A basketball game over a month away does little to help rationalize freezing in a tent in thirty degree weather. When my tentmate tunes into YouTube, I am left alone with the dark, the cold and the hours of work I set aside to do if I ever gather the courage to take off my gloves.
During these freezing moments, viewing tenting as a kind of performance art takes my mind off of the chill. For some tents, the task is not hard. One group decided to construct their own abode, made of a circular wall raised from the ground by wooden palettes. Like teeth, the plastic framework of the wall sticks upwards from the canvas tarp that wraps it. No ceiling is found on top of the wall. Whether this absence is planned to be changed or it is to be left as a testament to the sky—the roof that all Duke basketball fans share—remains to be seen.
Other tents are more practical, modernist pieces reflecting the constraints of reality. Admittedly, most fall under this category. Tents to sleep in and tarps to keep the moisture off. In my boredom they lie as defiant reactions to the extravagance of more complex pieces.
The real art, of course, is the performance that comes with choosing to sleep outside in a tent instead of in the rented dormitory. There is a sense of practicality in it, insofar as much as sleeping in a tent through cold and rain to watch a basketball game may be considered "practical." Still, we love Duke basketball and the feeling of camaraderie that comes with it, just like a painter loves a combination of colors or a musician loves a chord progression. While the atmosphere at a top university may make tenting seem crazy and impractical, to many students it is a natural and even mandatory aspect of the Duke experience.
Thinking on this reminds me of the fluid, specific nature of art. If someone cares enough about something, they are bound to discover symbolism and meaning in every one of its nuances and intricacies. Consequently they will exaggerate these small details to the point of impracticality to people who do not share that person’s love and their artistic vision. That we can disagree and have completely different opinions regarding what constitutes art—especially what makes up good art—speaks to the variety, individuality and beauty of humankind.
The passion and uniqueness that constitute the human individual and that have given rise to civilization are the same qualities that can present challenges to the human species.
The Charlie Hebdo tragedy is only the latest in a string of social clashes of values. When abstracted and materialized these values constitute a statement of art in one form or another. As a result, our ability to appreciate the values and actions of others is a reflection of our artistic intelligence. Men walking into an office and killing twelve others because of their expression of opinion is a failure of human intelligence. People blaming others who had absolutely no role in the attacks and demanding they take responsibility is a failure of human intelligence. These failures speak to how little the human race understands and empathizes with itself.
I think this understanding can be helped by greater emphasis on artistic development. Art in its purest form—expressive activity without any intrinsic practical value—has been mostly cast to the side in conventional elementary, middle and high schools. Even the core humanities courses, such as English and foreign languages, are usually taught in a practical light that will prepare the student for a career in the future. Obviously, this kind of education is useful and necessary, and the progress of art is tied to advances in other fields as well, but a greater emphasis should be placed on the teaching of art.
As this last thought crosses my mind, I remember I am a Neuroscience major with an intention to apply to medical school, and that I am seeing art in muddy tents. With my shift done, I leave K-ville, walking brusquely by the structures that had uncompromisingly captured my attention just twenty minutes ago. They stand unabashedly, as they have for a couple days now. I see an old alumnus giving his son a tour of K-ville. We exchange glances. He winks. A feeling of mutual understanding passes between us. In a couple of months the tents will be gone and K-ville will once again be a patch of grass preceding a fantastic sporting complex. Its value to the Duke community will still be there, though. Hopefully by then, as a people, we will have begun to better understand the personal significance of each others’ actions and values.
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