Why make art that will outlive us?
Last week I was talking with a few fellow studio residents who are visual artists. One teaches at the local art institute, and she was telling us about a conversation with her students. The class was talking about art materials that will stand the test of time — archival paper, types of paint, types of clay. But some of her students asked why they needed to worry about materials that will last so long. The latest data, the students said, suggests complete societal breakdown and climate collapse in the next 50 years. Why, they asked, are we wondering which kinds of paint and paper will keep their quality if there is no humanity left to see it?
She said she didn’t have a great answer to the question. I quickly realized that I don’t have a great answer, either. But the question nagged me into writing this poem. I’m curious to hear how you might answer — or at least explore — this question, too.
Why make art that will outlive us
if the world is collapsing while we are alive?
Because Gaudi’s cathedral still drips with the sweat of its maker,
and the march of the headlines need not crush what enchants you.
Because who knows how long the memory of mercies among us
might last, or where mercy resides beyond memory.
Because you, too, have been shaken awake by age-old phrases
that someone scribbled down moments before the soldiers invaded.
Because autumn leaves fall and we melancholize the decay
while beyond our vision, worms churn the soil around ancient roots.
Because centuries from now, a bowl shaped by hand from wet clay
will draw a deep sigh no cinderblock can even dream of.
Because none of these answers satisfy, yet the question remains
and haunts me onward.
And now . . . for something completely different.
If you’re in KC for Thanksgiving, I hope you will mark your calendars for Friday night and come join me for PARTY LIKE IT’S 1997! Basically, it’s an annual concert and sing-along featuring all of the best songs from 25 years ago. We’ve got some amazing special guests in store this year. It’s an unabashedly nostalgic fun fest. Also, I turn 40 that week, so consider it an official party, too. Hope you can come!
You can buy tickets HERE.
Whatever happens, whoever wins the elections, we still have feet for marching, hands for working, and hearts for pounding us toward our passionate callings and inklings.
PEACE.
Andrew