Tag: The Lost Arts

There are few pleasures in this world equal to a good book.

I lean into my chair and fold back the cover. The initial pages pass slowly, as I become acquainted with the voice to whose thoughts I now have access. However, as the story accelerates, I am immersed in this new sphere: the colourful sea of vivid emotions and depictions of reality all contained within the book.

In reviewing the opening sentence of this piece, I wonder if I have chosen wisely. I described a book as a pleasure; reading is then by extension a pleasurable activity. This may not seem controversial, coming from a bibliophile, but the more I think about, the more I believe I have erred in my word selection. Reading is pleasurable, of course, but the word alone is insufficient to encompass the pursuit as a whole.

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I don’t think it is entirely inaccurate to say that we are living in a shuffle culture; we are a people that shuffles. When I use this word (to shuffle), I am not referring to a kind of movement. I don’t mean to conjure up images of a person shuffling along, walking down the street and dragging their feet on the ground. Such a use of the word ‘shuffle’ might be more applicable in my previous post on The Lost Art of Walking. In this post however, I am using shuffle in a very different sense (though there is certainly a connection between these two meanings of the word): ‘shuffle’ is an option we have the power to select when we listen to music.

Is listening to music an art that has been lost? Here I must distinguish between listening to music as an art, and music as an art in and of itself. Saying that to listen to music is an art implies two things. First, it implies that when we listen to music, we are not just passively receiving someone else’s art, but creating something ourselves through the process of listening. Secondly, it implies that there is more than one way of listening to music, and that perhaps some ways are better than others.

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In a previous post in this series, I talked about breathing and how this simple practice is necessary in the maintenance of life. Eating (unlike letter-writing) is also a necessity for survival. Although people are capable of enduring conditions of severe scarcity, they need a certain amount of food and to ingest this amount of food with a certain measure of regularity, in order to live. So it can be easily established that food plays an essential role in our lives and that it is a fundamental need, rather than merely a want. What remains to be seen is whether the sphere of food can be elevated into the sphere of art.

Although I used the word “eating” in the title of this piece, I want to include the entire process of preparing and arranging food in my discussion, not just consumption. For it is very clear that food is about far more than nutritional value (or lack thereof), even if we intend to desire it only as such. The basic definition of food might be cut down to its constituent parts, but whenever we encounter food on the practical level of daily living and not in some abstract theoretical realm, it is impossible to separate the food itself from the experience of eating.

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Today I want to talk about reclaiming the lost art of breathing. I’m not crazy (or if I am, this isn’t the reason): humans have been breathing, are currently breathing, and will keep on breathing to infinitude (or at least until they die). Oxygen, as everyone knows, is one of our most fundamental needs. How could it ever be possible to “lose” such a necessity, one that is literally woven into the fabric of survival? Breathing is not something that we need to learn or be taught in order to do it “properly.” As newborn infants enter the world, they draw their first breath; it happens naturally; it is a part of their very nature, which must be why we have the expression “as easy as breathing.” How then is it conceivable to label breathing as an art?

I am not using “art” in a literal or restrictive sense of the word (then again, I rarely do). In my conception of it, art can be anything that opens us up to the beauty of the world. Art is not just some external thing; it must possess transcendent power, the power to become a part of ourselves and to lift us above the strict and basest reality of everyday life. I realize this is a broad and rather loose definition of art (can it even be called a definition?), but I think it is an entirely valid (and indeed, necessary) way of looking at art. There are also specific categories of art that can be better defined, shared, and studied (think of literature, music and visual art), but another vital aspect of art is experience. All humans are by nature creative beings. Because we are created by God in His image, we are able to participate in His creativity through our thoughts, our words, our actions, and simply by being. In light of this, we can all be called artists, art can be called life, and the art of living creation. We create because we were created first, and we experience art in our daily life.

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Back when we had not “progressed” so far as to make instantaneous communication possible, distance was bridged through the writing and sending of letters. These letters were part of a shared culture that is now unfamiliar and perhaps even foreign to us. Letters were an essential part of life, a part of “being in the world” and engaging in relationship with others. While many of these letters would necessarily have been banal or filled only with the back and forth of practical matters, there are also countless scores of letters that can (and in my opinion, should) be considered works of art.

I have a poetry anthology of Keats that attests to this fact: along with the complete catalogue of Keats’ poems, the book also contains selections from his letters. Thus his personal letters- these documentations of communication- are included as a part of his artistic repertoire. These letters are beautiful and thoughtful pieces, worthy of being read, capable of being meaningfully read despite the fact that they were written for a specific person, and none of us can claim to be this person (if Keats wrote a letter individually addressed to you, then you must be at least 194 years old).

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I am calling this new series (which begins with this post) “The Lost Arts,” because it is about rediscovering the artistry and beauty of simple acts. These are acts we often take for granted or that are merely ordered to other ends. We may do them automatically, without thinking, or we may not even do them at all. Our culture is one that praises fast over slow and more over less, exalting freedom and choice despite expecting conformity and holding in contempt dependence and contemplation.

Although these trends, I think, often cause us to miss what is most beautiful and valuable in life (forsaking what is most beautiful and valuable in ourselves in the process), I believe that we can reclaim this beauty and value. One way this can be done is by focusing on little things (simple pursuits as I mentioned above) and re-seeing them, transforming them into an “art” rather than a meaningless aspect of existence. They are lost, indeed, but not irrevocably so; something which is lost is also something which can be found. It is lost yet not destroyed. Though forgotten, it is still in wait of remembrance.

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