What’s considered high or low culture—or utterly lacking in it—is, like so many of the constructs we imbue with value, determined by our own experiences and beliefs and preferences. We’re all so ready to tout the stuff we do and we like as the world’s best, and to condemn as inferior, ugly, stupid, reprehensible, or outright evil whatever is unfamiliar or not to our taste. A raffish bunch of spray-painting ruffians bring street art to the masses and it expands upward and outward to legitimize graffiti as fine art. Nameless folk art masters labor for decades in their continued anonymity, carving and building pieces out of recycled materials, ragtag odds and ends, and found objects, and some eventually are “discovered” by high-end curators of Outsider Art and get gallery representation, some dying still unknown while their work changes hands until it’s decorating some rich collector’s mansion. Much never comes to light at all. Meanwhile, other artists make millions in a few short, meteoric years despite making works that not every critic respects or every art-lover craves.
Do we admire and praise a song, a dance, a play, or a novel because it is inherently Good and meaningful, life-affirming, unique, intellectually challenging, or universally considered beautiful? Certainly, there are people who feel that definition applies to one that they prefer themselves, but there is no circumstance in which I could possibly imagine a large sector of any given population agreeing fully on such a thing, let alone the whole world. Our loves must inevitably be seen as provincial or peculiar to those who don’t have an identical context for them. Which is nearly everybody, by nature. I may come from a small farming town in an area with a still vital native American population, set in a highly varied natural landscape and a relatively liberal-leaning political region, and you may come from an urban center where classical and jazz music rule the scene, big business drives the economy, and the artistic trend is funded and heavily influenced by the conservative suburbs where the business moguls’ next underlings and their families live.
Educated or not, religious or secular, youthful or antiquated; every iteration of society and the individuals in it tends to affect the view of what culture is, and what within it is valued. I will admit to being provincial enough myself that I wish everybody on earth generally had the tasteful idea that my creative output is the highest form of written, drawn, sculpted, photographed, invented, designed, and painted culture ever, anywhere. But even I am not delusional and foolish enough to think that the remotest possibility, and short of it, I’d far rather delight in the great range of possibilities that exist in our unbelievably different wishes and tastes and expectations, instead.
Wonderful post and yes let’s celebrate our diversity…..and embrace the fact that we are all interconnected in one way or another…..
Imagine if we could actually do this….it might stop war and all other madness contrived through greed, jealousy, anger, religion, etc……
Have a beautiful June 1st and week ahead….I hope the sun is shining for you. xxx
The sun *always* shines when I am reading your posts and commentary and am suddenly surrounded by magical hummingbirds!
Nice post Kathryn. Let’s celebrate and enjoy the diverse ways of being, living and expressing.
Yes, please!! 😀
Just saw a TV item about Paris removing all the Love Locks from the bridges, which caused a discussion about whether they are just a form of graffiti, and then whether graffiti is to be welcomed or is an eyesore. Passionate proponents on both sides!
The big question, as I’ve read from both Paris and other Love Locked cities, is one of engineering: can the bridge hold up safely under this added weight any longer? Metal fatigue’s potential dangers sway my feelings more than whether the monument is to Art or to public-displays-of-affection alone. 😉