“America is another name for opportunity. Our whole history appears like a last effort of divine providence on behalf of the human race.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
I never thought about it much. To say I took my existence as an American for granted is banging the ugly nail right on its head. Now, I’m embarrassed by my lack of appreciation for a way of life I wrongly assumed would be mine and ours forever. That false notion of lastingness for our Democracy was deeply rooted in the world I grew up in and brought my own children up in as well. Naturally, had I stepped back more often to take a broader view of the wonderful world of checks and balances, as well as the rules and laws so agonizingly fought for two-hundred-and-fifty years ago, I would have noticed how rare and distinct our system of government is more often. As it is with many of us who were spoiled by the beauty of what we had, I now spend every waking minute giving thanks for what it was and praying we can set the upended locomotive that is our current nightmare back on track.
To that end, I recently attended some wonderful classes and lectures that purported to explore “The American Imagination: Art and American Identity.” One of the lectures compared painters born to American parents in the United States, yet living most of their lives overseas as expats. The fact that they all chose specifically to retain their US Citizenship even though they never returned to live in the States was deemed “good enough” for them to qualify as ‘American artists’. But that didn’t work for me. What it was they prized about their American identities was never clarified, and another lecturer presenting American authors, specifically denied entry to those who lived mostly overseas and befriended mostly expats for, what I thought were obvious reasons.
And so that brought us to the lecture on uniquely American music, synthesizing and integrating rhythms, cultures, and the American vernacular as only George Gershwin, Chuck Berry and Brian Wilson could do. The reinvention of new music one might expect was only possible in a country invigorated by immigrants and integrated with many different styles and musical genres.
And so, I find myself thinking more clearly about what it means to be American through the eyes and ears of our artists. I wonder if we can retain our unique point of view if we lose our perspective. Will a massive reduction in immigration not affect our distinctive contribution to the arts? What do you think? I can feel that our American identity flows from the imagination supported by the structures that gave us the space and protection to let our vision thrive. And yes, when I hear that music steeped in the sounds and rhythms of the 19th century through the present day I do rejoice in the fact that it makes me feel quintessentially AMERICAN. May it’s legacy continue!