forget it.
It used to be that in order to hear someone play the piano, one had to sit down in the presence of a pianist. Likewise, to view a Van Gogh painting, it was necessary to find the work itself and physically stand in front of it. In other words, there used to be something sacred about the body in relation to any piece of art. The physical demands art made for its enjoyment served to give it value. But today, the digital revolution has liberated art from the body. Art no longer needs a body to be enjoyed. Music, paintings, plays, and other works have been uploaded onto digital platforms so that they we can access them anywhere, any time—no physical presence necessary.
The outcome of this liberation is that now our lives are filled with art. We can listen to music in our cars on our way to work. We can look at a Van Gogh painting while sitting in the waiting room at the doctor’s office. That’s not to mention the massive quantity of works made instantly accessible to us via our digital devices—masterpieces from the greatest like Rembrandt, Debussy, Dickenson, Tolstoy, the Beatles, and more, all at our fingertips.
Despite these benefits, people are not likely to recognize the consequences of ‘liberating’ art from the body. The enjoyment of art used to be communal by nature of its exclusivity. Its limitations served to give people reason to gather, create, and belong to one another. By bypassing these limitations, the digital world has given people better access to better art. But in so doing it has deprived us of the social benefits those very limitations created. That is significant considering that some of the most pressing dilemmas of our time—anxiety, depression, isolation—are social in nature.
These days our experiences of the arts are often curated, processed, packaged, and delivered to us much like drive-thru meals at fast food restaurants. Digital media (streaming films, television shows, music, social content, etc.) operates as the primary means through which we experience beauty in the world. On the surface, digital technology fills our lives with an abundance of art. But in truth, we are less likely to truly appreciate the brilliance of any work of art because of sheer amount of content online. Furthermore, by outsourcing the creation of art to industry “professionals,” digital media has deprived us of the joy of intimacy — we do not personally know artists, we do not physically experience their work, we do not share in its enjoyment with others. Art has become an entirely individualistic venture, and the artist has been cut off from the community.
That is not to mention the unhealthy standards digital life imposes upon artists and their work. Digital platforms reward those whose work is most easily and effectively captured, measured, and imitated by digital media. Artists whose work is more embodied and experiential have a difficult time sharing it with online audiences. At a time in which online discourse has replaced the physical, this makes it exceedingly difficult for these artists to make a living. For audiences, the value of experiencing anything in person has been reduced to its mere novelty, and sometimes its utility, as we are likely to pull out our phones so that we can share it online and boost our own popularity.
Suffice it to say, despite the perceived benefits digital media has granted the arts, in truth our devices have left us with a culture that is artistically, as well as physically and socially, malnourished. The way forward requires we choose to set aside our digital devices in order to enjoy more embodied experiences of art — more concerts, more readings, more art shows. We need to create spaces for artists to share their work. We must relearn how to be physically present with one another. We need to dismantle narratives and standards imposed on us by digital technology, so that we can better value and appreciate art despite the discomfort, awkwardness, and disjointedness physical experiences often involve. We need to embrace the limitations of our physicality in order to enjoy truly meaningful connections.
We can start small. Ask your sister who knows the guitar to play a song for you. Ask to see your friend’s sketches. Share your poetry, even if it isn’t ready, or you aren’t a good poet, or you’ve never shared your poetry before. Host a house concert. Make every effort to fill the space and moment you inhabit with beauty—for the glory of God and the benefit of your community.
My most valuable experiences of art haven’t been those mediated through digital platforms or experienced in isolation; rather, they have been those physical encounters that have served as means of connection—with the world, with others, and ultimately with God himself. What else is art for?
Give Sons of Timaeus and John Crowe a listen!