Vault
This post is part of a series discussing how to build trust into artistic practice, allowing artists to create artistic experiences that stand in the gap of ideological, cultural, and social differences and reaffirm our connection to our shared humanity. This series uses the acronym BRAVING from Brené Brown as a set of tools to understand the anatomy of trust and how we can best apply it to a variety of musical settings; previous posts in the series will be listed below:
This was the post that scared me when I first set out on this project. I found it very difficult initially to define what “vault” means in musical experiences and artistic practice. So to start, I want to discuss this concept as Brené Brown defines it. She describes vault as “you don’t share information or experiences that are not yours to share. I need to know that my confidences are kept, and that you’re not sharing with me any information about other people that should be confidential.” Vault functions as an element of trust by creating the sense of safety upon which that trust can grow between groups of people.
Thinking of an artistic event as a vault initially gives me pause because we are trying to create a welcoming and trusting space for ourselves and those participating in the art. The idea of vault seems to imply the opposite effect, something that is exclusive and walled off. However, I find it helpful to think of vault not as a way of constructing the space to control what comes and goes in the experience, but instead as a foundation for expectations of behavior. Vault means feeling safe enough in an artistic experience to bring our fullest selves, including our flaws and imperfections, into that space without worrying about a reprisal due to our vulnerability.
Brené Brown also describes the vault as one with two doors, one forward-facing and one in the back. The front door symbolizes our agreement with each other in the space to hold confidence for one another. The backdoor is your conduct outside of the space. In order to preserve the integrity of our artistic experiences and our practice, we must keep both doors closed. We can’t share what other people bring to an artistic experience without their agreement, no matter how innocuous it may seem, or whether the other person knows or not. That conduct maintains the integrity of the vault for everyone and means that we can all expect the same commitment to this behavior from every participant.
So what does this double-doored vault look like in our artistic practice? I want to start with the potential of musical experiences in which people feel the trust necessary to bring their full authentic selves into the space. Art possesses the magical ability to give voice to our pain and deliver us from it at the same time. As part of that process, sometimes we need to confront significant trauma. So whether we bring our own trauma into our art or a participant in the experience communicates their own, we need to set the intention that the artistic event is a safe space where we can confront our experiences head on and be vulnerable. It’s hard work to set this group intention, but it is vital to establishing the necessary trust for meaningful, authentic exchange.
It also raises the question of what role artists play in that space. As artists, we frequently acknowledge the healing power imbued in our art, but oftentimes that is where our awareness stops. We know it has the potential to heal but we spend very little time thinking about what that process actually entails or what it expects of the artist. What would it look like for artists to have some training in therapy procedures? This doesn’t mean that artists have to also get an advanced degree in psychology or social work, but having some knowledge of how to confront trauma when it comes up, and what next steps to suggest could be very helpful. An even more impactful means of addressing trauma in artistic experiences is partnering with trained therapy providers to assist and consult when we know that the potential for bringing up trauma is high.
Another way in which we deal with the concept of the vault in our artistic practice is the way we conduct ourselves in the very small, tightly knit world of the music community. The first description I provide to people who don’t know what it is like to play and teach saxophone for a living is that it’s a small world. Pretty much everyone knows everyone else. That is both a blessing and a curse.
Personally knowing most of your peers makes attending conferences and other musical events a deeply social affair, a chance to reconnect with others who have been a part of your story, or who might even be like a second family. It is a distinct privilege to work in a field where we can have that kind of relationship with our colleagues. It also means that we know a lot about each other, especially when we bring something personal to our art making.
This raises the question of how we separate people’s personal lives from their art. I can think of numerous times where I have heard something about a fellow musician’s life that was shared as part of an artistic experience which I did not attend. It is easy to get excited about a powerful experience of which we have been a part, but we owe it to each other to respect the sanctity of that experience and not share experiences that are not our own without permission. I know that I would feel more able to engage with the most sacred parts of my story as an artist if I know I can trust the participants to maintain the vault of that experience. Being an artist sometimes means exploring the darker parts of ourselves, holding them up to the light and hoping to find some amount of understanding or truth. How much do we shy away from exploring or sharing because we are afraid of how that vulnerability might affect our future job prospects or the public’s perception of us as artists?
The relationship between artists’ personal lives and their art is also deeply connected to a recent phenomenon we’ve been exploring in society: cancel culture. There is at times an impulse in our society to collectively determine whether a person’s choices or values can invalidate their artistic contributions. This is a deeply complicated discussion and one in which it feels risky to take a side, which is precisely why I want to argue that setting up the dichotomy of a binary choice in situations like these might be a problem in and of itself. The argument that you’re either with me or against me in an all-encompassing fashion is a false dichotomy that directly plays into power dynamics, which often lie at the root of cancel culture.
The idea that we can define someone entirely by the worst thing they ever did seems antithetical to the healing, transformative justice, and relationship-building that art is capable of. When we cancel someone’s art due to their actions, we hold ourselves to a standard of perfection which we inevitably won’t meet. There is beauty in our flaws, and part of an artist’s job is to examine those darker parts of ourselves and see what we might learn together. I’m not here to argue that actions of particular artists should be ignored. I would argue the opposite, that these actions are an essential lens through which to interpret their art. An artist’s actions and beliefs do not invalidate their art, but instead they form the foundation of our understanding of the story that led to that art, and the way it relates to our own experience.
Human beings are deeply flawed and complicated creatures and if we are seeking to understand each other a little bit better than we need to let go of binary viewpoints. A friend recently shared a quote with me: “people don’t become homeless when they run out of resources, they become homeless when they run out of relationships.” If our job as artists is to create experiences that reaffirm our connection to our shared humanity, we have to prioritize those relationships, and cancelling someone’s relationships is antithetical to that purpose.
Relying on shame as a means to change behavior does not work because it corrodes the foundation from which we believe we can make ourselves better. Empathy is a much better route for creating change within people that does not destroy their relationships. Empathy is also different from sympathy, where sympathy allows us to observe other people’s feelings from a distance, empathy requires us to step into the other person’s story and seek understanding. It requires us to strengthen our relationship and reinforce their sense of self worth. From that place of trust and reinforcement, people can begin to envision change. Finding that sense of empathy in an artistic space is where vault comes in. Safety and trust are a requirement for achieving this kind of empathy with each other.
When we treat an artistic experience as a vault we find what Brené Brown calls a “sensation of sacredness.” This sensation is a part of human experience when we feel like we belong to something bigger than ourselves. Artistic experiences, such as concerts, sporting events, and plays, are an opportunity for us to reaffirm our connection to each other and to feel joy, create social connection, and find meaning. However, these psychological benefits, which are essential to a happy and healthy life, only manifest in experiences where there is safety and trust provided by our agreement to use vault as a foundation for that space.
