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Dreaming the Dream
Life beats down and crushes the soul, and art reminds you that you have one.—Stella Adler
Man will begin to recover the moment he takes art as seriously as physics, chemistry or money.—Ernst Levy
I didn't learn about the value of art, in all its glorious forms, from formal schooling. At least not in the beginning. I consider myself one of the lucky ones who had parents who valued a classic liberal arts education and promoted the absorption of everything that fell under that broad title. Then once I left the cozy confines of my familial den, I was primed to look for, seek out, question and soak up all the studies that my public education system had to offer.
Some school systems were better than others. The same can be said of the individual teachers, but in the end, my parents were there to fill in the gaps.
The same cannot be said for many of my friends who journeyed through the same U.S. public schools and were either fortunate enough to be in the right school district or unfortunate enough to be left to their own devices.
A friend once arrogantly proclaimed that he was surprised at how sound my mind was and how good an education I received since he had the benefit of private schools and I did not. While we no longer maintain a friendship, elitism without compassion or control being one of a multitude of reasons for its demise, I cannot help but see some truth in those rather self-important words.
The difference for me was that my parents participated in my education and sought out the public programs that had the most to offer. They believed in public education. Decatur Classical, a Chicago public school that covers Kindergarten through the 6th grade was an environment that nurtured all the best tenets of learning. I had Math and Science, Social Studies and English and P.E. along with Latin, French, Spanish, Music and artists-in-residence classes that taught Painting or Dance. Decatur had a library teacher who taught the Dewey Decimal System which made me a master in large library navigation and an avid book lover. My own mother taught dance and helped organize and create performance assemblies. My creative expression, critical thinking and individuality was valued as much as my ability to follow rules and get high test scores. My ability to sing was as important as another student's ability to throw a ball. We were not all the same, we were not all good at everything, we were not all given gold stars on our homework, but we were all expected to absorb information that made us open, inquisitive and compassionate.
My parents may have opened the door for me, but the teachers and administrators at that school reinforced my passion for the arts and introduced it to many of my classmates.
When I tell my friends or colleagues about this school, this experience, they are surprised that anything like this ever existed outside of a privileged costly private school experience. I'm amazed it still exists today.
I later attended a performing arts high school and university, always a bit disappointed that some of the drier studies, such as Calculus or Physics weren't emphasized or required because I was studying to be an actor. But while Economics taught me about GNPs and stock markets, Shakespeare and Dostoevsky taught me about right and wrong. Algebra and trigonometry taught me numbers and equations while philosophy taught me how to truly define and solve problems.
I have a foundation that has guided me through every job, every obstacle or challenge and every adventure and I credit creativity and exposure to things ever-so-artful above everything else as the center of that foundation.
Yet an appreciation for a Picasso goes well beyond a superior aesthetic. One of the most telling signs of the lack of arts education in school systems and society-at-large today is the slow death of civility. At one time on this planet, when most human beings were slaves or serfs, the daily struggle to stay alive as well as a class system and organized religion, kept people in their place. Today, when populations are booming and greater numbers of the populace can attain a little bit of middle class normality or the dream of it, there is no more shame or guilt or good breeding to dictate our social mores. A constant stream of information through our computers and television screens is the force we honor and respect and without any real background or system in place, everything is chopped up into 15-second bits, consumed out of context and without references.
Play the musical piece "Hoe-Down" and most likely a person will know it as part of the "Beef, It's What's for Dinner" commercials by the National Cattlemen's Beef Association advertising campaign and not part of composer Aaron Copland's ballet Rodeo.
The deliberate and delightful process of engaging with a piece of music or a poem or non-bestseller book is no longer encouraged, no longer significant and generations of spastic, impatient half-informed men and women have no sense or sensibility. We have YouTube. We have Twitter. We have self-entitlement. We have no clue about the origin of art and ideas and we don't care to know.
But I still have hope. That is if mankind doesn't destroy the planet through an act of aggression or the complete annihilation of natural resources, then there is a relative hope that art will keep culture thriving. Art will remind humans that the pursuit of kindness, compassion, love and happiness are always needed. Art will keep my hope and civility alive.
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