Isn't It Time We Put A Lot Of Art On The Shelf?
But not that one short story by Ursula K. Le Guin. It's more relevant today than ever.
I’m just going to come out and say it: I don’t like Shakespeare.
I know: Gasp! Right?
Never really have.
What! Never?
Nope, never. Mostly I’ve been faking that I liked him because I’m a theater artist and, well, theater artists are supposed to like him. He’s like, the master. What you’re supposed to aspire to.
Really? Okay.
In the theater, if you don’t like Shakespeare you just don’t make the cut. You’re branded unworthy. Though unworthy of what, I could never figure out.
I don’t know, maybe I’m stupid; that’s why I don’t like him. But that’s the trap. I’m not stupid. Actually, I’m pretty smart. And talented. I know I am. And so I can appreciate the structure of a Shakespearean play. You know, the whole iambic pentameter thing. Insight into the universality of the human experience. Yada yada yada.
And it’s actually a lot of fun watching actors have fun playing Shakespearean roles. They get so excited, so animated. Emoting the way they do.
But that’s different from actually liking the play.
I did like Sleep No More. I attended two performances a while ago, one in Boston and the other in New York City. When I mentioned that I’d seen it to one of my professors in grad school, I got this dismissive wave of the hand.
Boy, did I feel small and stupid.
Actually, no I didn’t. I really liked Sleep No More, and would see it again. Finally Shakespeare with some cajones. Non-linear. In your face. Immersive. Finally, Shakespeare fitting into the 21st century.
In case you’re not familiar with it, Sleep No More is this theatrical experience typically set in abandoned buildings combining the Scottish play (look it up if you don’t know what that is) and film noir.
Then there was the American Repertory Theater’s The Donkey Show. Which was a mashup of A Midsummer’s Night Dream and Diane Paulus’s remembrance of Studio 54. I don’t think they even mentioned Shakespeare. Not once.
You know what it is? Shakespeare’s plays are 500 years old. Let that sink in. He is the world’s most produced playwright. It’s said that at any moment, Hamlet is being produced somewhere on the planet.
I mean, if we haven’t gotten them right by now, isn’t it time? All I’m simply asking is, can’t we just put Shakespeare and his plays on a shelf and make room for some new work? Some modern playwrights addressing modern issues?
BTW, I feel this way about Mick Jagger, too.
(Don’t get me started on the whole, Shakespeare is just as relevant today as he was in the 16th century defense. The 16th century didn’t have atomic bombs, the Internet, space travel, relativity, ISIS…the list is endless.)
Once I even admitted to another theater artist that I didn’t like Shakespeare. I might have said something like, eh, he’s all right. Do you know what he said? He said, you just haven’t seen him done well.
This from someone who went on to direct Macbeth set in outer space. Which I didn’t see. The posts on FB looked stupid.
Do you know what else I think should be shelved? Or at least about ninety-five percent of it? Renaissance art.
I’m not talking necessarily about Leonardo (the painter, not the actor). Or Titian. Or El Greco. Although I have to admit even those painters I can take for only so long. It’s the subject matter. Mythology. Religious art. It’s just not relatable today. At least not to me it’s not. And I’m betting not to the millions of people who pay big money to shuffle past them on swollen ankles in museums around the world.
But how is it I can stare at a Franz Kline or a Joan Mitchell all day? Why does Kara Walker make me cringe? Why does Miranda July make my stomach feel like butterflies?
Of course I know a lot of my cultural tastes are defined by how I grew up. Working class. Blue collar. Poor. So yeah, the King of Britain (I’m leering at you, Lear) just isn’t that relatable. To me. No matter how many times you try to guilt me into liking something high culture. I’m more of an outlier, folk artsy kind of person.
In the Prado, there is dreary room after dreary room filled with billboard-size paintings of the Madonna squirting milk from her breasts. Streams of milk arcing through the air into the baby Jesus’s open mouth. Who thought that was a good idea even back then? I don’t think it would hurt to put those in storage and hang a few modern painters in their place, do you?
Okay, let’s see if I can’t salvage this post and leave you with something that you can relate to.
So a few weeks ago I wrote about Cy Twombley and asemic writing and how they’re prescient, because some day cursive writing will be undecipherable. I don’t know if Cy Twombley exactly was thinking that when he was painting and drawing his scrawls all over the place, but it’s certainly something that can be said about what did come out of his work.
Right now I’m thinking of a short story Ursula K. Le Guin published 50 years ago, The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas. Unlike Shakespeare’s plays, this short story is something like a wine, how it keeps getting better with age.
I’ve been thinking of the story a lot lately, and not necessarily because of this rise of oligarchs in the political world. It’s more because of how we are as a society of people, how we’ve been like this for some time now, and how we’ve gotten to where we are today.
If you’ve never read it, here you go:
The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas
Did you get it?
You’re reading this on your phone, or on a tablet, right? Do you get it?
You’re wearing clothes made overseas, maybe in a sweat shop, right? Do you get it now?
Shakespeare never left me with this feeling. This punch in the gut I get every time I read this story, even though I know what’s coming. The ending.
Frankly, Leonardo doesn’t leave me this way either. Or Rembrandt for that matter. There’s your standard. How does it make you feel? If it’s not an honest hard jolt to your spleen, keep moving. Keep looking for that thing that makes you weak in the knees. No matter how dismissive your arrogant college professor treats you.
So what’s a work of art that leaves you weak in the knees every time?
I spent six years working at a local art museum, where they had a regular roster of contemporary art exhibitions. There were some that I enjoyed having the opportunity to go look at and get to know whenever I needed a break from my computer. And then there were some that I simply did not understand and barely looked in the gallery. That said, my job was membership when I frequently heard feedback from visitors who expressed many varied opinions about each show. It really made me see a value of art is how no one sees it the same way - even if they shared that appreciation. One person could like it because of the color. Another because of the technique. Another because of the story it told. Some people liked art because of how it spoke to them. And others liked the art because of how it spoke to others about what they knew. Personally, I preferred to hear the former - even if we didn't share the same point of view.
Personally, I really like Shakespeare. I know that has a lot to do with the fact I was in a production when I was 18 and it was just one of those magical experiences when everyone became friends and we laughed until our insides hurt. A number of his plays are comfort food for me. I can see the basic story of Hamlet, Henry V, or Romeo & Juliet in a lot of modern stories and films. But I know it is just like those exhibits. Everyone sees those works differently - some with love, some with disinterest, and some with a desire to be seen for what they know.
I appreciate this post. I think the fact I enjoyed those conversations at the museum is because I ultimately find it fascinating how we all see art differently, as we see the world differently. And sometimes hearing those reflections can shift my view a little bit so I can get a glimpse of a color or recognize a technique that I didn't let myself see in my tunnel vision.