Articles Music WDYL

The Utility Of Art After silence, that which comes closest to expressing the inexpressible is music. -Aldous Huxley by Allie Lapointe, singer/songwriter I often wrestle with the practicality of music — specifically, the utility of songwriting. A song never washed the dishes. A lyric never tied my shoes. A melody never paid the bills (for me, anyway). What is it about music that keeps drawing me to ponder, pray, dream, and write? Why isn't it enough to speak the words of what I'm thinking or feeling? Why do I spend so much time rewriting a line so it voices my heart just so? Why do I plunk out notes on a piano in seventeen different sequences to find the one that makes the best bride for the words? And for crying out loud, why did I choose this hobby? Wouldn't it have been more practical to take up sewing? Or gardening? Or photography? I have the blessing and curse of the artist — this unrelenting compulsion to be creative, to place on a blank sheet of paper words that weren't there a second ago. Strange, isn't it? I've pined over whether music is a skill, a gift, a calling, or mere entertainment. I've had seasons of creative rainstorms, and seasons of artistic drought. My husband and I have considered trying to make a living out of this blessed taunt. The numbers just don't add up. We've tried to demote it to the most basic sense of "hobby." Doesn't work. Songwriters write. Artists create. So, like many other points of question in life, I'm faced with an opportunity to live out the faith I've been given. I'm pretty sure I got this statement from someone else (it sounds quote-ee), but I'll say it anyways ... I think all art is faith. Faith that the next moment of inspiration will come. Faith that the song will unfold. Faith that the audience will "get" the message the artist is conveying. I wonder if that was not one of the ingredients God used when He designed the artist ... one dash of insecurity, one helping of talent, a pinch of faith so she doesn't get discouraged ... Unlike some other skills or interactions, music often plants a seed whose flower is never seen by the planter/singer/writer. It takes faith to carry that little seed out there in the first place. So, at least in this moment, I'm going to embrace the art in me. After all, if I believe (and I do) that God created each of us with utmost care and precision, certainly this artist quirk isn't a mistake. And if I could get past the hiccup of introspection, maybe I could even start using my gift to do some good ... dare I say, do something practical. So, I'll keep writing. I'll keep singing. Maybe, just maybe, a note or a phrase will seep into someone's heart in a way a spoken or written word can't. Music has a way of doing that — of contorting itself to fit into tiny cracks of people's lives. And that, though mysterious and abstract, convinces me that music matters. God uses it. It's needed. It might not vacuum the floor, but it will soften a heart. Happy sigh. Guess I'll head on over to my writing room ...