Five ways anyone can apply artistic practices to create a better future
In my teens, I rebelled. I let the air out of my teachers’ bicycle tires when they weren’t looking, and convinced the entire class to leave school for a day and go explore the nearby park—my first community organizing! Though these made fun stories to tell my children (who still seem to get a kick out of them), somewhere I knew this was not the way forward. Fortunately, I met a group of like-minded artists, and they helped me focus my rebellion into making art.
One of OHO groups most famous installations: Mount Triglav, 1968 , Zvezda Park, Ljubljana, Slovenia
We found our muse in the natural world and took our projects into forests and fields and river beds. And we used city parks as ready-made spaces for temporary installations and happenings.
When I came to the U.S., I started to work with communities, turning neglected spaces into gathering places. Pomegranate Center’s core ideas were that everyone can be creative, and that we needed to learn to combine the aspirations of many into a unified whole. The question was how to make the projects functional and beautiful, useful to all, while honoring and protecting nature. We would turn sidewalks, shelters, or benches into unique, hand-made folk art.
The idea was to push art into life.
The problems of the world grow faster than we can solve them. It can all be overwhelming and it is easy to feel hopeless. But it is also an invitation to go deeper and examine our habits and lifestyles. Here are a few ideas that originated in my artistic practice, and help me navigate our turbulent times. I use them for regaining my personal sanity. I also use them in my work with communities. Perhaps they will be useful to you!
With that, I offer five ways to push art into daily life:
Work with what you have.
All artists know the tension between big ideas and the limits of resources and support, between infinite inquiries and finite resources. My installations in nature were great training for managing this tension. I was poor. I scavenged the dumps and recycled things that fell out of use. It prepared me well for my later work. We involved community members in the entire process, and the benefit was that they would volunteer materials and skills.
Milton Freewater Gathering Place with Gabion walls and columns
In one project, farmers offered their welding expertise and rocks from the edges of their fields. With these talents and materials we built Gabion (from the Italian for cage) containers that held the rocks and served as benches. Result was a project built on a fraction of a traditional budget, with many people proud of their ownership.
A small step in the right direction is more valuable than a long journey in the wrong one. I often hear people say that if only they had means, they would do amazing things. I find it far more impressive to do something despite meager resources.
2. Collaborate with nature.
My best projects in nature always started with a lengthy observation. I always tried to understand the space, its qualities, and patterns, how the light moves, where the water gathers, how people use it, and only then would I start thinking about my intervention. I had to confront my instinct to use the setting to feature MY work. It led to some of my best early work. I highlighted what was already there.
OHO GROUP Years, Wheat and rope, 1969
“I wanted to highlight what I noticed in nature. I used a string to bend the wheat stacks and to suggest the movement of the wind.” -Milenko
Later on, I began to listen to the people who knew the area best. I had to lock away my impulse to jump in to solve the problem, what our family calls "premature extrapolation." We asked people to name what they treasure about the space. Only when my colleagues and I learned all we could learn did we start designing.
Imagine how our world could be if we honored what is already in place. Our cities and towns would dance with nature and not replace it.
3. Pay attention to details
As an experiment some years ago, celebrated violinist Joshua Bell, disguised, played the violin in a crowded Washington DC Metro station. Noticed by few (mostly children), his virtuosity was largely ignored. People who paid high prices to hear him play at a symphony hall, walked right past him. If they had listened to the notes and the music they made, they would have stopped and marveled. But resorting to prejudice, they saw an unemployed street musician and decided he was not worth it. Do we depend on others to point out what is worthy of our attention?
Musical notes. The tiny details that, when combined and expressed in a work of art, convey deep meaning and inspire awe. It is not enough for a performer wishing to inspire awe. That intent must be backed with the perfection of notes. And that takes practice.
And this goes for performers and listeners. Performers know that they need to practice. I wish we, the people, to also practice how to notice what is true and beautiful. It will help us reject empty words and slogans that sway us to be inattentive.
When in doubt, we should look for the details. They will help us find the way.
4. Sit with discomfort long enough to turn it into insight.
Early on, I realized that simply reflecting my frustrations through my art was not helpful to me or others. I had to learn to turn it into something positive. This doesn't mean that I ignored the issue that caused distress. Instead, I had to sit with the discomfort long enough that it was transmuted into something that could potentially help me and others. I wanted to use my anger to find a way forward.
When I work with communities, I ask people to focus on what could be done rather than complain about what is not working. Even this small exercise produced unexpected insights.
5. Cultivate our imagination and dreams
This is how it works for me: it always starts with hunches. A feeling nags me, so I pay attention. This early intuition is not rational or logical. It is often radical and disruptive. It comes from the realm of the possible, not from the familiar. Some I discard. But others have staying power. They wake me up at night and won't let go. I just must do something with them. I study what others have done when similarly pushed, and try to understand it logically. When properly gestated, I sketch it, write it down on a napkin, or play a few notes on the piano. Slowly I imagine how I can honor it, and spring into action. And because it is about anchoring something new—even if it is only new to me—it may guide me in finding new techniques and expressions. And, if I am successful, others may receive nagging intuitions that will guide them to do something new.
These days, societal changes happen through political or corporate channels. I wish to add our everyday intuitions as the third path. This is where we, the people, come in. Nothing is possible without us imagining it first. Think of what would become possible if every family and organization had a conversation about what ought to happen so the world works for all. Imagine we then agree what we will do about it. Individual intuitions, then, will gradually accumulate into a clear, collective image of the future that can guide our actions.
I hope this short piece can be the beginning of an ongoing exploration on how art and creativity can positively influence our culture. How about you? I would love to hear your thoughts. Please leave them in the comments below!
Wedgewood Gathering Place, Seattle, WA 2011
The making of the benches.