I am starting to doubt of the usefulness of art. I am not a believer in art, especially theatre, as an instrument of social change or outreach and no sappy story about troubled youth turned good will convince me otherwise. Powers outside the stage had to do with these conversions that keep governments committed to subsidizing publicly accountable “art.” BUT even to myself – useful? Am I getting anything out of it, exercising daemons, speaking to my worries/woes/queries about the universe, am I interested? Do I need to be? Am I supposed to? Otherwise it’s just me going through obtuse motions.
That said, maybe it’s still worth the while it takes even if it doesn’t satisfy an inner desire for meaning or clarity. Maybe it’s just good enough to keep me hungry for truth or authenticity or communication.
I found this video a nice illustration of my feeling.
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I cannot create anything. wasn’t able to even maintain a blog. I’m just an anonymous face in the audience. An almost inarticulate one. But there were films, books and theater performances that put words and images on my inarticulate thoughts; that made me go ‘THAT’. And others that made me ask ‘what is this?’ and sent me on journeys from which I returned juuuust a bit wiser ;)
so as long as just one face in the audience goes ‘what is this’, I guess the creative effort is useful. maybe. hopefully.