Armenian News-NEWS.am continues Arianne & Armenia project within the framework of which Arianne Caoili tells about numerous trips across Armenia and shares her impressions and experience of living in Armenia.

The Colour of Armenia: Renaissance or Deficit?

A few months ago I ventured into what seemed like the meeting place of a secret society.  Hushed away in an underground hall near Vernissage where Komitas, peering austerely down from the wall, watched on as strange creatures beat their hooves against the wooden floors in what appeared to be a pre-war cabinet meeting.

It all started innocently enough: bowing their heads and holding hands as if in prayer, people gathered and grew outwards like a rose opening up to full blossom: swelling in concentric circles from the centre of the room and gradually swallowing up the outer edges of the hall, the brutish stampede got louder, fiercer, and faster every minute.

When my friend told me to visit this ‘dancing hall where they teach Armenian dancing’, I was expecting the usual attributes of a dance school: clean, polished floors, people in ballet tights and fitness freaks with good postures. None of that here: these were teenagers in normal jeans and t-shirts, with something very important to express.

Of all things, a poetry reading kicked off this unusual ‘dancing lesson’, dedicated to the Karabakh war heroes. An oral proclamation followed about the enemy attacking the ‘wrong village’, which bred Armenia’s 27 generals and 2 Marshals in World War II. The leading guru of this dance ensemble declared firmly (drum beats agreeing in the background) that “it was a mistake to enter that village and raise their statues...and if we don’t fight, then the enemy will erect their statues all over this nation". From this moment onwards, I understood the root of Armenian dancing: the undying will and joy of survival. A kind of murmur of life in fire.

This appears to be the case even with the dances born from previous centuries: like the mano-a-mano sequences. It is a bit like Brazilian capoeira, which is similarly a martial art and a dance, but the Armenian version, rather than being elegant, was simpler and brute like. Aggressive in nature, but danced out with smiles on all their faces and always concluding with group hugs. And true to the Armenian spirit, the men danced (or fought) always in pairs, and never alone.

In this war-like atmosphere it would be a strange sight to see children – but they were everywhere. Perhaps William Saroyan was penning the spirit of Armenian-ness when, in The Human Comedy, his character Thomas Spangler (the manager of the telegraph office where the hero of the story, Homer Macauley worked), observed that the Armenians in Ithaca had clear priorities: "That's what they believe in - God and kids".

For a sustained period in my life, I lived minutes from the Alte Oper in Frankfurt, Germany, where I took going to the opera or a concerto every week for granted. When moving to Canberra, Australia for work, I experienced near suffocation from almost total lack of cultural stimuli (in terms of live music and theatre). Not so in Yerevan: art is everywhere. On street murals, in the dozens of jazz clubs throughout the city, and in the many theatres sprawled throughout.

Since being here I’ve enjoyed quite a lot of the art scene, including many of Khachaturian’s compositions and his ballet, Spartacus (is there but sweeter music than the Adagio of Spartacus and Phrygia to be heard?). But I have also been to a few rarities, such as Rachmaninov’s opera Aleko, with the breathtakingly beautiful and convincing Lilit Soghomonyan in the role of Zemphira.

I am also engaged in quite a different form of art, but art nonetheless: in the scarce free time that I have, I am dancing in a project called Parahandes. My professional dance partner is the ever patient Suren Mkhitaryan, whose humble and timid appearance disguises a juicy and rather surprising passion with a touch of melancholic truth. He brings a lot of love to his choreography, which is surreally structured, hinging on intense rhythms and sheering angles. Unfortunately for him, he is stuck dancing with me for the next few weeks (should my dear readers care to vote, of course!). To make my shameless hint even clearer: watch and vote for me every Sunday at 1950 on Shant TV!

In Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, art and aesthetic beauty sits somewhere in-between the needs of esteem and self-actualization, only after physiological and economic needs are met.  So is art just the pleasure of a privileged few? Because the fact is that many cannot afford (neither the time nor money) to enjoy such ‘luxuries’.

Classical music – and the arts in general – cannot survive without subsidies. It is not a profitable exercise. Prioritizing money for education is a no-brainer; but money for the arts should not be the first thing to cut, even though around the world it is one of the first sectors to suffer. In a country that is budget-poor like Armenia, a large share of the job lies with private, benevolent charities and non-governmental associations.  But why put money into the arts?

We prove we are alive by the knowledge that we can feel, that we are able to experience all kinds of emotions. When you dance you can fall in love for but a few minutes of isolated pleasure, or you eyeball a painting only to enter another world for just an instant. These moments make us feel alive, they give us the reason for living – in fact, they provide a reason for working, because we work to pay for the privilege to enjoy such beauty. It is the booming light at the end of a dark tunnel-like slave trail that we trudge through on a daily basis.

And I am not talking about arts as disenchantment, as Marx would have understood it. The idea that cultural activities (devised by the ruling class) serve as distractions from the tedium of life was the focus of the sociology that emanated from the Frankfurt School. Entertainment provides escape from uncertainty and anxiousness about the future, employment prospects and so on. Herbert Marcuse said that of man, “the overpowering machine of entertainment unites him with the others in a state of anaesthesia”. But whatever is wrong with finding solace in the arts? And I would argue that the search for the higher and finer is individually and internally bred rather than the result of a concocted plan spawned by a particular class with the purpose of subduing another.

People crave it deeply; especially my friends old enough to have lived through Soviet times, who seem to be desperate for more; I would even say that they reminisce with great affection for the many art schools and ‘taste’ for art (all forms) that seems to have dried up (even though, of course, there were a lot of artists such as the brilliant and colourful Harutyun Kalentz, who experienced quite the opposite reception under the Soviets. Unlike Martiros Saryan, he was not accepted by the Soviet milieu of painters).

The Soviet system made way for schools to train up great artists: and unfortunately, these men and women have left for better lives abroad, leaving the youth of Armenia without leaders. A sad (read: loss for Armenia) example of this is Arto Tchakmakchian, who was Kalentz’s favourite sculptor. He was commissioned to create a statue of Komitas. Indeed, a statue he created, but his interpretation caused a bit of an over-reaction from the Soviets (he fashioned Komitas as wearing a priestly robe rather than a suit). The statue was smashed to pieces and piled into a heap by Arto’s front door. The result? He left for Canada and excelled – his statues can be seen in major European and North American cities today.

Without experienced pioneers to train the youth up in the ways of music, dance, and art (not the stuff of flimsy pop, which is more of a heinous crime against those with any substantial inner world or namus), the sustainability of Armenia’s artistic tradition is under threat. Despite a heavily talented and healthy classical virtuosity, many local artistic institutions are fledging and poorly resourced, operating like information silos with lack of exposure to deep theory and global innovations in their respective art forms.

But then the question is what kind of art we should throw the money to: the ‘culturally preserving’ pursuits or the popular activities of the ‘sweaty masses’? It reminds me of an episode from Yes Minister, where the appalled Minister whines to his Permanent Secretary, Sir Humphrey, that art is only for the educated middle to upper classes who enjoy the fine arts that others are not interested in and simply cannot afford. But Sir Humphrey rightly insists that cultural institutions such as the Royal Opera House would not exist without subsidies, and putting the money into popular items such as football (which is what the Minister tries to do), would be “barbarism”, because “subsidy is for art, for culture. It is not to be given to what the people want! It is for what the people don’t want but ought to have!”

All jokes aside, we should try to attract more of the erudite and accomplished artists back to Armenia. Picasso once told Kochar that he was afraid of time. But Kochar answered that for him, time was his only hope. I think the artists of Armenia can agree. It is too late to regain (as teachers) the cultivated artists that reached great fame during the Soviet period; but with time, we can build on our solid base to develop a sophisticated art culture, by inviting in global artists (including Armenian repatriates) – so we don’t get caught behind – and we can provide the youth with some professional mentorship and inspiration. It’s happening in Yerevan’s jazz scene: and it should spread to all art forms.

Through the aesthetic and the artistic, we can satisfy our hunger for the numinous, the transcendent, the ethereal, the unquantifiable, and the romantic. It is the necessary injection of glow into our lives, and the preservation of the colours of our culture. Contemplate on this for a bit: these are hardly needs that are met by cheap pop or social media.

Art is the awe inspiring colour of our humanity, which is really quite miraculous. The alternative is empty-headed pursuits such as the mindless garbage available on the internet, imbecilic commercialism, and pointless pleasure seeking. We are all slaves to something, so let art be our time off the rat race.