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The Great DivideAt a recent workshop on career paths in the performing arts, I asked the participants—a mixture of performing and visual artists—to describe what they believed was the public's perception of classical music. (By "public," I meant anyone that you might stop on the street.) Their answers: "Elitist, boring; intimidating; for old people; goody-two-shoes; a dying art; not exciting; repressive; too expensive; inaccessible; culturally irrelevant," and so on. As I wrote their comments on the chalkboard, someone observed that the list looked fairly negative. Undeterred, the group continued: "Good for sleeping; not practical; out-of-date; about dead white males; complicated…"
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Should artists be concerned about their audience? If they are, at what point might they be accused of sacrificing artistic integrity to appease a general audience’s primitive and often fickle tastes?
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With one last Parthian shot—"They hate it!"—the participants completed their list with a self-satisfying, inimical nod. I quickly drew a line along the right side of the list and started another column, with a new question: "Why is music important to you?" They responded with a fresh wave of eager comments, including: "Fills the soul; uplifts the spirit; shapes world view; affects the way I interact with people; helps me to reflect; keeps me humble; inspires me; has storytelling elements; I experience both giving and receiving; a unique language; a discovery process; a connection with the past; connect with people I don't know; fulfilling intellectually and emotionally; an awareness of where we are, where we've come from, and where we are going."After completing the second list, I stood back from the chalkboard and watched as the group absorbed the totality of their responses. There were a couple of smiles and an occasional nod; this was their world view in their words.I've used this exercise in a number of settings, and the responses are nearly always the same: The artist's overall perspective is that the public has an indifferent to negative impression of classical music. This perception starkly contrasts with that of the artist, who has a profound and personal relationship to music. The two impressions appear to be from different planets. If I were to take the word "music" out of the question and present both lists to a non-participant, do you think that person would believe that the comments are about the same topic?The difference between these two perceptions—the public's and the musician's—is what I affectionately call the "Great Divide"—and it is the territory that the musician will have to cover through the course of his or her career to connect with an audience.So, how are you ever going to bridge that divide? Ask yourself this question now, at the beginning of your career. The Great Divide is the only thing between you and a potential public who might share some of the passion that you have for your art. That shared passion will manifest itself in opportunity, support, and—eventually—security.The contemporary philosopher Dr. Yu Cao said: "Art for art's sake is a philosophy of the well-fed." In my work with young artists, I often encounter the notion that life and its necessities should not enter into the artistic equation. Should artists be concerned about their audience? If they are, at what point might they be accused of sacrificing artistic integrity to appease a general audience's primitive and often fickle tastes? If artists are to bridge the Great Divide, questions about integrity inevitably surface.I know many artists who simply choose to ignore the Divide. To them, it's white noise. But to me, ignoring the Divide is akin to ignoring that rattling in your car engine or that leaky roof, or that civil war on that island off the coast. If you ignore it long enough, it might go away. But you and I know the chances that it will truly disappear are next to nil. What happens when it is no longer just an annoying sound?The Great Divide has become a permanent fixture in our world—symphony orchestras, concert presenters, and record label executives wrestle with it everyday. It's difficult not to open the newspaper and read about some iconoclastic institution falling into fiscal desperation due to waning public interest. Can we, the artists, continue to ignore the realities of our profession?If you haven't already, ask yourself what your role is going to be for the 21st century. Can you afford to remain ensconced in a 19th-century vision of the arts? If you believe you can, ask yourself: "What cost will my indifference have on the lives of my fellow artists?" We are all connected. Our beliefs, actions, and values affect others and their perception of us. The Great Divide is partly our fault, and mostly our responsibility. Whether we like it or not, building bridges has become a permanent fixture in the life of a 21st-century artist.If you would like to learn how you can become a bridge-builder (or even learn about which artists and ensembles are currently building bridges), please feel free to stop by our office (Room 476) to schedule an appointment. There is no better time to start developing these skills than now.Derek Mithaug is Juilliard's director of career development and an alumnus of the School.
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