I spent last Friday night at an RSL.  I had legitimate reason to be there, but that’s inconsequential to my blog.

What IS of consequence to my blog, is that, as I munched thru my RSL beef roast, I was thinking about how the social microcosm I happened to be inhabiting for the night had NOTHING to do with the world I inhabit everyday at YAQ.  Until I realised, somewhere amongst my spuds, peas and gravy, that it did.

As young artists and artsworkers, we need to acknowledge that a significant proportion of the users and makers of culture are NOT young people.  Don’t get me wrong, I support art by young people for young people, but the truth is, we don’t have spending power when it comes to ticket buying – and we are all on a steady path to 31, which is where the youth tag officially cuts out (believe me, I am nearly there, and I look forward to welcoming you in due course).
And once I got to thinking this way, I found some art – at the RSL.

Yep, right there amongst the glittering pokies, and the Birch Carroll and Coyle-patterned carpet (you know the stuff, a colour weave so zany you never see the spills), I happened upon an enclave of seniors’ swing dancing.

Sure, the swing dancing couples pretended they weren’t performing.  They were absorbed in their steps.  And they didn’t make eye contact with the observing drinkers, even when each keyboard-and-drum-machine tune ended.

But perform they did.  Those old guys had natty flicks of the wrist as they spun the ladies around – looking so effortless, but clearly the result of a lot of practice.  And the lady with the treble clef-print swing skirt had definitely come in costume – even if it was a subtle one.

And, as a still-young person (just), I sat, and I watched.  And for half an hour or so I was inspired by these performers’ need to make art that’s meaningful to them, and to share their art-making in a public setting.  And art that inspires you, for whatever reason, is doing its job.

By Anna

Image credit: www.freeimages.co.uk