Underneath the Porchlight
Underneath the Porchlight
Justus Stout
A Threadbare Society
I was sitting on my good friend Michael’s back porch, a place where our friend group often has conversations about life, relationships, art, politics, and the state of things in general. As we spoke, I realized we shared a sense of the way things were feeling—a noticeable thinness in society; a tangible fragility of culture.
I remember starting to feel it after the 2016 American election. “Did you vote for that rascal?” (This question, of course, is a double-edged sword in a country split right down the middle).
The killing of George Floyd and the ensuing backlash added yet another level of distrust and “otherness,” as each side-eyed the other, suspecting they condone violence either in the form of systemic racism, or rioting.
The COVID-19 virus made this sense of threat from my neighbor embodied and physical. I am tempted to treat anyone I come in contact with as a clear and present danger to my health. Keep your distance.
“I think I feel this way,” I finally verbalized, “because everyone is looking at everyone else as a potential threat. The default perspective on others is becoming ‘foe,’ not ‘friend.’”
The essential protein that holds any society together is the collective assumption of collaboration: that together we can do more, and be more. If you think of society as a fabric, this is the stitching that holds every thread to the next: the transformative assumption of co-laboring for a greater good. I’m afraid it has become harder to assume collaboration. Instead, we assume risk, or even threat.
Recovering a sense of collaboration and togetherness is crucial, and our success hinges on a practice at the very heart of Christianity: the practice of hospitality. I think of hospitality as active kindness through placemaking—a gravitational force that brings people together, in place, around the good and the delicious.
Hospitality is welcoming neighbors and strangers without any expectation of return. Hospitality, as modeled by Jesus and the Trinity, is essential to loving our neighbor as well as our enemy. But what does hospitality have to do with the arts?
Art and Hospitality
Good hospitality and art are not just harmonious, they are inseparable. Rusty Hein, the Creative Director at Renew the Arts, where I serve as president, describes it well:
“Any excellent lodging experience will involve a lot of art. You begin with architecture, and within that—lights, colors, textures, furniture, and decorations. Then culinary arts. Clothing appropriate to the occasion. Paintings or sculptures that serve as conversation pieces. Someone might pull out a guitar or sit down at a piano or tell a story. You might put on some music or a movie. The list could go on. And when all of those various elements come together harmoniously, they move us to exclaim, ‘That is hospitality! I feel like my hosts have taken great care to consider me in every way.’ And don’t we want to return again to the hospitable house? Isn’t this attractive? Nothing draws you into a community like great hospitality.”
Humans have an inherent compulsion to host because we’re made in the image of God, and hosting is the first thing the Bible records God doing. Before breathing life into mankind, God created and curated a place for us to live which was not just suitable, but abundant. In His blueprint discussions with Wisdom, as later revealed in Proverbs 8, one finds no “bare minimum” talk. God filled the earth to the brim with things strikingly beautiful, abundant, and diverse.
Perhaps this is one of the most compelling differences between a biblical view of humankind and the modern, utilitarian view. We tend to dissect our relationship with food into nutritional tables and percentages, or our loves into tabulated hierarchies of need. God knows that what we need far surpasses what it takes to survive. This is why I push back when well-meaning art apologists praise beauty as being “superfluous” or “gratuitous.” Air is superfluous for about five minutes, as is water for about three days, and food for at least forty. A full view of humanity and culture recognizes the psychological, spiritual, and even physical need for beauty. When tasked with sustaining human life in the abyss of outer space, we build space stations. God created the earth.
The Salons of the Past
Hospitality has been known to generate some of the most productive cultural enclaves. Italian gatherings in private homes of the 16th century were the unsung conduits of peak Renaissance culture: curated primarily by women, these gatherings celebrated art (primarily literature) and conversation.
The French adopted these house shows and first called them “salons” in 1664, derived from the Italian word “sala,” which means “reception hall.” But not every gathering was called a “salon”: many were simply named after the room in which they were hosted. In our contemporary context, these gatherings would probably go by the names of “The Back Yard,” “The Garage,” “The Dining Room,” and so on.
These gatherings emphasized meaningful and academic conversation over against “superficial politeness” (including what some today might call “political correctness”). Real discourse was a crucial element to the cultural success of these gatherings, as the content of the evening was not purely meant to comfort, pacify, or entertain, but rather to spur the audience to higher thinking and deeper feeling. If these gatherings had instead aimed at simple leisure or diversion, they would have become consumeristic, and their cultural potency would have evaporated.
Most historians’ evaluation of salons as a prominent cultural incubator ends with the French Revolution, at which point the gatherings became political in nature, and the art became propaganda.
There have been, however, a handful of salon-type gatherings since the late 18th century, and several have proven to be incredibly influential. Guilds such as the Bloomsbury Group started with invitations to gatherings that were very hospitable, but not terribly assuming, titled simply “Thursday Evenings.” Their success (producing thinkers and artists such as Virginia Woolf, John Maynard Keynes, and Lytton Strachey) was rooted in warm, though austere, gatherings.
The effects of this small English community of hosts and artists in the early 20th century would change the intellectual and art world. It’s worth noting that the titans of creativity associated with this group were all unknown when they started meeting. In their case, as in the case of most of these gatherings, the great work was preceded by great hospitality.
Another example: the Harlem Renaissance was an African-American cultural movement in Harlem, New York, during the roaring twenties. Many consider it a flowering of black culture in post-slavery America, and it won’t surprise us to find, at its heartbeat, salon-style gatherings in which literature, music, and culture were presented and discussed. These gatherings were primarily championed by just a few hosts: Ruth Logan Roberts, Georgia Douglas Johnson, and Zora Neale Hurston.
In yet another instance, a cohort of writers that included C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien joined together in a collaborative community called “The Inklings,” which focused on literature—particularly fiction. They eventually produced some of the most beloved fantasy novels ever written. In this case, the group orbited around Lewis’ hospitality and vision, gathering in his college room or at the local pub.
Creating Culture in Community
Art and culture thrive when made for, and from, a community. And communities, like society, do not simply evolve: they are cultivated. It’s time we put down our phones as our primary tool for social change and engagement, and invite friends and foes into a personal and collaborative experience of care and beauty instead.
If you want to do your part in making culture and building a better society, consider throwing a salon-style gathering: a house show, a micro-exhibition, a poetry reading, a movie night—whatever fits who you are as a host.
Currently, there is a swell of activity to create a culture of hospitality and the arts. Porchlight Arts, a new initiative launched over the last few months, is stringing together a network of hosts who are interested in this kind of hospitality.
If you have an interest in hosting live music in your yard, garage, living room, park, or church, we’re here to help you at every step of the way, and make sure your gathering is as amazing, fun, and culturally rich as possible.
Justus Stout
President of Renew the Arts
If you’re interested in the community and events of Porchlight, learn more here.
Photography by Blake Cheek