Art Lessons

My friend Meghan lives on the island of Bali, in Indonesia. Indonesia is the world’s largest Muslim country, but Bali is a Hindu island. It’s an absolutely beautiful place. The sea is filled with jewel-toned fish, the hills are vibrant green with terraced rice paddies, and the air is full of butterflies. The place pulses with color and life. The people dress in colorful clothing and you have to be careful where you step, because offerings are often left out (sometimes in the middle of the sidewalk) for spirits. The offerings are contained in folded leaves, and often involve a flower, bit of rice, or incense. Some are very large, and involve fruit and other foods. I saw one offering that must have been for a mischievous spirit, because it contained a bottle of liquor and a lit cigarette.

Everywhere I went I met woodcarvers, painters, jewelry makers, tailors; artists of all kinds. I told Meghan that she was lucky to know so many artists. She shrugged and said, “There isn’t really that kind of division here.” When I asked her what she meant, she explained that there weren’t “artists” and “others” on Bali. “Everyone is an artist,” Meghan explained. “Everyone does some sort of art. It’s part of being in the world.”

My mother has a friend who immigrated to the United States from Japan. Once, when we were having lunch, my mother noted the elegant way the food was presented on the plate, and mentioned her Japanese friend. “It drives her crazy to see something just plopped on a plate,” Mom said. “She told me that in Japan, everything is done with an eye for beauty: getting dressed, eating, making tea, whatever. It’s in the culture.”

Yes, it’s in the culture, and it’s in ourselves. We are all artists. So often, we describe ourselves to others purely in terms of our work: I am a nurse. I am a banker. I am a writer. I am an office manager. But, in the words of Walt Whitman, we are large, we contain multitudes. We are artists. We are scientists. We are explorers. We are dancers. My daughter—age five and a half—knows this. It’s not about what you get paid for (nobody pays her for anything); it’s a way of being in the world.  This is what it means to be human.