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Thursday, March 28, 2024
The Eagle

Art forges connections between consumers

Last weekend, I had the epiphany that there is hardly a more pleasurable way to pass two hours waiting in line than by debating the ethics of stage diving. As I waited in line to enter Lily Allen's concert at the 9:30 club, I realized I had drastically overestimated my ability to occupy myself for such a large expanse of time with only a copy of the New Yorker. After emerging from the comic captions of the week, I looked around and realized the 30-something woman in front of me was likewise alone. She appeared to be passing the minutes watching the 12-year-old preceding her in line play Nintendogs on her DS while arguing with her mother over what seemed to be her mother's suggestion that she wear a dress, while the rest of the girls in line were clearly in skirts.

The woman was visibly approaching the state of catatonia that I would also near if I didn't find a more stimulating way to get through the next 120 minutes. I casually turned her way and asked how it was that she came upon the knowledge, and subsequently the tickets, for this sold-out event. One joke about the demonizing monopoly of Ticketmaster led to another, and pretty soon we were like old war buddies swapping stories of concerts past. I related how I had an entire pint of Budweiser spilled on me at AC/DC, and she, in turn, informed me of the existence of the Swedish band The Hives and how their lead singer, Pelle Almqvist, dove off the stage straight onto her and her daughter - sweaty and still singing. After the concert, her daughter apparently had declined to bathe for nearly a week afterwards, claiming that she wanted to retain the singer's quite distinct smell. After the conversation, we went our separate ways, each with a bevy of new artist recommendations and having heard personal experiences so vivid and humorous that we forgot we weren't actually there.

On the Metro ride back to campus, I began to further reflect on this encounter with a woman whom, in my normal sphere of socialization, I would never have encountered. But once I did, she opened my eyes to new artistic horizons that I would have otherwise missed entirely. I began thinking about how many times in my life this had happened, and was inclined to consider the few instances when I hadn't been referred to a band that I regularly listen to or a movie that I can recite every line for without a discussion like this one. Even with nearly infinite information, reviews and forums available today on the Internet, it's the connection between two people sharing their love for art, not just through typed words but anecdotes and sparkling eyes that are the true motivation to seek out a suggested piece of work.

We listen to our albums through our iPod headphones and, with the escalating price of seeing a movie in theaters, are more inclined to watch them online in the comfort of our own beds. But in the privacy of these indulgences, we lose something essential in our art. It's happened more than once: I put on a DVD of a classic movie such as "Bonnie and Clyde" or "Rocky" and, just hours later, forget that I watched it altogether. But even when I lie on my deathbed, I don't think I'll ever lose the memory of seeing "Grindhouse" for the first time, also getting to see audience members openly cheering, booing and throwing objects at the screen, discovering the divine eccentricities of the double feature for the first time. Had I first viewed the film in private, it might have dawned on me just how ridiculous killing zombies with a machine gun leg really is. Taking in art collectively is like adding a laugh track to your life.

If you take anything out of this column or any other I've written throughout the year, I hope it is this: art is only validated through criticism. The most brilliant movie ever to be captured on camera may be stashed away in a vault somewhere in the Los Angeles underground, but until it is recognized, discussed and viewed by everyone from college students to little old ladies in their nursing homes, it is nothing more than images on celluloid. So bring forth your patronage, opinions and recommendations. True art will soon follow.

You can reach this columnist at jcoughenour@theeagleonline.com.


 Hosts Delaney Hoke and Penelope Jennings speak to swimmer Caleb Farris and diver Amanda bosses about their unique experiences as college athletes. 



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