Macon Magazine

6 | MACON MAGAZINE FEBRUARY/MARCH 2015 F or some reason, artists in recent years have been expected to defend the arts. I find that difficult to fathom. Athletes never have to defend what they do and why. I've thought about this endlessly over the years and have arrived at two answers: one is for the accountants, the business community and the "just-the-facts" folks who have been unable to embrace the "quality-of -life" answer. My other answer is for the poets, the historians, the leaders and the artists themselves. Some years ago, a local arts leader warned us in the arts to "never employ the quality-of-life defense" when making a case for the arts. I disagreed then, and I disagree now. And here is my answer for that tough crowd who need more facts and figures. e arts are an enormous economic engine - locally, at the state level and nationally. Take a look at the figures for the local Macon-Bibb County area. ese numbers were compiled by the Macon Arts Alliance using e Arts Economic Calculator. e total industry impact of the arts in Macon-Bibb County annually is $34,068,297. Yes, more than $34,000,000. is translates into 906 full-time jobs and local revenue of $1,223,689. It is a fact that, nationally, the revitalization of our abandoned urban centers has been driven by businesses in the arts, culture and leisure sector. e emphasis here is business. e arts are good business. Chambers of commerce now know they have a tough time selling their cities to prospective new corporate residents without a strong arts and culture presence. is is why 29 years ago, against much vocal opposition, we chose to locate eatre Macon downtown. We knew and believed that we would become a part of an exciting revitalization of our beautiful city center. Clearly, it has paid off. Here is my second answer, a much more poetic rationale. e arts are and always have been important to civilized people. Our shared history of human progress is recorded in our music, our dance, our theatre, our literature, our paintings and sculpture and our architecture. e arts are our letters to ourselves and to future generations. ey remind us of who we are when we express that divine inner music we all possess and to which many of us remain deaf. Our artists are the "madmen and women" who possess the courage to listen and create, to interpret and translate, to help us make sense of this vastness we call existence. Our arts record who we are, who we have been and who we hope to be. is is noble, grand and worthy of our attention, our support and our respect. I often think of those tribes of nomadic early people; our ancestors of thousands of years ago. How they gathered at night around campfires to tell their stories, to remember their gods, their heroes, their myths, so they would not be forgotten, so they could all participate in the celebration of their presence in an unknowable universe. It was the most primal urge to create, to shout, "I am here. I exist." We still do this today when we enter a theatre or concert hall. We still gather together in the dark, close bodies touching, breathing the same warm air, feeling and sensing the heartbeats around us, the rush of blood in our bodies. Electric light has replaced the campfire, but we all share that experience of looking into that holy space, filled with light, as we continue to tell our stories to one another, for one another, and send these love letters to future generations: We were here. As we continue our fascination and near obsession with our toys of technology, I believe this "live" experience will be ever more important. We need this sense of shared experience, shared creation, and shared memories. It is basic to our human experience. I am haunted by Cormac McCarthy's novel "e Road." It chronicles the story of a father and young son as they make their way through the desolation of some undefined catastrophe. e father repeatedly tells his son, they are carrying the fire and that makes them good and important. ey travel on roads made dangerous by marauding, ruthless survivors who have sunk to tragic depths to remain alive. At the end, the son, now alone, encounters a family who invite him to join them. e son asks, "How do I now you're one of the good guys?" e father of the family says, "You don't. You'll have to take a shot." e son then asks, "Are you carrying the fire?" I believe the artists among us carry the fire. But we all carry a part of it, whether we know it or not. e fire contains our words, our songs, our laughter, our dances, our stories. It is what makes us human. It is what lasts. Jim Crisp is artistic director at eatre Macon. DON'T TELL ME THE ARTS DON'T MATTER Editorial by JIM CRISP

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