Lecture delivered at Georgia State University in January, 2013.
My sister recently told me something that I have always known to be true, and it has gnawed at me, as it must gnaw at any artist working today. She has chosen, for some unknown reason, to join our illustrious club and has become an art major, now in her third year. When I asked her why, she merely laughed, and noted a recent article from a reputable website. The art degree was ranked the number one most useless degree one could get from a university. In fact, the top spots were all claimed by some form of fine or graphic art, philosophy or literature.
At the same time, our society calls out for usefulness. We live at one of the most dangerous, if not the most dangerous, periods in human history. Climate change is no longer on the horizon but is altering our economy and society as we speak, in ways we can hardly begin to fathom. This change shows no sign of abating, yet we suffer from a youthful illusion of immortality. When we think of our lives 10 or 20 years from now, we often discount or dismiss the change that is already on its way. Resource depletion and stress is a serious factor in our current economic malaise. Combined with toxic levels of debt without realistic prospects for growth, scarcity and rising food and energy prices further squeeze any hope that our past trajectory will continue smoothly. Ironically, among the spectrum of society, artists are probably the most attuned to these realities. And yet we ourselves, at least in part, agree that yes, we are in fact quite useless.
So what is the artist to do? Put down the brushes, the camera, or the hammer, take up signs and protest? Learn permaculture gardening techniques? Occupy? Surely these are all worthy activities, but I don't think I'm alone in feeling a sense of futility here. What's to stop us from giving up the idea of art altogether? There must be something that drives us onward in the face of such demand for usefulness. Even if I may not be able to rationalize it, I must know somehow that this sense of uselessness is wrong, because I still get up every day and define myself as an artist. I keep doing it, and I know that I must do it. Why?