How people view the artist

Christmas 2011, Trinidad. Trincity mall was brightly decorated, busy with people, and she stood in front of a crèche, playing carols on double tenor steelpans that shone silver. She wore flat shoes, blue jeans, a black jersey and her hair down. She didn't smile. But the music came from a true artist. Between songs the clapping was scanty and her parents urged folks to buy one or all of her four CDs sitting on a low table they had made with the steelpan cases. After she finished a set of parang songs, the artist faded into the background, facing the crèche with a young man who never stopped rubbing her arm as if consoling her. In the foreground her parents engaged the few showing interest. If they sold half a dozen records they sold a lot. Then her father lovingly wiped and packed the steelpans and they left, clearly despondent.


I looked on with great interest because I was in the mall for the same reason: I was promoting my books on a table not too far away. I want you to wrap your head around this idea the same way it appeals to me: while I was there as an artist, I had an opportunity "as a person" to look at an "artist" sell herself, and wanted to observe what was working and what wasn't so, for future reference, I could adjust my behaviour, attitude and appearance based on her successes and shortcomings.


At the end of the show I didn't purchase a record although I had promised myself in 2008 to support fellow artists as long I had the money. I had the money. But I didn't buy. As an artist the young woman hadn't sold herself to me (the person). We hadn't connected. Looking back I'm terribly sorry I didn't, but at the moment I couldn't, I just couldn't, never mind she had won The National Youth Award for Music in 2011. I'm pretty sure that when I hear her music, the memory of her standing there, plain, nondescript, playing almost unhappily will come to mind, and I wouldn't want to hear another note. As I said in the short space of time we hadn't connected.


Then I got to thinking about how "people" view the artist and how this view makes or breaks the artist.


"How do people view themselves?" While it is an important question this has been addressed countless times, so I'll turn to "How do people see themselves in the company of an artist?" Oh boy. I'm thinking about sitting  with Jit Samaroo, a legendary steelpan arranger. I feel p-r-e-t-t-y ordinary. I went to school with his son, Amrit Samaroo, and a couple years ago, at a Christmas function, he walked on-stage with a steelpan, elegantly dressed in tuxedo and bow-tie, played beautifully and left. Wow. The dazzling instrument, his skill, aura, everything made me feel p-r-e-t-t-y ordinary.


As you read, keep the title of this article in mind, for the goal of the artist is to never lift himself above, but set himself apart. The people who meet an artist have never even thought of doing such things, whatever it is, and if they have thought about it, they haven't done it, and even if they want to do it, they aren't doing it.  So, naturally, they feel ordinary. They can't help it. And because they feel ordinary the artist becomes extraordinary. For Caribbean people many things go with extraordinary:


They want to connect with the artist, know that they're down to earth, familiar with their topic, funny or can smile easily, come from a decent home, can inspire children who have similar interests, easy going, brilliant but humble, care for people more than their work, willing to give talks on the topic even if it never happens, and will stand unwaveringly by what they believe.




Generally, artists hate such "trivialities". Especially the radicals and the "radicals". The radicals remain adamant about setting themselves apart based on ideology or dress. That's fine. But it's only going to capture a tiny audience and I'm willing to bet that the size of this audience isn't enough to survive or build a career on.


But these and other trivialities I haven't mentioned form the lens which people "view" the artist through and this view determines whether or not people support the artist. I want to believe that in the Caribbean the artist's character and personality eventually becomes more important than the art. Legions have shunned V.S. Naipaul for this very reason. The Caribbean artist must be an all-rounder. He or she must climb over the wall that represents their natural skill and, as an ordinary person, connect with extraordinary people.