When I was young and listening in as the adults talked, I heard a common refrain, “Nothing surprises me anymore.” Usually, it referred to any type of behavior or trends with which they disagreed. As a kid, though, I found the expression kind of sad. I mean, surprises were the best thing ever. In my child’s world, the word “Surprise!” was usually followed by something that delighted me. But the grown-ups so often used the word in derogatory ways, “And then, surprise, he up and left her” or “You know me, I hate surprises.” I secretly vowed to never become the person who hated surprises.
Not long ago, my husband and I went to a concert. Though the musicians were young, the audience was mostly middle-aged or older. At times, the lead musician would jump up on his chair and shout, “Come on folks, let me hear you!” He’d raise his hands above his head and lead us in clapping. And for maybe thirty seconds, 2/3 of us would clap along. Then slowly the clapping would die out. After a while, he’d try again. And the situation would repeat itself.
The musicians were obviously extremely talented, but every song sounded the same to me. Nothing about the concert surprised me, except maybe how disengaged I felt.
Where once I turned to art for the thrill of discovery, lately I find myself moving quickly through art museums, putting down books for the night after reading only a couple of pages, scrolling endlessly through lists of movies and TV shows looking for anything different.
Have I become jaded? Does boredom come with age? Have I finally reached the stage where nothing surprises me anymore?
Or is it more that our collective consciousness has shifted? That our minds are so distracted we can no longer sink into deep appreciation of anything, including art? Is that why people no longer feel the desire to clap along, because we’re too busy wondering if it would be rude to check our texts, or if our boss sent that evening e-mail, or if we should Google the band to see what town they come from.
Or is it the sheer abundance of art that has dulled our senses? When I was a teen, I looked forward to the Thursday night line-up on TV. I expected to be delighted by those shows and to gasp at their cliffhangers, knowing I’d have to wait a full week or a full summer to find out what happened. And when the next episode finally aired, surprise, the secrets would be revealed.
The art scene was not so abundant back then. Concerts were mostly on the weekends, giving you something to look forward to. Now, they run nearly every night of the week. Whereas once we had to listen to the radio for hours waiting for our favorite song, now we can pop in our ear buds and listen anytime we want. Is that why few things feel special these days?
All of this, of course, makes being an artist harder than ever because we have to work harder than ever to surprise our audiences, to delight them in a whole new way, to stand out, to get them off their complacent butts and so firmly into the moment they can’t help but leap to their feet and clap along. It’s not enough anymore just to be good at what you do, you have to be different. You have to surprise us.
And as art lovers, it’s not enough anymore to buy season tickets just because we always have. Instead, we should choose the shows that really call to us so we’re more likely to be moved to awe or wonder or delight when we do attend, because that kind of energy is contagious.
Several people left the concert early the other night, some because they couldn’t see the stage and therefore felt less engaged; some because the music was too loud and their discomfort trumped their enjoyment; some because it was a weeknight and they had to work in the morning; and some because –while the musicians played flawlessly and the obligatory light show was fine—the band did nothing to engage the audience other than the typical appeal for us to clap along. They told us nothing about themselves, they told us nothing about their songs or their style, they stayed in their seats where we couldn’t see them. In other words, they provided us no surprises.
Wild light shows, pyrotechnics, and brash new sounds are all very exciting when we’re young and everything feels new. As we get older, though, we’ve seen all those things a million times. We know all the tricks. If you want to keep surprising us, let us see you! Help us feel a connection. Give us space to wonder and anticipate. Show us only your best stuff and not all at once. Don’t just ask us to clap along. That’s too easy. And if you have to keep asking us to clap along, you can assume we’re just not feelin’ it.
Remember, regardless of how jaded we longtime arts lovers may appear at times, inside each of us is that kid who still loves a good surprise. So, please, surprise me.
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