One of the key purposes of government funding for the arts is to improve access in making creative experiences available to people who might otherwise miss out
It is also a significant public investment, one that can deliver benefits well beyond the artwork itself.
Research suggests that investment in the arts can stimulate local economies, which is welcome news for someone like me who lives in regional NSW.
I should admit, though, that I often extol the benefits of creativity in a regional setting. It is worth acknowledging that bias upfront.
My latest opportunity to reflect on the value of arts funding came on Saturday 24 October, when I attended Art Farm, held at Piccolo Family Farm outside Griffith.
Now in its second year, Art Farm brought together local and visiting craftspeople to deliver a varied program of workshops across the property. Sponsors were acknowledged throughout the event, including regional arts organisations such as Western Riverina Arts, which supported my participation.
As part of my application for a sponsored ticket, I offered to write about the event. That support made my attendance possible, but the reflections that follow are my own.
A creative day in the country
Art Farm's program offered something for a range of interests and experience levels, attracting participants of different ages. One observation, however, was that men appeared to be less likely to attend, raising a familiar question about who feels invited into creative spaces. I think everyone can benefit from art, but let's come back to that idea.
The life drawing class brought together alumni of the Griffith Regional Art Gallery's former program, including tutor Anthea de Silva. At another workshop, Bidgee Studio's Hape Kiddle introduced participants to carving, while the pottery class appeared to be completely packed.
The calibre of the artists leading these sessions was impressive. Their expertise, combined with the breadth of the program, offered a compelling example of what well-supported arts programming can achieve.
My own destination for the day was Duncan Fellows' storytelling workshop. Having participated in numerous writing programs, I arrived with some expectations about what a day devoted to storytelling might involve. I left with a different perspective on the relationship between writing, performance and the telling of personal stories.
Some of Duncan's strategies were familiar, but his emphasis on performance skills was something new. The morning moved briskly through a series of introductory exercises designed to build rapport among participants while laying the groundwork for creating vivid descriptions and presenting compelling narratives.
My experience of drama has been limited: a little at school, many years ago, and more recently through taking part in a theatre production. Duncan's approach revealed just how central acting can be to storytelling.
Indeed, when it came time to present my own piece to the group, I was surprised — and a little embarrassed — by how little I felt the need to write an actual draft. The exercises had encouraged me to think about the story as something to be inhabited and performed, rather than simply put on paper.
The full-day format was demanding, and I found the pace exhausting at times. Yet I could also think of writing workshops I had attended this year in which little or no writing was produced. Duncan's workshop was ambitious in its scope, but it was certainly not short on ideas, activity or engagement.
Courage to tell a story
What impressed me most was the willingness of participants to engage with the process. Everyone had a personal story to tell, and some accounts involved deeply traumatic experiences. Their presence gave the workshop an emotional intensity that could not have been manufactured through exercises alone.
Duncan led the group through this territory with a striking degree of confidence and fearlessness. His approach prompted me to reflect on the varied understandings of trauma-informed practice and the ways facilitators navigate the responsibilities that come with inviting people to share difficult experiences.
The workshop moved through an unpredictable sequence of emotional highs and lows. Along the way, participants encountered a series of insights about the stories they tell, the ways they tell them and the meanings they attach to significant events.
Given the number of life-changing experiences shared throughout the day, I was struck by the interplay between the skills of communication and the potential for personal reflection. There was something of a therapeutic quality to the process, although the workshop's focus remained on storytelling and performance.
Actors often bring their experience to workshops beyond the stage, and Duncan has clearly put considerable thought into his offering. His ability to move between different topics, maintain momentum and encourage participants to explore their own stories made for a memorable day.
The result was not simply a collection of individual performances. As people shared pivotal moments from their lives, the group became an audience for one another's experiences. Each story offered an invitation to consider a different perspective, and each response helped shape the atmosphere in which the stories were received.
Making space for creativity
Not every arts experience needs to produce a finished work to be worthwhile. Sometimes the value lies in the opportunity to express something that has been difficult to articulate, to hear how others interpret an experience or to discover a different way of looking at a familiar story.
The workshop also prompted me to reflect on how facilitators respond when personal storytelling touches on trauma. Duncan's approach seemed to place considerable emphasis on personal agency: help was available, but participants needed to be able to identify and articulate what they needed. There was an implicit recognition that we are adults, capable of making decisions about our own experiences, even when those experiences are difficult to revisit.
I found this interesting in the context of contemporary discussions about trauma-informed practice. There is a balance to be struck between creating an environment in which people feel safe to participate and avoiding the assumption that difficult personal stories necessarily require intervention. Duncan's approach seemed to leave considerable room for individual responsibility, while maintaining a clear sense of the limits of his role.
During the day I remembered hearing about a subject on memory and trauma at uni, which had been described as unleashing personal demons for an entire class of students. That recollection prompted reflection on how navigating personal experiences has become a more significant consideration, so I wondered whether a tutor should anticipate strong emotions being stirred?
On one hand it might be naive to enter into a discussion with strangers about personal experiences that could be triggering for them or others; while on the other hand I wondered whether medicalisation of every day life has gone too far?
It left me wondering about the relationship between storytelling and support. The act of telling a story can be powerful in itself, particularly when others listen and offer different perspectives. But the experience also highlighted the distinction between inviting people to explore their lives creatively and taking responsibility for what that exploration might bring to the surface.
That was one of the most rewarding aspects of my time at Art Farm. Whatever the eventual creative outcomes, the workshop created space for expression, reflection and exchange. The perspectives shared throughout the day added another dimension to the stories being told, reminding me that creative practice can be as much about listening as it is about making.
In the end I realised that storytelling might be an effective approach to providing ways for participants to evaluate their own life experiences, and it is one where giving space for an individual to arrive at their own meanings is a key consideration for creativity. One doesn't want to write a story that follows a contemporary trend in analysis or something.
The reflection that often accompanies my art-making is important to my well-being, which is why I despair that more males need to find their medium for being creative. If I had any influence on the key performance indicators set by government agencies, then I would put this audience among the others that need to be addressed by grant applicants.
Now that we're back to the question of arts funding, access to quality creative experiences does not happen by accident. Events such as Art Farm depend on the work of artists, organisers, venues and supporters who recognise the value of bringing people together through the arts.
I left having learned a great deal from Duncan's storytelling workshop and with an appreciation for the ambition behind the event's broader program. Set in a beautiful rural location, Art Farm offered a distinctive combination of skilled practitioners, hands-on learning and opportunities for connection.
Perhaps my enthusiasm for the arts in regional NSW is still biased, but after a day like this it is easy to understand why I keep making the case.
