Art Must Purify Hearts
It was finally Friday, finally the end of the day and we were finally going to have a music class. I was not old enough to question the reasons why our tutor treated music so badly and left the music class to the last hour of the last day and the last day of the week but I think I secretly grudged her for that. I was only seven like most of my classmates and we were all afraid of her; she was a tall, big woman with two golden front teeth.
I was excited, I knew my friends were unable to contain themselves either, I could feel it but we were all quiet. Some of us might have even imagined our little hand between our tutor’s jaws if we talked before her. She was not only judgmental but also violent.
“Who wants to sing for us?” she finally asked after pretentious and long seriousness. What was that for? I never understood, why couldn’t she be real at least for once? Of course, none of us dared stand up and volunteered apart from the bully of the school, the big and tall boy called Can who was sitting in front of me. His voice was so strong and he was three years older than all of us. He had a big head and mouth. He was hyperactive, violent enough to scare his parents even our tutor.
“I will sing,” said he as he walked to the stage of the classroom and stood in front of the black board with a scary smile. No one dared say a word but watched.
“Bravo Can!” said out tutor and smiled, then everyone in the class smiled. He began singing a song of his uncle, who was a famous singer in the country. That did not help him to sing in tune, however. He,too, laughed at himself in the of his song like everyone else but we were all happy again. We applauded her and he was no longer a bully in our eyes, nor did he feel like one. His smile no longer looked scary to me or to anyone in the class.
“Why don’t you sing now?” the tutor asked me showed her golden teeth as she smiled. I wanted to but I was not sure whether I could cry while singing.
“I want to but I might not be able to cry while singing,” said I.
“What do you mean?” asked the tutor, looking confused.
“I have to cry in order to sing the song I love,” said I.
“How so?” asked the tutor, feeling totally lost. Even Can could not say a word.
“I have to, because the singer who sings this song cries every time she sings it,” replied I. The tutor smiled and her students imitated her without being able to understand me.
“Yes, she does that because she has recently lost her father and this song is written for him,” replied the tutor and added: “Come and try singing it without crying, you will see you can.”
I stood up, walked to the stage, but something still did not feel right. I did not understand what it was and why it felt wrong but it forced me to pursue art even though I was expected to become employee in other words a slave of someone else to help him make his dream come true.
I now know what it was that had felt wrong that day and why. It was the selfishness of the confused singer and the way she had abused art. She had not even understood what music was. If she did she would have never dare deny the will of God within her father and upset all her fans because of her misunderstanding of God, Love and Art.
Art had to be constructive and generate love in everyone, including those who have no clue what art is.That was how it could constructively contribute to our dear humanity unless it was not politicized like it is now.
The next piece will be about how art is politicized and why and what we should do to protect ourselves for a better humanity.