Editor’s note: This commentary is by Anna Marie Gewirtz, who is executive director of the Flynn Center for the Performing Arts.
The year was 1937. Nazi Germany and fascist Italy began a bombing campaign on a small town in northern Spain, a village by the name of Guernica.
Guernica is a place that you or I may never have heard of were it not for one individual: the painter Pablo Picasso. Picasso was living in Paris, France, at the time and was devastated to hear of the atrocities happening in his homeland. The civilian casualties, human suffering, and growing despair rocked him to his core.
So what did he do? Picasso’s immediate response was to draw on those feelings of utter helplessness and pain to create art. Over 35 days, Picasso painted what is now known as one of the most influential anti-war paintings in modern history, “Guernica.”
Picasso preferred to work in solitude, not letting people into his studio to see his works in progress. However, for this piece, Picasso made an exception. He opened his private studio to visiting dignitaries and influencers to see him toil day and night on this masterpiece.
If Picasso were alive today, he would likely reach out to people with large Facebook or Twitter followings, saying, “Hey, come on by. You need to see this.” There was limited public awareness about what was happening with the Spanish Civil War and Picasso hoped that this publicity would help propel the nascent anti-fascist movement.
Imagine the dialogue taking place in that studio. Tales of the ravages of war were being demonstrated through brushstrokes of oil on canvas. And soon, awareness began to spread. Picasso had sparked a mini-revolution.
In fact, that was just what he intended to do. In the words of Picasso, “What do you think an artist is? … he is a political being, constantly aware of the heartbreaking, passionate, or delightful things that happen in the world, shaping himself completely in their image. Painting is not done to decorate apartments. It is an instrument of war.”
Like Picasso, we live in a broken world. Literal and figurative wars are breaking out. Our values and cultural norms are under siege. Segments of our community have been marginalized, left out, and left behind. And yet, the world keeps on spinning as if all of this is “normal.”
So what do we do? How do we make sense of all of this? For me, the only path is to look within and find the courage to give voice to the issues around us. The artists among us can help begin the healing process and connect us with our shared humanity.
For 24 hours last week (Thursday noon through Friday noon), Daniel Bernard Roumain, also known as DBR, the community artist-in-residence for the Flynn, Vermont Symphony Orchestra, and the UVM Lane Series, staged “Protest Song,” a durational piece on the steps of City Hall in Burlington. DBR is a Haitian-American composer, violinist, and activist, and he played for 24 hours straight in protest of U.S. immigration policies.
DBR’s live performance for 24 hours was remarkable, breathtaking, and inspired, but what made it so powerful was that over 100 artists from around Vermont joined DBR in protest of causes that they believe in. I got choked up watching over 50 students from Edmunds Middle School join DBR, singing songs about peace, community, and respect for one another. Dancers, musicians, spoken word artists, storytellers, writers, and community activists joined in throughout. Their voices were heard. They were seen. They made a difference.
Art is power. And it requires courage. But ultimately, art can heal the wounds of our broken society. The boldness with which we create and share our art is more important today than perhaps ever before.
Tomorrow, I will undoubtedly open a newspaper or social media and be reminded once again of one thing: what the world needs now is not just love, sweet love, but also, more art.