Whose excellence?

Sir Brian McMaster’s report ‘Supporting Excellence in the Arts’ has been warmly received by artists, managers, critics and audiences. And why not? Its restatement of the fundamental importance of quality to the arts is no less valuable for being self-evident. But its welcome is partly due to the very simplicity of the report’s proposition, which seems to cut through thickets of bureaucratic ivy to reveal the lovely house half-forgotten behind. Culture has grown much more obviously important in the past 30 years, partly because it has filled the vacuum left by other, formerly dominant ideologies. Consequently, art has also become a much more contested area: people only tend to argue about what matters to them, though they like to do it through proxies, symbols and metaphors. Art expresses values, open and hidden, and those values inevitably provoke disagreement. That isn’t necessarily welcome or comfortable: who enjoys having their beliefs challenged or dismissed? So it isn’t surprising that the restatement of a simple, underlying truth should be welcomed if it seems to resolve such arguments. But does it?

Certainly, no one would argue against the proposition that excellence is desirable in the arts, or even that achieving it is the purpose of artistic endeavour, or one of the purposes, at least. The reverse – that artists should strive for mediocrity – is patently absurd. That isn’t the difficulty. The problem is defining excellence. For McMaster, “excellence in culture occurs when an experience affects and changes an individual”. That is not unlike John Carey’s definition of a work of art, much derided by some critics when it appeared a couple of years ago: “a work of art is anything that anyone has ever considered a work of art, though it may be a work of art only for that one person”.¹

Tying artistic excellence to personal experience makes it inescapably subjective: it cannot exist independently of its reception. Two teenagers seeing their first Shakespeare production may have completely contrasting reactions – one committed to going to drama school, the other equally determined never to set foot in a theatre again. Neither response is an accurate measure of what was presented on stage, but each is eloquent about the two people concerned. McMaster’s definition is not wrong, but it is limited, and it says much less than some commentators understandably desperate to get away from the ‘tickbox culture’ – would like it to say. If excellence were easy to define, every repertory theatre would get five-star reviews: after all, that’s what those involved are mostly trying to achieve. Similarly, great writers would not produce bad novels, major artists would never lose their way and the Top 20 would be a parade of musical delights. Of course everyone wants excellent culture: but wanting it doesn’t make it easy to create or even
to recognise.

[[the very notion of a submissive audience is discredited, as understanding of how people subjectively respond to, interpret and create art for themselves has grown]] Recognition is made harder when the standard of excellence shifts, as it must, depending as it does on the subjective judgements made at the time. A painting does not change, but the people who look at it do. If Van Gogh is worth so much today, when he couldn’t get arrested in his own lifetime, the change is not in his work but in the context in which it is viewed. Are today’s critics better judges of excellence than those of the late 19th century? If so, will their successors be still wiser when they in turn praise today’s disregarded artists and neglect those lauded in their place? So cultural excellence is not just subjective, but also relative. In the absence of consensual values (to say nothing of universal truths), excellence can only be defined in relation to what is less good.

It is equally important to recognise that people’s experience of cultural excellence is not confined to passive consumption. Indeed, the very notion of a submissive audience is discredited, as understanding of how people subjectively respond to, interpret and create art for themselves = has grown. A work of literature exists only in the interaction of the author’s and the reader’s imaginations, and the author is far from being in control of that interaction.2 Nor is there a simple category division between artists and audiences. All artists also engage with the work of others – indeed, their work is in constant dialogue with the creations of other artists – while many audience members have direct experience of creative work as part-time, amateur or occasional artists. Excellence is also within their reach, though they may not have the benefits of professional training, public funding or critical attention.

I recently saw this in Crafta Webb, a community film made with residents of Bredwardine in Herefordshire by the Rural Media Company. This 40-minute feature film uses the site of an abandoned 19th century settlement to evoke experiences of migration, transience and rural poverty. Local people, supported by professionals, formed the cast and crew, and have made a film that is both sophisticated and deeply moving. The performances may not have the technical sheen that professional actors would give but they achieve excellence through a different path, by being true to themselves. If “excellence in culture occurs when an experience affects and changes an individual”, Crafta Webb meets the test. Would this film be less excellent if it didn’t affect you, or anyone else? I don’t think so, because each person’s experience can be valid only for him- or herself. The deep emotion felt by the crowds filing past Padre Pio’s glass coffin is true to them, but not to those who do not believe in his cult: the numbers are irrelevant. What is relevant is how we talk about our individual experience, how we share the values and meanings we create in culture, and how we listen to those with different experiences, values and meanings.

Perhaps, in the end, what really needs to be excellent is the conversation we have about culture and the experiences it offers us, individually and collectively. And a rich, generous and democratic debate about our culture is entirely achievable – if we want it.