The Role of the Artist in Times of Crisis
When the world is unraveling, artists don’t just react—they remember, resist, reimagine, entertain, and offer us a place to breathe.
In times of crisis—when the systems we trust begin to falter and the world feels like it’s shifting beneath our feet—art becomes more than expression.
It becomes comfort. A form of protest. A way of holding onto humanity when everything else is slipping.
But it’s also something else: a place to escape. Even if only for a moment, art can offer a breath of stillness amid the noise. It invites us into color, into movement, into sound—into spaces where peace is possible, even if temporary. And in that pause, we find just enough calm to keep going.
Art is also entertainment. And that matters. Because in hard times, joy is not frivolous—it’s vital.
The ability to be captivated by a voice, an image, a rhythm, reminds us that creativity doesn’t disappear in crisis. It adapts. It flourishes. Artistic expression becomes a kind of defiance—a way of saying, we are still here.
As artists, our work becomes a mirror, a message, and a map. It reflects what’s happening, speaks to what’s possible, and helps others navigate what they feel but can’t always name.
Bearing Witness
In any crisis, truth becomes slippery. But art has the power to hold steady.
You don’t have to shout to make noise. A quiet sketch, a fleeting phrase, a subtle photograph—these can all anchor moments that might otherwise be forgotten.
When the headlines move on, art remains.
Creating in a time like this is a form of witnessing. It’s a way of saying: This happened. I saw it. I felt it. Here’s what it meant to me.
Emotional Translation
Crisis isn’t only external. It lives inside us too—in the form of fear, grief, rage, confusion.
Art becomes a container for those emotions. It can hold what we’re not ready to speak, and offer release when there’s no other outlet.
Your work doesn’t need to solve anything. It just needs to feel real.
Authentic expression has a way of making people feel less alone.
Cultural Preservation and Resistance
When culture is under threat, artists are often the ones who keep it alive.
Your story, your background, your creative language—these are not small things. They are sacred. And sharing them can be a form of resistance. It’s a way of planting roots in shaky ground and saying, this matters. This will not disappear.
Even when you think no one is watching, your work is recording memory, holding identity, and challenging erasure.
"I think violence is a part of every day for a lot of people," Diamond Stingily has said. "To not live in violence is a privilege."
In her Entryways series, Stingily transforms worn, weathered doors into powerful symbols of protection and survival. Against each door rests a baseball bat—an object both ordinary and quietly loaded with meaning, standing guard against unseen threats.
The inspiration, Stingily explains, comes from her grandmother, Estelle, who kept a bat by her front door and a dish of candy nearby—a balance of sweetness and defense, of welcome and wariness.
Entryways evokes a domestic space where resilience is second nature, and where self-preservation becomes a daily, inherited act. Through these simple, familiar objects, Stingily honors the quiet forms of strength practiced within Black communities living under the constant shadow of systemic violence.
Imagining the Future
Crisis can be a closing—but also an opening.
When old structures fall away, artists get to ask: What now? What else?
Your vision doesn’t have to be fully formed. It can be a sketch, a whisper, a fragment. But it’s worth putting into the world.
Because imagination is a seed—and artists are often the first to plant what the future might one day become.
The Quiet Power of Art
Not all creative responses to crisis have to be loud or overt.
Sometimes the most radical thing is to create something tender. Something joyful. Something beautiful.
Even a simple act of making—drawing, dancing, filming, writing—can be a small rebellion against despair.
Spend a little more time looking at art in museums or galleries. Pick up that book you've been meaning to start reading. Go to a show or a musical. Relish in this world of art that we have at our expense—a world that even we, as artists and art lovers, sometimes take for granted.
Because it’s easy to take something away from people who do not seem interested in using it. In noticing, in witnessing, in participating—we keep it alive.
We recently visited the Bass Museum of Art and took a little extra time to truly explore one of the installations. Often, we feel rushed in museums, trying to see as much as possible in a short window of time. But with the Bass being a more intimate museum, we were able to slow down and take everything in more mindfully.
We lingered in front of works just a little longer than usual, walked a little slower, and even watched a video installation play through twice. All simply to enjoy the moment—and it made all the difference.
Dig Deep
It doesn’t matter whether you create beautiful works that aim to simply be visually appealing, or whether you use your art to take a political stance, or whether you use imagery to portray a certain experience or emotion—all of these matter.
What matters is that you use your voice. That you allow your work to guide and inspire—not only others, but yourself.
That you dig deep. Especially now.
An Invitation
To every artist navigating these uncertain times: you are not powerless here.
Your role isn’t to have the answers. It’s to create space for feeling, reflection, and possibility.
To share your truth in a way only you can. To keep the light on, even if it’s small.
Art may not fix the world—but it can guide it, hold it, and help it breathe.
So take the pain, the confusion, the questions—and make something.
We need it.
Well written, and true.
Thank you