I like to think that all art shares something in common, and I like to think that something is communication.

Okay, hear me out and I promise I won’t get preachy on you.

I’m a writer, as my Twitter and Facebook bios so astutely point out. Writing is generally placed in the wheelhouse of so-called “art” in its expressivity and creativity, and because of this I feel I’m qualified to talk, at least a little bit, about the saliency of the subject. Yes, yes, despite my lack of ability to whistle a tune, dance a jive, or color inside the lines, I’m going to my best to impart knowledge without making too big of a fool of myself.

One might say that communication is a foundation of human civility, and they wouldn’t be wrong. Writing and speech in the technical sense are key components, if not the backbone, of ensuring our sweet world as we know it doesn’t crumble into oblivion. Can you imagine a highway without road signs? A political debate with only the potential to grunt and wave our arms helplessly (and as tempting as it was, no that was not a joke about the presidential election)? The whole basis of a complex society rests on the ability of individuals to be able to communicate with one another, from everything as mundane as how much a bushel of apples costs to the pros and cons of communism.

But that still doesn’t include art in the creative aspect. While many technical definitions of the word exist, one of the most prominent from Merriam-Webster is as follows: the conscious use of skill and creative imagination especially in the production of aesthetic objects, also: works so produced.

Wait a minute, you might say. That definition says nothing about the communicative property of art. Ha! You’re wrong!

Well, granted I’m but a lowly college freshman, so maybe, but I think I’m onto something.

Let me present Exhibit A, also known as my first structured foray into Shakespeare outside the classroom and my college’s production of King Lear which ended on November 20^th.

Now keep in mind, I was no “theater kid” in high school. I was a part of one production my freshman year of high school, playing the prestigious part of a school child/Nazi in my school’s staging of Anne Frank and Me. Aside from that I did some acting, some public speaking, but nothing on the large-scale production that was King Lear.

Four years removed from the stage. Four years apart from a large team, a large script, a large part. Four years since I had had to kowtow directly to a director and experience the gruel of makeup, microphones, and a variety of malcontent that bubbles under the surface of any good show. And let me tell you, once I was back on stage, I loved every minute of it.

If you’re not familiar, King Lear is the story of an ancient king of Britain who, as the teenagers say nowadays, can’t “chill”. He blows up when one of his daughters refuses to kiss his ass, he explodes when one of his closest friends does some straight-talking, and it ultimately all costs him his kingdom and his life (spoiler alert).

A powerful statement, when the only words on anyone’s lips about our current leaders is temperament and integrity.

I loved being a part of King Lear not only for the opportunity it allowed me to express myself or to play something I’m not or for the camaraderie it afforded me with my peers, but also for its ability to communicate. To state a message that was not only worth saying, but needed saying: it does much better to love thy lovers and shun thy enemies than keep vipers close to the breast unknowingly. That powerful men aren’t always wise and that wise men aren’t always right and that’s okay.

Alright, alright, I promise I’m done babbling about centuries dead playwrights. The point I’m driving at is that Merriam-Webster isn’t wrong: art should contain an aesthetic quality. King Lear certainly was enjoyable to look at. It was chockful of swordfights and cackling villains and plucked eyes.

But art should also make bandy. If artists did what they did merely for the effect of looking or sounding or seeming pretty, I think they’d be much sourer people as a whole (you mean even more so than they are!?). For sure there are artists for whom aesthetic takes precedent, but even the most ornately decorated cross is still a cross, the most majestic mosque still a mosque. Even the flower print that surrounds me in this room is saying something about the Earth and nature and mankind’s connection to it, both past and present, whether the artist intended it to or not. It looks nice, but it’s saying something too.

Art is a reflection of the artist, both on the personal level and in broader context; anyone who’s read Hemingway or Vonnegut knows that. Yet, it is precisely because of this inward reflection and the commonality between all men that art is also a cry out to the world, a communication between people that is infinitely more subtle and infinitely more personal than a road sign or a debate. It is also why some artists become so popular; though no one has ever been an 11-year-old boy wizard, everyone can find some affection and affiliation with Harry Potter.

Thus is the irony when art comes under fire from detractors. Outside moneymen who see art as a frivolous enterprise whose energy could be put towards more cost-efficient endeavors, such as bridge-building and accounting. Those poor draconian souls obviously never watched Dead Poets Society: “And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for”.

Oh goodness, look at me. I said I wouldn’t get preachy, and here I’ve gone on for almost 1,000 words about the nifty little intricacies of art.

Look at it this way: as the lights faded for that last time on November 20^th, when I took a bow for the last time at my high school oratorical competition, and every time I finish a piece of writing (be it a 100,000-word novel or a dinky little piece that I drew up in my mind on the fly like this) I get more excited over commentary than applause. I like to hear what someone took away from the whole experience, be it an academic or personal context.

Anyone can praise the beauty of a pretty woman, but not all can appreciate the expression of her countenance.