Communicating Art

On a recent trip to a local coffee house, I found myself admiring a large painting which took up much of one of the walls. A sweeping natural landscape filled the canvas, with hues of blues and greys in the sky, hinting towards an impending storm. The artist, co-owner of the venue, approached, bearing coffee. We talked about the picture; I described what I took from the scene. The artist appeared pleased, saying that not everybody appreciates everything he intended them to in the painting. Such is the nature of art. Those that overlook the smaller details miss out on a much bigger picture than is apparent at first glance.

The interaction made me think about all that falls under the title, art, and how it is represented. My own pictures tend to be somewhat dark, both in level of brightness, and, sometimes, in terms of content. If people observe the piece, but don’t take anything more than it being somewhat dark, I have not infused the art with life. Having to explain the intention behind the scene takes away a certain essence of experience. It’s a little like having to have a joke explained. The moment has passed.

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My writing also tends to cover fairly dark or difficult topics. I wrote before about rule breaking, and I know my own poetry breaks many of the so-called rules of grammar. If people were to read the prose as presented on a page, they might miss meaning. The reader’s mental commentary skipping the inflections which are present in an oral presentation. Written text would perhaps benefit from some form of notation, such as is used in music. OF COURSE, there are various ways in which to suggest how words should be delivered, but at times writers neglect to use them, or readers ignore them, or a bit of both.

Since attending my first poetry evening last month, I have been to three further events, and taken an open mic slot at each. A friend, knowing my social anxiety, asked how I found it. Was it hard, or did it help? Audience is a critical part of any performance, and I have been fortunate to read to three very receptive (or certainly polite) groups. This helps with confidence. And my words are – I hope – easy to follow; I consider things which make us human, commonalities we may find between friends and strangers alike. To see people nod in agreement, and absorb what I say, does indeed build confidence.

But nevertheless, I feel nervous before each reading. Until I am up there, in front of the microphone, my notebook clasped in steady hand. And the words come. As rehearsed, so at times I no longer need the book. My voice following the rise and fall of the script, delivering the mood and emotion underpinning the piece. 

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Art ought to draw a response, favourable or otherwise, from an audience. One of the best elements of open mic poetry is that people have chosen to be there, and to give their time to listen. People talk about what they have heard, analysing the poems and what meaning they have. Smartphones are left dormant, social media redundant. Perhaps just for one evening, people are drawn together and converse. It seems rare these days that people stop long enough to appreciate. Art can communicate, whether audible or not, but people need to make the time to absorb it, and to really think about what the art means to them. That is what an artist hopes for.