I’ve thought a lot about this subject, that is, the importance of art, high art and how it relates to fine dining and fast food.
Take, for example, the recent changes in NPR’s Performance Today where
they have cut back on commentary, history, and music appreciation in
lieu of just more music. Just the facts ma’am. It seems that people
just want some more drive time relaxation, mood music to which to fall
asleep, or just to cover the naked backdrop of their lives with sonic
tapestries.
A lot of people would call such an indictment pure snobbery, that
classical music has long been a refuge of the rich, an inaccessible art
form protected by high fences of academia, class, and prohibitive
economies. Classical music becomes a talisman of protection from the
unwashed masses. As a stone it is used more often to build walls than
an inviting warm home.
I watch both sides rail against each other, especially with the most
recent changes in Performance Today. Classical music snobs lament the
dumbing down of the program, saying essentially that there are no more
refuges in which to hide from the "…pop artists, many of whom don’t
deserve the time of day." Pop aficionados, offended at someone calling
their art form less than art, react with similar negativity against the
classical music community, calling it, "Music by dead people"
"Irrelevant" and "Out of touch."
Well, I’m here to settle the debate once and for all. Now take careful notes here, because this is going to be the final word.
Classical music is to music what fine dining is to food, or what The Mission is to movie making, or what For Whom the Bell Tolls
is to literature. Conversely, Pop music is to music, what McDonalds (I
prefer Wendy’s though) is to food, or Star Wars is to movie making, or
Tom Clancy is to literature. It’s that simple, folks.
Now, before you get offended let me explain. Before concluding from the
above that I prefer or respect one genre over the other, let me just
say that I eat "low art" food more frequently than I dine finely.
Dining finely costs more, for one. $100 per plate is pretty steep, I’d
say. However, for the creation of an accomplished chef, personally
crafted for me, cooked to perfection, seasoned with skill, and served
artfully, I’m willing to give of myself. But I don’t just have to give
monetarily. In order to appreciate the creation, I have got to know a
bit about it. That takes experience, study, and refined palette. I
personally am but a student, a worm, unworthy perhaps of the creation
put in front of me, but I approach it with gusto, trying to soak all of
the experience from the plate in front of me, tasting the history, the
study, the preparation, the ingredients. Whew! It is an infrequent
experience which leaves me exhausted and satisfied to the very depths
of my soul. I am filled to an overflowing, babbling, quivering mass. To
do it more often would seem gluttonous, a transgression upon the soul.
I think one of the most extraordinary movies I have ever seen is The
Mission with Robert De Niro and Jeremy Irons. It is a deep drama about
Jesuit missionaries in Brazil in their quest to keep the slave traders
of Portugal at bay. There is political intrigue, the Catholic
leadership making worldly political decisions in contrast to the
idealistic keepers of the truth, the Jesuits. They clash, and the
obvious outcome is the destruction of a people and the death of the
idealists. You finish watching this movie and are run over, depressed
at the savagery of man, tired from the depth of sadness, and wishing
fervently that the movie could have turned out differently but knowing
it could not. How often could I watch such a movie without losing all
hope for humanity? Certainly, I could not watch it more than just a few
times. In fact, we own it, but it has been years since I have watched
it. I am not ready, it is too rich, too bankrupting, too indulgent, too
much to bear.
For Whom the Bell Tolls is by far my favorite piece of
literature. In much the same way as I relish fine dining and fine movie
making, Hemingway has crafted a setting, a time, a world that is at the
same time compelling as it is repulsive. The drama of an American
fighting for idealism during the Spanish Civil War, a prelude to World
War II, his love, his politics, his sacrifice, draws me in and at the
same time fills me with much sadness. I want the book never to end.
When I reread it, I get progressively slower hoping that it would never
end that I could preserve the literary reality forever. But alas, it
always does end, Robert Jordan does indeed die, and the Fascists do
take control of Spain for many years. Sigh, it’s so real, it envelopes
me, takes me away, soaks in to the depth of my soul and I must put the
book down for for a time or risk losing myself.
So where do I go from here? I surely cannot dine on fine cuisine every
day. I have not the money, time, nor am I willing to invest of myself
so frequently so much. I cannot watch The Mission more than but a few
times every decade, and I cannot read For Whom the Bell Tolls or run the risk of over nourishing and mineral poisoning my soul.
Most of our lives are spent eating "pop culture", consuming "pop" food,
watching "pop" movies and tv, and reading "pop" books. Pop is this case
comes from Popular, or in Latin, "of the people." These are the things
that sustain us, folks. The are mostly fillers, things with which to
fortify the body, mind, and soul short term. We cannot exist without
them, I think. We must nourish ourselves daily without paying such a
heavy price, either economically or spiritually. Sometimes a burger is
just a burger, a flick just a flick, and a rag just a rag.
But neither can we sustain "life" based SOLEY on them. Without high
art, we run the risk of blandly floating through existence, neither
aware of its depth, appreciative of its dimensions, and never ever
coming fully to our senses. It is this that I feel is the most
important. Experiences that demand a high price of us cannot be
consumed every day, but MUST be consumed at some point. Consider them
the trace elements necessary for life and health.
