In the US, art making is often treated as a privilege. Our very conception of “the artist” as someone separate from and different than the rest of us — the moody recluse or the superstar genius — privileges the few who show the requisite talent early on. But this attitude is nowhere more striking than in our public schools. As art experiences are cut in schools serving primarily poor students of color to make room for “core” courses and test prep, private schools continue to make art courses central. Art education has become a privilege offered to those already economically and racially privileged. As evidence of this trend, a study by the NEA found that young Black and Latino adults interviewed in 2008 were 49% less likely to have had arts education as children than those interviewed in 1982; for Whites the decrease was only 5%.

At the risk of overstatement, this is a human rights violation — at least, according to the authors of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Article 27 of this document reads: “Everyone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community, to enjoy the arts and to share in scientific advancement and its benefits.” This is a powerful statement that reaches far beyond equal access to paint and brushes.

Art becomes a right when we begin to understand it not only as a form of individual creative activity, but also as one of the central ways that culture is created, critiqued, shared, and shifted. To cut off individuals, or even whole groups, from these conversations is to deny access to a certain type of power — the power to have a say in who we are, who is included in our “community,” and how we should be with one another. This conception of art as a right rather than a privilege is foundational to the community arts movement. But what does it mean for practice?

First of all, it means recognizing the ways that people are already participating in cultural life. Arts practice is taking place all around us, but often in ways not appreciated by mainstream arts and educational institutions. Second, it means sharing power and decision making in artistic spaces — moving from a service model to a collaborative model. Third, it means taking a serious look at how power and privilege — racial, cultural, economic, gender — shape our lives, our aesthetics, and our art spaces. Fourth, it means challenging institutions of artistic power, such as art schools and museums, to break down walls both physical and cultural. And finally, it means creating new artistic spaces that reflect the values of democracy, collaboration, and critical multiculturalism.

In several of our previous blogs, TAHSLC staff and our guest blogger talked a little about the communities and homes from which they came.  Inherently when we speak about those places, we're also talking about the culture of those communities and the people within them.  I grew up just outside of Salt Lake City and you can be sure that there are a lot of cultural norms that exist there!  Religion of course is one of the largest cultural influences in my life growing up in Utah, but I also had a small slice of Latin culture provided by my Puerto Rican born mother.  Sometimes for Christmas dinner, instead of having a traditional American turkey and stuffing, we had Lechon (Roast Pork) and Arroz con Habichuelas (Rice and Beans).   As small as that Latin culture was, living in a predominantly white neighborhood, it created a different lens in which I viewed the world. 

Food and art are two of the simplest ways to connect to other cultures and get a taste (pun intended) of what they're like.  For me, art creates an experience where not only do I feel that the artist is communicating something to me through their chosen medium, but also expressing some of their cultural ideologies within that expression.  As Sara asked in her post, "what do you get when you put an installation artist from LA in a room with a Japanese choreographer and a painter from Utah?", I say you get a collaborative work that reflects elements from each artist's own culture and community.

But art isn't one sided, there is an audience.  (Although one might argue, like the old adage about a tree falling in a forest, if art is created and no one is there to see it, is it really art? But perhaps that is an entirely different blog post).  If I were viewing our theoretical collaborative work by those three artists, my religious, Latin, feminine roots would color my experience as well.  And I would have a very different experience from the next person in the room who may come from Russia with no particular religious background. 

What interests me most as an arts educator and a co-founder of TAHSLC is what happens when you get those who viewed the exhibit to talk about their experience together and share what they saw and how the work affected them personally.  This is why I sincerely hope we get the opportunity exhibit TIMEless, where multiple artists express their interest in kinetic composition, and impart a little of themselves in their work.  And when we do, what cultural influence will you bring to that experience and who in the room do you want to talk to about it? 

If you're interested in supporting TAHSLC in putting on the TIMEless exhibit, go here and donate!

By: Anne Wright
Co-founder of The Art Haus SLC