"can art save us?" she asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow

yesterday afternoon, i attended a panel discussion in the english department on the efficacy of art -- can it change the world? can it change people? can it, L (who was a participant in the panel) asked wryly, stop global warming? there were no direct answers, because alas, it isn't really a yes/no question, but there was a lot of debate, and a lot of dispute over the definition of concepts like "art", "artist", "readership/audience", and perhaps the most contested term: "universals" (i'd really like to believe in the possibility of a new humanism, but i'm not 100% convinced ... but that's another post).

though the panel didn't offer me any concrete answers to the nagging questions i have about the purpose of what i do (both inside and outside of the academy), it did strike a chord that i haven't heard in awhile, somewhere deep inside my messy, churning self. L talked about the beauty (possibility? salvation? though i want to resist a xian discourse here ... ) inherent in the 'doing' of art. now, i like to think of what i do with my body in a boat as a form of artistic expression. it's not just competition to me, and it's not just about getting a lower split time, though those things, in and of themselves, are thrilling. as i argued in an essay i have coming out soon in a collection on feminism and sport, rowing is a lot like writing, races are a sort of fleeting text. yesterday afternoon, however, made me long for something else, something i haven't done in a very, very long time -- i want to experience, once more, the possibilities for expression that i used to find in music.

it has been a long time since i picked up my flute with any seriousness, and even when i was at my most serious -- orchestra seat, concert dress, paycheque and all -- i wasn't 'serious' serious; it was something to do when i needed a holiday from the world of words. both the limits of my physical body (damn RSI!) and my academic obligations will obviously keep me from locking myself away in a practice room for 4-5 hours a day, but i want to make music again. i want to play. all of a sudden, in a way i never expected to feel again, i'm hungry for time with my instrument, and practically salivating for a place in a musical community. the former, i can carve out, but the latter? i don't have a clue where to start.

below is a detail from my one-time dream instrument: a solid silver, hand-made flute (french/open-hole, offset G, .016 tube, B foot) from the wm. s haynes co. in boston.