Overheard in the Coffee Mill

While I sat at the bar today, sipping my cup of coffee and reading Gunther Schuller's history of conducting, two Coffee Mill employees were talking about a tank toppy/skirt garment that one of them made:

A: See, I wish I had an education in doing measurements and all that, since I suck at that part. This was originally supposed to be a skirt, and look.
B: Well, it seems to have worked out okay. You'll get an education in that eventually, right?
A: Yeah, I will.
B: But sometimes, it's good to do that without an education. If you get an education in it, then you can't do it as freely, because your eye has been trained a certain way.
A: I suppose.
B: And if you've got real talent in something, you can do it without an education.

--

I'm not sure that I agree with this argument against the value of education. Perhaps it's because I've benefitted so much from the education I've received. I know that I wouldn't be one-tenth the musician I am now without having spent so many years almost single-mindedly devoted to the betterment of my artistic skills.

I very strongly get the impression that non-artists give too much credit to "innate talent"--whatever that is--when trying to explain proficiency in the arts, making virtuosi out to be blessed with powers supernatural or magical. I contend that it's nothing of the sort. The arts are like anything else in this regard--you can become fluent in them if you immerse yourself deeply enough in them for a long enough period of time. The lion's share of the work is in learning the craft--the rest is simply in learning how to use that craft in a way that people can, in some sense, relate to. There's a very distinct reason that Sir Simon Rattle once said that, for just one example, "all great conductors are over 60. You and I are no exception."

Of course, the importance of lengthy study and practice of an art does not necessarily imply schooling, at least not in the formal sense. Some of the most fluent artists in the world never had formal training. That said, however, they weren't fueled by fairy dust, pacts with Satan, or the Force. They lived and breathed their art, and their devotion and training--informal though it was--helped them to cultivate their genius.

I would argue that on a certain fundamental level an artist is no different than a lawyer, a surgeon, or any other specialist. A surgeon is not born with a supernaturally-endowed talent for triple-bypass surgery--her elegant incisions and life-saving transplants once may have appeared to be magical, but now appear almost mundane. Nor, I suspect, do lawyers have a magical gift for brazenly mocking all semblance of common sense--though Michael Jackson's lawyer might yet prove me wrong.

I'm not sure why this particular conversation struck such a chord in me. I think it's because there seems to be a continually growing disconnect between the average person and the artist. The culture industry (danke schoen, Herr Adorno) has helped create consumers who often, upon experiencing the work of a master, either pass it off as elitist pap or, conversely, deify it and in doing so forfeit any serious attempt at a critical understanding of the work. The appreciation of a work of art requires at least some critical thought, and while worshippers at the altar of talent honestly and happily believe themselves to be participating in that critical exchange of ideas, the conversation simply washes over them. Dig into your arts and your culture, folks. Don't be afraid to form an opinion. Come back into the conversation.