Monday, October 28, 2013

On the Freedom to be Interesting

For the last three years, I’ve been part of a group that organizes and hosts an Arts & Culture Conference at the University of NorthDakota. The conference’s mission: to promote a conversation within our university and our community about the relationship between the arts and public life.

We hold a series of talks on campus, featuring each of our visiting-artists (and thanks to Aristotle’s treatment of techne, we feel confident calling all our guests artists). We feature artistic performances each night of the conference in the downtown community—typically a concert and a film screening. We run an art exhibit at a downtown gallery throughout the month of October, and close the exhibit and the conference on the same evening. We also produce a series of art prints exclusive to the conference that are then archived in the university’s collection.

When we invite our visitors, we ask them to do three things. First, they give a presentation or performance of some kind. Second, the sit on a panel with the other visitors and have a conversation with each other. Third, they visit at least one classroom. Lunches during the conference are also reserved for students and artists.

As a result, our conference engages students inside and outside classroom settings. It brings interesting events and art to the greater community. It puts diverse people into conversation with each other. And if we wanted to examine the macro-economic impact, it feeds a whole bunch of people in area restaurants and contributes to what I can only imagine is a noticeable uptick in the local Old-Fashioned market.

The reasons I lead with this belabored account of the conference is two-fold. First, it is important to recognize how the conference works to understand why I think it is such a vibrant and unique way of doing academic work. Second, it underscores how the institutional mechanics of the university work against that kind of work and imperil a truly interdisciplinary approach to higher education.

When I picked up Kerri Miller, Minnesota Public Radio host and one of our 2013 visiting artists, she asked what her background had to do with this year’s theme, “Cultures of Curation.” The truth is, there are two answers. One answer posits public radio, and Miller’s shows in particular, as gatekeepers of a complex cultural environment, curators of information. The second answer is much more interesting to me: Kerri Miller is interesting. This story can be told about every guest we’ve brought in for the conference. There’s a way to use a theme to justify bringing someone in, but there’s an easier path to identifying potential visitors: by asking if they’re interesting.

Kevin Schreck, the director of Persistence of Vision, came because he messaged Joel Jonientz while Joel was live-tweeting The Thief and the Cobbler during family movie night. Is Persistence of Vision a good example of how the film The Thief and the Cobbler gets made, shaped, and ultimately circulated? Sure. But it’s also interesting. In addition to Miller and Schreck, this year’s conference included art critic David Pagel of the Los Angeles Times, Jennifer Preston of the New York Times, and artist Craig Drennen (who curated the conference exhibit, Canon Fodder).

The point I’m trying to make, hastily and perhaps sloppily, is that a theme (like “curation”) makes your happenings recognizable, but recognition implies familiarity. What if you’re interested in the unfamiliar? What if you want to see what happens when a commercial print journalist, a public radio host, a print journalism art critic, a painter, and a filmmaker get together and have a conversation? Where on your campus is the venue for that kind of trans-disciplinary, trans-professional discussion?

We hear an awful lot of chatter about the desire for an interdisciplinary university, but I’m not sure we’ve thought about what it will look like (as much as we love what it sounds like). I suspect the struggle is a function of wanting it to seem familiar and predictable. I can’t say I knew what last week’s panel discussion was going to produce. I didn’t think it would involve the filmmaker asking the print journalist for a phone number so he could see how “Page One” gets curated. I didn’t think it would involve the radio journalist using a metaphor of a train window spurring on the painter to talk about John Cage’s curation of an art museum. I didn’t think it would result in the print journalist exclaiming that thinking alongside artists was thrilling and insightful. I didn’t know any of those things were going to happen. When the panel wrapped, fellow planner Joel Jonientz asked “Who knew that was going to be interesting?” We did. We didn’t know how or why, but we had complete faith that it would be interesting.

But how to qualify (or even quantify) interesting. Our conference attendance is fair to middling. We had over 100 audience members at about half our events, closer to 60 for the rest. If you divided our budget by our attendance, it isn’t a great deal. But we also put about 40 students around lunch tables with our guests. The first lunch, everybody ate together: artistis, professionals, undergraduates, graduates, Art students, Communication students, English students. The second day, the crowd broke up into smaller groups. We put visitors in classrooms across the disciplines, we brought students from one discipline into the classroom of another. And, perhaps most importantly, students were able to watch and join in a conversation that acknowledged their disciplinary grounding and then mixed it in with other disciplinary backgrounds. The artist can talk with the radio journalist, the print journalist can talk with film-maker and curator. A conference that secretly aims only at interesting (and it has to be a secret, because you don’t fund aimless hunting expeditions) makes it interesting to imagine the role of academia outside its typical structures and strictures.


And that’s all a lot of long talk to note that the Arts & Culture Conference faces an uncertain future. Funding is hard to come by, even harder for an event that has trouble quantifying what it plans to do. For all of the selfless talk about “the interesting” it is important that those involved get recognized for their efforts, and because “the interesting” is a squirrely metric, the work gets conflated with other speaker-series and academic conference activities on campus. In an institution where credit, recognition, and expertise all depend on the narrow categories of departments that tend to work against the logics of the interesting, I’m not sure what kind of future the interdisciplinary university has. Normally, I’d say unpredictability is “interesting,” but—in my experience—higher education’s predilection for predictability has me thinking otherwise.