The Importance of Art

I've been asked once or twice to address this mammoth topic so here goes. Art is important because it reflects life. All life.

There. That's it. In a nutshell that's why Art is important. And I do mean all art. From the beautifully designed and made greetings cards available in the shops to the prints of workmen high on a steel girder in New York available in IKEA, to the cutting edge of theatre via the most mainstream of cinema releases. And in a whole lot of other places I can't even begin to list here for fear of turning this post into a list of places that I can't list.

Personally speaking Art, and the creative industries as a whole, have provided me with escape and allowed me to walk a mile in the shoes of people who I don't know. Hell it's even done that in regard to animals too as I recall feeling every moment of Joey's life played out on stage in War Horse at the National Theatre.

Be it in book form, theatre, cinema or painting I can testify to being personally moved by the experience of seeing something that has sprung from the imagination of another. In fact at my lowest ever ebb I found myself in the National Gallery sitting in awe in front of the Leonardo Cartoon for about two hours. Utterly transfixed. Still, if I'm having a tough time of things emotionally I can often be found sitting in the little darkened room that contains, what I regard, as the highlight of the national collection.

This picture, officially known as the Burlington House Cartoon, but more usually referred to as the Leonardo Cartoon, never fails to move me when I see it. It's unfinished but still it has a perfection in its unfinished state that is beautiful. I know nothing about painting or drawing beyond a very basic understanding of the "magic triangle" but when I see this drawing I know the effect it has on me. It makes my heart soar. It lifts my spirits and it humbles me at the same time.

Being someone who experiences bouts of depression and anxiety at times, finding things, places, people, books, pictures etc, that can remind me of the beauty of Life and of the innate ability of Man to create is phenomenally important. It can't be stressed enough how much I owe to this particular picture.

Many years ago I was feeling so low I would rather have embraced death than faced life. I felt that I couldn't achieve anything of value and that whatever I attempted I would never be able to finish. Then I walked into the National Gallery and found this picture.

It resides behind glass in a little room all by itself near the top of the stairs in the Sainsbury Wing of the gallery. The room is dimly lit. One door in, one door out. One piece of art softly lit so as to accent the fine lines and shading drawn by a master of his craft. And it's not finished. Yet it's perfect. Feet and hands remain nothing other than crude outlines no better than that I could sketch now with a biro and the back of a shopping list. The faces however, and the folds of cloth are phenomenal. The serenity of the faces, the weight of the cloth as it drapes over the bodies. I cannot stress enough how much this picture, in all of its incompleteness, is to me perfect. And it has something intrinsic to it that reproductions of it don't have. It has soul.

Over the years I have toyed with the idea of buying a reproduction, perhaps in the form of a fridge magnet or even possibly a full sized authorised copy where even the paper it's produced on is a perfect copy of the original. Each time I've thought about buying one and hanging it in my home, somewhere I can see it every day, I've shied away after coming to the conclusion that a copy isn't good enough. So I keep my special picture in the National Gallery and if I need to see it then I walk ten minutes down the road and gaze upon it for as long as I need. For no charge.

I know art is a subjective matter, it can't be anything but, however it does surprise me when I sit absorbed in the Leonardo perhaps, or sitting in an auditorium watching a play, how different people are impacted in different ways by the same thing. At the National Gallery I see many people glance at paintings and obviously not "get" them. The same way as when everyone else around you in a theatre is killing themselves with laughter whilst you would really rather kill yourself rather than have to endure more of this particular theatrical torture. The reverse is also true of course and I'm as guilty of loving plays and films that almost everyone else regards as being pure trash. But I don't care. If it moves me, if it entertains me, even better if it challenges me whilst entertaining and moving me, then it's Art. And Art is good.