Art and literature are insistent; their images and words burrow into the brain and won’t be dislodged.  Perhaps that’s what drives artists to grapple with the towering issues of New Orleans after Katrina.  If successful, their works will keep the enormity of the problems firmly in the public eye, after other catastrophes have knocked the city off the front pages of our newspapers.  No matter where they live, artists are drawn to the subject of post Katrina New Orleans.  New York and Paris based photographer Robert Polidori’s photographs of mud-caked cars and houses docked across the street from their foundations will be shown at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art from September to December, 2006.  The Met’s annual attendance is estimated at four million, so in the three month show, it’s possible that a million visitors may see the images.  Michael Kimmelman, art critic for the New York Times, reviewed the show on September 22, 2006, describing many of the images, including, “The photograph…speaks volumes about life post-Katrina in New Orleans: the traditional shotgun houses, the people in one who cared to paint the shutters green, their neighbors with the air conditioner, the other neighbors who chose pink, what they have all lost and abandoned.”[1]  The NY Times’ average daily circulation is 1,136,433.  Granted, not all of them will read Kimmelman’s review, but the photographs he included are eye-catching enough to draw in a casual browser, and the circulation number doesn’t even include on-line readers.

Ireland has been accused of forcing its most important writers out of the country. Wilde left, so did Joyce, Beckett, and Shaw. Perhaps in response, The Arts Council, a government-sponsored voluntary committee that advises the state on arts issues and is the primary underwriter of art and artists, was established in 1951.[3]  In 1969, then finance minister Charles Haughey proposed a program that would allow artists and writers to live and work in the country while enjoying tax-exemptions on all creative work produced there. The act has come under fire in recent years as it has been claimed that wealthy writers from Britain and elsewhere have relocated to Ireland to avoid the tax collector.[4]  While such claims cannot be brushed aside, a similar program to attract artists to New Orleans would not be entirely unprecedented in Louisiana.

In addition to a possible tax exemption program, subsidies for artists and writers may also be considered in the promotion of art and culture in New Orleans. While habitable dwellings are currently in short supply, housing specifically set aside for artists and writers could be used to create a flourishing arts district, one that would draw not just artists, but galleries, museums, bookstores, coffee houses and other music venues, and of course, tourists. Housing designated for artists could be subsidized by the government in the Dublin model or through wealthy individuals or corporations in exchange for tax credits. Ideally, reduced rents and expenses would allow writers to write, painters to paint, sculptors to sculpt, and not wait tables, work retail, or bartend.

The New Orleans Arts Council is already serving as an umbrella organization for artists’ residencies (two month stay plus transportation) and subsidized housing.[6]  Although modest in scope, these programs mean that the infrastructure is in place through which additional funds could be solicited and channeled to artists and writers currently living in New Orleans, as well as to support the move back for artists who are still displaced into other communities. 

New Orleans may also look west to Pomona, California, where a downtown property owner and urban sociologist named Ed Tessier created an artist-friendly enclave that has revitalized the city’s downtown area. Tessier questioned candidates for local elections and campaigned on behalf of those who advocated for his Arts Colony. He enlisted support from Latino and feminist groups, and as his political clout grew, so did the Arts Colony. As properties became available, Tessier purchased them and used the upper lofts to house artists and the storefronts as galleries and music venues. The project was so successful that Tessier now plans a similar Arts Colony for neighboring Ontario, California.[7]  As artists and writers are priced out of the cities that have traditionally drawn them—New York, San Francisco, Boston, Chicago, Seattle, and Los Angeles—New Orleans could find itself at the center of a new cultural renaissance. 

Take a walk through St. Stephen’s Green or Merrion Square Park, along major commercial boulevards or even quiet unassuming residential streets and one thing is abundantly clear about Dublin: innumerable great writers have turned phrases in the Emerald Isle’s capital city. Whether it be understated plaques noting that writers like Bram Stoker of Dracula fame once hung his hat in Dublin, or intricate public art projects depicting lifelike statues of Oscar Wilde or James Joyce, visitors and residents alike see constant reminders of the city’s phenomenal literary history. As individuals who are passionate about preserving New Orleans’ literary and artistic traditions seek to contribute to the city’s rebuilding process, it seems a public literary/art campaign similar to that implemented in Dublin could prove instrumental in ensuring that none of the Crescent City’s rich literary history is forgotten—adding yet another atmospheric layer to the city’s already textured ambiance, and inspiring future writers and artists to conjure the muses of inspiration called upon by their ancestral scribes.

A similarly inspired program in New Orleans could combine both public art and literary history, thus paying homage to the past and supporting the future. Public art projects could begin simply as apt and location-specific literary quotes, such as the ones sprinkled throughout this paper, embedded in the ground or on a sign or nearby structure. The quote from The Witching Hour above is uttered while looking at Lafayette Cemetery #1 in the Garden District, and an art project incorporating those lines could be placed by that same cemetery. Or imagine Blanche’s famous lines “They told me to take a street car named Desire, transfer to one called cemeteries, go six blocks and get off at—Elysian Fields” juxtaposed by the building that inspired Tennessee Williams as the likely home for Stanley and Stella. Another quote—“Is that streetcar named Desire still rattling along the tracks at this hour?”—could be erected by the Desire line. Both these markers/art installations could attract visitors to a different part of the city, encouraging them to visit the neighborhoods next to the usually well-traveled French Quarter, enabling them to not only get a larger picture of New Orleans, but also perhaps inspiring them to spend money in restaurants and shops in lesser-known areas. Such a project could also be done in conjunction with the resurrection of the Desire streetcar line (it’s currently the bus called Desire) as part of city redevelopment. The streetcar lines that remain are popular methods of transport for visitors, most of whom would probably be eager to ride the streetcar named Desire. Something for them to make a pilgrimage to would further encourage their presence on the line to usually non-touristed neighborhoods.

There is precedence for this sort of public art, both as cultural homage and as art for art’s sake, in the city. There is a statue of Ignatius Reilly, protagonist of A Confederacy of Dunces, under the clock in front of the former D.H. Holmes department store, a long time meeting place for locals, and precisely where Ignatius makes his debut in the book. The Music Legends Park at 311 Bourbon Street contains statues of some notable local musicians, including Al Hirt and Pete Fountain. In 2000, the city participated in the “Festival of Fins” public art display, a citywide bit of whimsy where 200 large fiberglass fish were decorated by 150 different artists and placed on display in unlikely locations. (Similar public art projects included cows in Chicago, angels in Los Angeles and, lately, cattle in Budapest.) The grassy Woldenberg Park along the Mississippi, just beyond the French Quarter, contains a growing collection of public art.

Any discussion of the potential that exists to build on the arts heritage of New Orleans must also recognize the great work currently being undertaken within New Orleans arts programs.  As well as political and economic goals, many artists are addressing the human and social scars left by the hurricane and looking to the arts for healing of individuals and communities.

With support from the Literary Alliance of Greater New Orleans and the University of New Orleans, The Neighborhood Story Project teaches high school kids how to write books about their neighborhood, thus teaching them how to write, as well as documenting the rich and varied cultural and historic layers to the city, which is so much more than the Quarter and Uptown. There are currently five books available covering living in a project, above a neighborhood store, a couple of particularly diverse blocks, the local Mardi Gras Indian tribe, and more. The goal is not just literacy, but helping kids see their work both as a method for examining their world, but as a method of change. The group works with both kids and their families, and begins orally, and in groups, so that kids can learn about the development and rewrite process as they go.  Given the shockingly low literacy rates coming out of New Orleans public schools (pre-Katrina, as low as 20%), and the increasing need for a written historical record of a possibly vanished era of New Orleans, this is a much needed educational and therapeutic tool, and provides an example of what can be supported to grow into a valuable resource for more communities.

--Tennesse Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire

BLANCHE: Is that street-car named Desire still grinding along the tracks at this hour? --Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire T

he minute you land in New Orleans, something wet and dark leaps on you and starts humping you like a swamp dog in heat, and the only way to get that aspect of New Orleans off you is to eat it off. That means beignets and crawfish bisque and jambalaya, it means shrimp remoulade, pecan pie, and red beans 'n rice, it means elegant pompano en papillote, funky file z'herbes, and raw oysters by the dozen, it means grillades for breakfast, a po-boy with chow-chow at bedtime, and tubs of gumbo in between. It is not unusual for a visitor to the city to gain fifteen pounds in a week - yet the alternative is a whole lot worse. If you don't eat day and night, if you don't constantly funnel the indigenous flavors into your bloodstream, then the mystery beast will keep on humping you, and you will feel its sordid presence rubbing against you long after you have left town. In fact, like any sex offender, it can leave permanent psychological scars. -- Tom Robbins, from Jitterbug Perfume

In those days in New Orleans, there was always something nice, and always with music.--Louis Armstrong, from Growing Up in New Orleans

Is it the part of the police department to harass me when this city is the flagrant vice capital of the civilized world?” Ignatious bellowed over the crowd in front of the store. “This city is famous for its gamblers, prostitutes, exhibitionists, anti-Christs, alcoholics, sodomites, drug addicts, fetishists, onanists, pornographers, frauds, jades, litterbugs and lesbians, all of whom are only too well protected by graft. If you have a moment, I shall endeavor to discuss the crime problem with you, but don’t make the mistake of bothering me.” --John Kennedy Toole, from A Confederacy of Dunces

New Orleans, in the spring-time—just when the orchards were flushing over with peach blossoms, and the sweet herbs came to flavor the juleps—seemed to me the city of the world where you can eat and drink the most and suffer the least.--William Makepeace Thackary, from A Mississippi Bubble

Mardi Gras ain’t so much if you are broke.--John Dos Passos, from Funiculi, Funicula

I’ve always wanted to eat fried dough in the most corrupt city in the world.--Dale, from “King of the Hill”

Yet to all men whose desire only is to live a short life but a merry one, I have no hesitation in recommending New Orleans.--Henry Bradshaw Fearon, from Sketches of America (1818)

We had dinner on a ground-veranda over the water—the chief dish the renowned fish called the pompano, delicious as the less criminal forms of sin.--Mark Twain, from Life on the Mississippi

We picked up one excellent word—a word worth traveling to New Orleans to get; a nice limber, expressive, handy word—“Lagniappe”…It has a restricted meaning, but I think the people spread it out a little when they choose. It is the equivalent of the thirteenth roll in a baker’s dozen. When a child or a servant buys something in a shop—or even the mayor or the governor, for aught I know—he finishes the operation by saying “Give me something for lagniappe”. The shopman always responds; gives the child a bit of liquorice-root, gives the servant a cheap cigar or a spool of thread, gives the governor—I don’t know what he gives the governor; support, likely. When you are invited to drink—and this does occur now and then in New Orleans—and you say “What, again?—no, I’ve had enough:” the other party says, “But just this one time more, --this is for lagniappe.”--Mark Twain, from Life on the Mississippi

On Mardi Gras day, as you know, it is a town gone mad with folly. A huge masked ball emptied into the streets at daylight; a meeting of all nations on common ground, a pot-pourri of every conceivable human ingredient, but faintly describes it all. There are music, and flowers, cries and laughter and song and joyousness, and never an aching heart to show its sorrow or dim the happiness of the streets. A wondrous thing, this Carnival!--Alice Dunbar-Nelson, from Odalie (1899)

For in this season is the glamour of New Orleans strongest upon those whom she attracts to her from less hospitable climates, and fascinates by her nights of magical moonlight, and her days of dreamy languors and perfumes. There are few who can visit her for the first time without delight; and few who can ever leave her without regret; and none who can forget her strange charm when they have once felt its influence.--Lafcadio Hearn, from The Glamour of New Orleans (1924)

Living in New Orleans is like drinking blubber through a straw. Even the air is caloric. --Andrei Codrescu, from “Fantastic Fast”.

She glanced back at the little peaked roofs of the tombs visible over the top of the wall.“The dead are so close they can hear us,” she thought.“Ah, but you see,” said Ryan, as if he had read her thoughts. “In New Orleans, we never really leave them out.”--Anne Rice, from The Witching Hour

THere is something left in these people here that makes them like one another; that leads to constant outbursts in the spirit of play, that keeps them from being too confoundedly serious about death and the ballot and reform and other less important things in life." --Sherwood Anderson, from "New Orleans and the Double Dealer."

More quotes

       New Orleans is a sensual city, in that it engages all of one’s senses. It’s difficult to imagine the city looking any different, smelling any different, tasting any different, and still being New Orleans. But you could almost do without any of those sooner than you could do without the sounds. Music isn’t just a tourist commodity; it’s a way of life, it’s the fabric of New Orleans. Here, little kids get trumpets and learn to revere Louis Armstrong, and then they become teenagers, and they follow along when the brass bands play, those combos that provide the soundtrack to jazz funerals and parades, heading the second line that leads from the cemetery after the former is finished, announcing the commencement of the joy that comes in the morning. As the kids get older, they tootle along with the bands a bit more seriously, and maybe they even join one, or start one. The Rebirth Brass Band was started by just such a collection of early teens, and soon grew into one of the staples of the New Orleans club scene, adding their own touches of modern funk, R&B and jazz to their roots-influenced sounds. Their nominal leader, Kermit Ruffins, split off, to become one of the hardest working solo acts in the city, as Kermit regularly channels Satchmo through his trumpet and his gravely voice. In turn, Troy “Trombone Shorty” Andews, grandson of Jessie Hill (who had a hit with “Ooh Poo Pah Doo”), and his brother James, products of the long time African-American Treme district (one of the most culturally rich, and poorest economically, in the city), began playing as kids, and now barely out of their teens, they have developed a style and following of their own. Kids sometimes start with the Mardi Gras Indians, who are themselves the continuation of a line of music and beats, using chants that go back two centuries, and who sometimes record with brass bands backing them. The Neville Brothers got their start in part by playing with the Wild Tchoupitoulas Mardi Gras Indians. The Indians often let little kids, who can barely bang a tambourine, much less play along in time, stand on stage and hang out, to get the feel of performing, and of the music. That’s how it is all over town; musicians play on their doorsteps, or wander down the street carrying a tuba, looking for someone to jam with. And it’s perfectly acceptable; no guy carrying a brass instrument is considered a sissy. In this way, from brother to brother, father to son, neighbor to neighbor, Marsalis to Marsalis, Neville to Neville, tradition is passed along.  

   In virtually every discussion of New Orleans’ post-Katrina future, the word “preservation” is certain to be heard perhaps more than any other.   However, it is easy to ignore, in all the talk about ensuring that New Orleans does not lose its soul, the very real possibility that the city might be failing to gain quite a lot: specifically, a continually vital role in the evolution of art forms it originally gave to the world.

    Nearly a century after the first records by King Oliver’s Creole Jazz Band, New Orleans remains virtually the only city that continues to spawn professional level Dixieland groups and brass bands.  And by no means has the Dixieland tradition remained static: the incorporation of soul and hip hop into the music by groups such as the Rebirth and Dirty Dozen Brass Bands testifies to the continuing vitality and flexibility of this original style of jazz.  Still, in many ways, the city hasn't been a hub of jazz origination since Louis Armstrong left town. From that point on, successive stylistic breakthroughs, from the Swing Era through Kansas City, Bebop, Cool the Third Stream, all the way through to Free, passed New Orleans by.  Even more worrisome, New Orleans didn’t seem to care that much.  For example, Kidd Jordan, arguably the city’s only major contribution to the Free Jazz movement, often speaks of having been forced to relocate to Chicago in order to find gigs performing the kind of music he wanted to play (he has now returned to his birth city as a professor at Southern University.)  Likewise, forward-looking but mainstream musicians such as Terence Blanchard and Branford Marsalis ply their trade elsewhere.

Why has New Orleans failed to keep pace as a city jazz lovers turn to for clues on the future identity of the music?  Unfortunately, many of its most prominent musicians have notoriously belittled newer musical movements that proved to be anything but “passing fancies.”  While it is certainly wonderful that children in New Orleans continue to idolize Louis Armstrong, his dismissal of bebop, the first major stylistic revolution in jazz in which Satchmo was not personally involved, seems to have set a regretful tone of aloofness that persists to this day in the Crescent City:

“Well, you oughta know, pops, you’ve been around long enough.  Look at the legit composers always going back to folk tunes, the simple things, where it all comes from.  So they’ll come back to us when all the shouting about bop and science is over, because they can’t make up their own tunes, and all they can do is embroider it so much you can’t see the design no more…It can’t last.  They always say “Jazz is dead” and then they always come back to jazz.” (“‘Bop Will Kill Business Unless It Kills Itself First’ – Louis Armstrong,” Down Beat, April 7, 1948, pp.2-3)

 Sixty years after Armstrong’s comment quoted above, virtually no aspiring jazz musicians from other parts of the country view New Orleans as the city to hone their craft or test their mettle.  The irony could not be more clear:  Jazz was born in New Orleans precisely because the city was open to sounds coming in form elsewhere.  Nowhere else could African and Latin rhythms blend with French fanfares and the instrumental virtuosity Creoles had picked up in the concert hall.   It is therefore all the more tragic that the city has proven itself so closed to ideas of jazz emanating from other corners of the world.  For that matter, other forms of music, with perhaps one exception, seem similarly stalled. Perhaps that's because music in New Orleans is a relatively cushy gig. Club shows are easy to come by, and if the pay isn't great, the job is regular. The exception seems to be the hip-hop scene: PLEASE INSERT HERE.

Indeed, while cultural tourism will undoubtedly play a vital role in New Orleans’ recovery, the city must ensure that it draws visitors who seek not only to experience the city’s past, but also to witness the kind of unpredictability and musical innovation they know they can find in New York and Los Angeles. How, then, can such a sense of experimentation be instilled not instead of New Orleans’ deep sense of tradition, but as a natural extension of it?  An obvious step would be in the creation of a new conservatory in the city, one with a range of professors specializing in all forms of classical, jazz and Latin music.  Such an institution could either be created from scratch, or, perhaps, as an affiliate of already prestigious institutions such as Juilliard or Thornton, which could relocate to the Crescent City their programs in improvised musical forms.  New Orleans would suddenly be seen by young musicians from all over the country as a city where they could not only master very specific folk forms from a bygone era of American history, but also meet their forward-thinking peers from all over the world.  And when those students ventured out into the city for nighttime gigs, the possibilities of cross-fertilization would be endless.   Such a school could be situated in abandoned buildings in or around the neighborhoods in the city where jazz was born [Mary, insert here the buildings you were talking about in class]; such a move would send a clear symbolic message that the Crescent City’s homegrown music was coming back, as it were, to revitalize the city through its own artistic progress.  Faculty could be drawn both from local masters and the music’s national and international heavyweights.  While the former would give the school legitimacy and prevent it from being seen within the city as a “foreign institution”, the latter would help attract aspiring musicians from around the world who otherwise would have pursued their formal training at the more established East Coast academies.  Recruiting “stars” from around the country would hardly be difficult, since virtually all jazz musicians would leap at the chance to play a role in the renaissance of the city where their art form was born.  The free jazz trombonist Roswell Rudd, for example, who began his career in a Dixieland ensemble at Yale University, would probably relish the opportunity to instruct up-and-coming musicians in the earliest roots of their modern, avant-garde music.  The same is true for Dutch percussionist Han Bennink, who, though known for his renegade assault of the trap kit, also famously cites Baby Dodds’ “Talking and Drum Solos” as his favorite jazz record.  Young musicians who might have otherwise passed New Orleans by or visited simply to witness what once was, will instead be tempted to begin their careers and prove themselves in the clubs of the Big Easy, rather than the Big Apple.