The British Library hums around me, a low, constant thrum of activity. I’ve ensconced myself in a public space, though I fully intend to rectify that with a reader’s pass and membership; this place is a treasure trove, a haven for the curious mind. The coffee and cake, admittedly, are a touch exorbitant, but after paying £5.50 for mineral water at The Conduit last night I’m beginning to recalibrate my expectations of London prices.
This space, while not serene, is conducive to thought. I’m attempting to write myself into this moment, to capture the ephemeral threads of inspiration that linger after a night spent in the company of Brian Eno, Bette A, and Jon Alexander and a group of artists and thinkers engaged with the question of what art is for and why now is a good time to ask that question. I’m not expecting to synthesise everything here, but I am hoping to untangle some of the questions that have been swirling in my mind.
Last night at The Conduit was, to put it simply, a moment. Brian Eno radiates charisma, a quiet, almost otherworldly presence. He speaks with the authority of a sage, yet his words are grounded in a profound understanding of the world. Bette A appears intimately connected to the practicalities of her art, her relationship to the everyday and her profound joy in making. Jon Alexander, author of Citizens, Why the Key to Fixing Everything is Us and our exuberant host, is a force of nature, a passionate advocate for the power of art and the role of the citizen and a truly good human. His genuine appreciation for the work being done at East Marsh United was deeply moving.
The conversation revolved around the role of art in our fractured world, a world where the hoped for revolution has failed to materialise. The spectre of fascism, a persistent shadow throughout the latter half of the 20th century, has re-emerged with renewed vigour in the 21st, its mask finally slipping. Trump, Musk, and their ilk have laid bare the ugly truth and there is no credible opposition within the established political system. The liberals, adrift and clinging to the status quo, offer little more than token gestures, while remaining steadfast in their devotion to the military-industrial complex and its insatiable appetite for war. The left, fragmented and disillusioned, seems to have lost its way.
It strikes me that the very notion of left and right, of entrenched ideologies, has become a debilitating constraint. To adhere to such rigid frameworks is to limit our thinking, to position ourselves on opposing sides of an increasingly irrelevant divide. Surely, the most pressing task for any thinking human is to seek common ground, to transcend the outdated political paradigms that have led us to this precarious juncture.
And this, of course, brings us back to art. Brian and Bette articulated a powerful idea: art is everything we don’t have to do. We must eat, maintain our bodies, and strive for economic security (though even that is a point of contention). Beyond these basic necessities, we are constantly making artistic or aesthetic choices, from the clothes we wear to the way we decorate our homes. They posit that everything, from chewing gum wrappers to grand architectural designs, is art. This is a liberating concept, one that challenges the elitist notion of art as a rarefied pursuit, the exclusive domain of experts and connoisseurs.
My mind drifts back to Mr. D, one of the art teachers in my secondary school. I can still hear his voice, dripping with disdain, as he declared my painting of grass to be “council house green,” before obliterating it with his own, supposedly superior, brushstrokes. His language was not only classist but deliberately humiliating. He chose to mock rather than teach, to crush rather than encourage. That moment, though decades past, has left an indelible mark. I still hear his sneer whenever I pick up a paintbrush.
This, I believe, lies at the heart of the matter. How we perceive, discuss, and value art has profound consequences. Children, naturally creative and uninhibited, are often robbed of their artistic freedom by well-meaning but misguided adults who impose their own rigid standards. Play, experimentation, and mark-making, essential for developing cognitive and motor skills, are dismissed in favour of measurable outputs and quantifiable results.
I recall a particularly disheartening experience during my time as a teacher. My A-Level Literature students, when asked to sketch their idealised human form, male and female, refused outright. They claimed they “couldn’t” draw, that their efforts would inevitably be “crap.” This simple, lighthearted exercise, intended to spark a discussion about the nature of beauty and desire, was met with resistance and self-deprecation. They were trapped, I realised, in a culture that demanded perfection, that equated creativity with technical skill. My attempts to reassure them, to emphasise the process over the product, were futile.
That lesson, and countless others like it, convinced me that I was no longer fit for the classroom. The increasingly absurd exam syllabi, the pervasive anti-intellectualism, had eroded any semblance of meaningful pedagogy. In 2012, the system was already a shadow of its former self.
So, where does this leave us? Where does it leave Brian, Bette, Jon, and my own exploration of the relationship between citizenship, creativity, and climate? I find myself grappling with more questions than answers. I firmly believe that unlocking the doors to creativity, imagination, and expansive thinking is essential for building a more just and sustainable future.
Yet, our governments, and even some of our supposed allies, remain stubbornly blind to the transformative power of art. It is relegated to the margins, underfunded, and dismissed as a luxury. The opposite should be true. Creativity should be at the heart of everything we do, from education to governance. The stifling of creativity in our schools has contributed directly to the mental health crisis among young people. The relentless pressure to pursue STEM subjects and money-oriented degrees, the relentless focus on economic productivity, has come at a terrible cost.
The rise of talent shows like Britain’s Got Talent and The X Factor has reinforced the myth of perfection, perpetuating a culture of shallow aesthetics and celebrity worship. Social media, a tool of manipulation and addiction, has rendered us passive and controlled.
What, then, can we do? How can we reclaim our creative selves, our intuitive capacity for wonder? How can we assert the centrality of art to our humanity, its power to solve problems, foster collaboration, and generate joy? How can creativity and art become pathways out of conflict?
We need only look to examples like El Sistema, the East West Divan Orchestra, and other courageous artistic endeavours to see the transformative potential of art. Instead of perpetuating cycles of war, conflict, and polarisation, we can choose to embrace imagination, creation, and collaboration. When we share an artistic experience, whether it be a concert, a play, or a simple act of drawing together, we transcend our differences and discover common ground.
This is not a utopian fantasy; it is a proven reality. It is a way of living that works. It is a way to build a future based on shared humanity and creative expression. I don’t claim to have all the answers, but I am increasingly convinced that the answers lie in asking the right questions, in embracing curiosity, and in shedding the outdated ideological baggage that has held us captive for too long. I am opening myself to new ways of thinking, to new ways of being, and to the transformative power of art. I’m choosing to be curious, and to create.
Josie Moon 