Twenty years ago, I was sixteen and in high school. The school at the time, if memory serves right, was the "Kunsthumaniora voor muziek en woord van het gemeenschapsonderwijs" in Brussels (which translates approximately to "art high school for music and word of the communal educational branch"... that's not entirely right, but it's late and I'm too tired to look for a dictionary). I was taking drama classes there. No, I'm not making this up. Except maybe the sixteen bit—I might be off by one or two years.

Hey, I did a lot of things during high school. Stop looking at me like that.

At one point in time during my stint in drama, a group of educational interns—the sort of people who would be teaching some sort of stuff somewhere after their graduation—cooperated with our school to come up with a whole day of classes around one subject. I'll never forget the title: "Can art rescue the democracy?" If that sounds pompous and silly, that's because it was. However, I was at art school, fer crying out loud, so I drank it up like it was cool-aid. Which it wasn't. It was worse.

At the end of the day (literally, that is), the educational interns had booked some hot shot art person for a debate. I've since completely forgotten his name. He must've been not that hot shot after all, since I never even once read anything about him in the next few years. Of course I can't exclude the most recent decade, not remembering him and all, but whatever. I also don't remember whether he was a hot shot art critic, a hot shot artist, or just some random hot shot person who writes about art, but doesn't actually do it himself. Whatever.

One of the main topics during the whole day was the point about how artsy people find it extremely difficult to define what art actually is. I mean, it's all they do all day, but they can't come up with a decent definition of the damn thing.

During the afternoon break, just before the debate with this maybe-sortof-semi hot shot art person, I walk around the playground and think about the whole thing. And come up with some personal definition of art. My definition.

As the time of the debate comes up, the hot shot art person sits in the front of the gym behind some table, and the whole school (literally) is sitting in chairs in the rest of the gym. Some questions are asked. Many of those are just shot down.

At some point, I raise my finger when it's asked if anyone has further questions. I walk up to the microphone. I ask him:

"Could we maybe define art as that thing that, though it might be easy to reproduce, in no case is easy to produce?"

He sits (he never got up, really). He thinks. I stand, and wait. After a few seconds of this, he answers. He seems impressed. His reply is something along the lines of "that's not a perfect definition, but it's pretty good. There's a lot to be said for that, and I urge you to write about art when you grow older".

I never followed his advice. I got a bit more interested in art, but quickly found out that art consists of one group of people who spend their time doing things other people find pretty, and another group of people who spend their time doing things that makes other people "think", whatever that is. They may not have a brain, they may be silly as hell, but they still want to "think". It's not for me, it's never been. Art, that is -- not the think bit. That is something I don't mind doing.

Don't get me wrong. I still like art. I like going to museums from time to time; I like the performing arts. I mean, I play the flute. Not the piano, not the guitar, not the flipping drums, the flute. Which I like, for what it's worth.

But if the intent is to make people think, there are better ways to do that. If I want to make people think, I'm not going to make some obscure object that may or may not have a message, in the hope that a millionaire with no better use for his money would buy it just to make his friends jealous, after which he's going to put it in a safe for a few years so he can sell it at a higher value. Without thinking about it. If I want to make people think, I'm not going to write a play or piece of music that's so obscure it will make people all confused, so they can fill their evening afterwards drinking cocktails at a reception, claiming it was all nice and thought-provoking, quoting little parts of it to people they've never met, just so they can make their social status look more than it actually is.

Good thing I never finished drama school, I suppose.

No, if I want to make people think, I'll try doing so where it actually matters. Like, say, in politics. Not that I have any political ambitions, mind you. But I think the answer to that question of twenty years ago should be a firm "no." Art cannot rescue democracy. Not if they don't have a lot of interesting things to say to anyone but themselves. Maybe the reverse is true, though; maybe democracy can rescue art. Not that I care much.

Why is all this relevant today?

A few days ago, as I was driving somewhere, there was some show on the radio relating to the current exploits of the Belgian national soccer team. There are a lot of them these days. Radio shows about that subject, that is—not Belgian national soccer teams. I suppose having a lot of competition makes it hard to find a new angle to come up with, and still keep things interesting. I also suppose having a lot of stuff going on about that squad gets people annoyed if they're not the least bit interested. I suppose that could be a new angle. Presumably that radio host supposed the same, because he'd been looking for, and asking questions of, people who didn't like soccer and who weren't going to watch the match. Most of them said they weren't interested and added one or two words about what they were going to be doing instead.

One of them said that "they" would be better off spending money on "art and culture", rather than on soccer. No, I don't know who "they" were, he didn't say. Never mind that, let me go on now.

I don't know who this dude was; they—the radio people—didn't say. He sounded like someone between 50 and 65, and had a somewhat tenor-y voice. I suspect he had two kids, and a mercedes. Yes, I just made that up. The part about the kids. And the car. No, it doesn't matter. But it's still likely. He sounded like that sort of guy.

Whoever this dude was, though, I'd like to just say one thing: Dude, you're an idiot. There's a time and a place for everything.

The time and place for art is "everywhen", and "in any random art gallery, opera house, or theatre, out of the public eye". Not because the rest of us doesn't want to deal with art, but because artsy people like it that way. They like to feel all pompous and important, and therefore use difficult words. Words that nobody except those along with them in their ivory tower like to use. Words that don't actually mean anything. But in doing so, they make this Art thing uninteresting to look at for people who don't care about their pompous and silly words. And strengthen the walls of their ivory tower. Only to complain later on that nobody ever shows up at art galleries, and that the really good ones keep going out of business.

The time and place for the world championship soccer is "once every four years", and "everywhere". Not because soccer people want to annoy you—although, yes, I'll grant you that the KBVB has gone a little overboard with the merchandising this time around—but rather because it's so simple. You kick the ball, and you hit the goal. There, done. Everyone can do it. Yes, true, there are some pompous people talking about it on TV, too. And yes, true, some people are better at it than others. But nobody claims you can't do soccer unless you're part of the "in" club. There are plenty of people who claim you can't do art unless you are. And if everyone can do it, then everyone can understand it. If you can understand it, it's easier to enjoy it. This is why so few people enjoy cricket or baseball outside of the few countries where it's popular.

That's also why so few people enjoy art: because you make it so difficult. And people just don't care. They want to be entertained.

I'm not saying that soccer is the best sport in the world, or that watching it is the most entertaining thing one can do. It isn't. In fact, beyond the national team, I'm not really following it all that well myself. If through some weird spacial anomaly the world championship would suddenly cease to exist and I would be the only person alive remembering it, I don't think I'd spend a lot of time trying to get it back.

But don't compare it to art. Because, well, in the grand scheme of things, neither of those two really matters all that much.

That is all.