What art is for
or, dada for president
If you’re reading this newsletter, there’s a high chance you’re also an artist (or give some serious fucks about art). If you read this newsletter, you’re probably also worried about the rise of fascism. (Studies have shown that most papereaters are anti-fascists). You probably think (or maybe fret) about art, politics, and how those things can or could or should come together as praxis—I certainly do. This newsletter is a first stab at putting some words around my personal thought stew about artmaking in 2024 (or, in other words, we’re gonna eat some paper—buckle up!)
Artists aren’t, generally speaking, politically conservative. But when the moment comes to join the faculty union, go to the art build, show up at the campus/local protest (against union busting, against the police, against the war), I’ve often been disappointed when artist colleagues don’t turn out en masse. As artists, we need to recognize that sometimes our largest impact is simply as citizens. We don’t need to RSVP to every function as The Artist. (This is not me saying: every artist must be involved in everything or they’re a poser, just observing that - especially as a discipline taught in universities - art departments are such a comfortable harbor for academics who talk the talk). Conversely, an artist’s work could take a bold stance on (climate change, surveillance, etc) … but meanwhile, that artist never seems to get involved in any local organizing (seems sus but I try to give this kind of artist the benefit of the doubt; hopefully their art is the tip of the iceberg? h o p e f u l l y ? ? ?) Whenever it comes to the specifics of praxis, there’s a lot of room for my praxis to be different than your praxis, but the assumption I’m working from here is that art is at its richest as a praxis …and it’s rare for praxis to be an invisible activity, imperceptible to our students, colleagues, and audiences. If we are doing any good thinking, artists are going to find themselves at odds with our academic institutions and the state, forced to negotiate workable but often tenuous relationships.
At the same time, I don’t believe artmaking is inherently political in the sense that: art isn’t a great substitute for political involvement. In my experience, the artists who excuse themselves from most or all of the opportunities for grassroots political action that surround them might make art that seems intelligent and formally acceptable—but it might also seem irrelevant, or dull, or a little out of touch. (I’m sure you can tell this brand of artist kind of gets to me … why project ‘very smart talented MFA cool kid who is for sure socially conscious enough to survive in the art world,’ when your vibe could be more along the lines of ‘curious and connected human being, doing aesthetics and inquiry?’ )
I also don’t believe artmaking is inherently political in the sense that: I don’t expect art by politically engaged artists to be didactic, or even overtly political. The absence of didacticism in either an artists’ work (or their online presence) doesn’t necessarily evidence a low level of political engagement. Re-sharing another leftist soundbite about <insert cause> that feels morally correct (but incredibly scripted) may actually be pretty low on the list of strategic actions an artist can take (as either a citizen or an artist). I trust that the artists who do actually show up to local actions in tangible political ways are usually doing serious organizing, thinking, teaching, and artmaking, into which their politics are woven overtly or obliquely.
This is perhaps a very Midwestern approach to both civic engagement and artmaking, and I can’t help it: I’m from the land of caucusing, autumn yard sign infestations, and calling the mayor to leave my name, address, phone number, and another scathing voice message. I believe in knowing all your neighbors. I believe in interfacing with the public in your role as an artist, and I believe in artists being integrated into mid-american communities economically, socially, aesthetically, and politically. I believe in building the broad public will it will take for progressive candidates to stand a fighting chance and win. I want us to remember that the most successful third party in US history started in the heartland, and came about because of rural-urban solidarity. I believe in progressivism in unlikely places. I believe in art and artists in unlikely places, and I want us to bring back the goddamn WPA. (This could also be a list of reasons I will never move to LA or NYC, but that’s beside the point; we all know how much I’d hate it there—or as a no-coast creative, at least pretend to hate it, on principle). As a working artist in the midwest, I stubbornly envision a brighter future. And as a working artist in the midwest, in the present, things feel pretty grim. When it comes to casting a ballot in November, most of the scenarios that could play out are deeply dissatisfying. National elections are mostly not about asking for the world we want (but with broad enough organizing, maybe someday they could be).
In my most naive moments, I’ve definitely been guilty of overestimating what art can mean and do (art is not action). Yet, unexpectedly, as I’ve adopted a more limited view of art-as-politics, I’ve also become less shy about articulating the affordances and possibilities and importance of art-as-art. And in this particular moment, I suspect many artists tend to underestimate what art can mean and do in the face of fascism. As the election cycle entertains far right ideology in mainstream media and culture, as we see more censorship and 21st century McCarthyism in art and academia, artists’ fear, isolation, and panic is real and legitimate. In addition to the everyday ways we show up for community and local organizing, a lot of artists are worried about November. We’re motivated to get even more involved or do extra organizing of all kinds, whether electoral or otherwise. In tandem with this impulse to take action, I believe we need to do, make, experience, and buy art more than ever. To make art in a time of crisis is to meet a complex reality with a complex activity. As the world burns, artmaking merits our energy, investment, and financial support. Art is relevant to the world as it is, and essential to the world as it could be.
Here are six reasons for artmaking in 2024:
Art is for imagining a different reality
Even if we think we’re imagining alternatives with enough frequency and specificity, we’re probably not. On a collective level, we desperately need the ability to imagine another status quo. Taking steps forward into an uncertain future starts with the kind of big imagination that we’re often told to quash. We need artists working with all kinds of audiences to think outside the box and articulate what communities need and want. We need to do this all the time, day in and day out, and then we need to get really granular and strategic about how it could happen. Remember that (through persistence, training, and against long odds) artists wade through uncertainty every single day to engage in the creative process. Uncertainty has a million textures and flavors, it is terrifying, and as artists we are experts in working alongside it and despite it. In fact, we are experts in doing our very best work in its terrifying presence.
Art is for insisting on complexity and nuance
Art is a cognitive activity. Art is an activity of synthesis. Art is a research-based activity. Effective political art doesn’t need to boil down into a soundbite, a simplistic slogan, or a great protest poster. (To be absolutely clear, I am totally in favor of great protest graphics. Print that shit and then print more of that shit.) But y’all, I am tired of leftists telling me that an issue is just “not that complicated” because it presents a clear oppressed and oppressor. For example: genocide in Palestine (or anywhere) is unspeakably horrible and morally unambiguous. But it’s also an incredibly complicated geopolitical reality with a historical context. As a MN artist for ceasefire, I am not, in fact, an expert on this history or complexity (and I don’t need to be to object to war, unchecked militarism, and human rights violations on moral grounds). But sometimes I think artists shy away from engaging with complexity because we don’t want to be seen as entertaining right-wing talking points. Art and artists can take a clear moral stance without seeking to simplify for simplification’s sake. When we create artwork, spaces, and dialogues that entertain nuance, we are not, by extension or by default, entertaining moral ambiguity. Being able to acknowledge and engage complexity is usually a net win, and that’s one of the things art does. Art is not a tweet. Art can be a strategy for engaging thorny, complex realities. Art is inquiry.
Art is for creating social cohesion
A culture that can’t really support contemporary artmaking, with all its squigglyness and quirks and antiestablishment impulses, is a culture with a very small window of tolerance for difference, a culture that is fraying quickly at the seams, a culture without adequate means to connect socially in meatspace. When a community makes the time, space, and energy to engage with contemporary art (and especially if a lot of different kinds of people in any given place have the ability to engage with art), that applies some fraycheck to the social fabric. Art is something worth leaving the house for (which is really saying something these days). Art is an indicator species for social cohesion. Art is a methodology for social cohesion. Art is a prophylactic for social disconnection and social disfunction.
Art is for resisting groupthink
If you’ve ever organized a group of artists to put on an exhibition or performance, you’re an expert in herding cats. Artists are a population that’s incapable of answering email under any circumstances. The silver lining is that artists are also a population that professionally resists groupthink—some of this is probably misplaced hyper-individualism and ridiculous levels of competition on the art world, but I’d like to think that most of it is because art helps us do our own deepest best thinking. The solution to dangerous right-wing groupthink is not simply the left-wing version of groupthink. It’s the hard work of getting diverse coalitions to act together on specific initiatives. Artists are good at genuine curiosity, at research, and (yes) at herding cats. All of this seems incredibly useful in getting something (anything) done in this fucking world.
Art is for thinking with the whole body
Most big creative undertakings require a little project management, and sure, most artists are no stranger to a spreadsheet. That’s one side of the coin. The other side is that creating new work usually involves intuitive, nonlinear, embodied ways of thinking and being. Meaningful art is usually a testament to what we can accomplish when we think with our hands; to the breadth and depth of human thought when it operates as an integrated, whole-body activity rather than a hierarchical one.
Art is for piloting alternatives to business as normal
Most artists’ lifestyles are deeply countercultural and anticapitalist. Choosing a life of artmaking limits what we can earn (unfortunately), often keeping artists in a perpetual state of financial precarity. It also forces artists to consume less, and to disengage from business as normal—which might be more of an asset than a liability. Art is for enacting radical financial transparency. For ending application fees. For starting to pay people to do something as irrelevant to capitalism as artmaking. For demanding to be paid. For asking for more than we’re told is reasonable. Art is for helping us distinguish between late-state-capitalist exploitation, and run-of-the-mill commerce (like hiring a local artist). For building strong economies that circulate services and goods and keep it hyperlocal. For survival despite capital’s demands. For understanding that something that makes the world more beautiful is worth paying for. For abandoning standard consumption patterns, for prioritizing art experiences instead. For skipping the mall and canceling your amazon prime account. For diverting funding from police, war, and militarism to pay for healthcare, education, housing, basic income, and the NEA. Art is for unlearning scarcity.
Art is for engaging absurdity
Art movements like surrealism and dada answered the turbulence of their historical moment by engaging the absurd fully and at length. 2024 NEEDS MORE DADA. We need to freefall into the absurd. There’s something sacred about the vulnerable space between an artist making their weirdest art and whoever signed up to witness it. We need offbeat performance art, strange poetry, non-linear music and film, puppetry, happenings, art and writing with no clear genre designation, wild card cabaret. We need to buy tickets for the next Weird Stuff Only. We need more art we don’t understand but like anyway (and we need the art we neither like nor understand). We need the humility to step into strange states of perception, wonder, silliness, oddity, connection, disconnection, sensation. We need to be able to be surprised. We need to be able to be open. We need to take risks. We need to remember how to be a generous audience. We need to remember how strange it is to be human, and what it feels like to really be alive. WE NEED DADA AND WE NEED IT NOW OR WE ARE NOT GONNA MAKE IT THROUGH NOVEMBER (and whatever shitstorm comes after). IT IS TIME TO DADA MORE SERIOUSLY THAN YOU EVER HAVE BEFORE. Or maybe it’s time to dada less seriously? Either way, INCREASE YOUR DADA INTAKE NOW. Treat dada like a protein and eat 50g a day. Put dada in the food pyramid. Feed dada to your kids. Serve it with a side of Fluxus.
This newsletter started with praxis and ended with dada, which feels entirely appropriate. I am straightfaced and serious when I say: as shit hits the fan, we need to make art. Take to the streets, and take to the studio. In 2024, we are going to need to draw on deep, inner wells of creativity and strength. We need to show up at our most human. We need to stop apologizing for art or underestimating art. We need to see art as real work that is generative, imaginative, and essential. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
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