“Lack of utility and rarefied exquisiteness are seen as the shortest paths to being art.” — Roberta Smith of The New York Times recently reviewing a show at the Museum of Art and Design in which many artists use everyday objects in their work. She doesn’t agree with the statement and by paraphrasing it, she doesn’t mean it as a compliment.

I would argue that art does, in fact, have a utility, but not always in the obvious functional way that, say, my bike racks for NYC do. Of course in Asia, functional objects like screens, teacups, tea wisks and other paraphernalia have traditionally been the closest to our notion of fine art, but they are also utilitarian objects. They are a version of a household item that is also a tool to focus and refine attention — a changed awareness that then resonates out into the world. And the objects are completely utilitarian, which makes the mundane daily activities they are associated with into small focused performances, little rituals. Tea ceremony is a refined example, but many more ordinary practices and activities are focus pullers as well. One performs the act, and is aware of performing the act at the same time.

While viewing art, at least in the western sense, is not the road to self-improvement some still claim — art is not “good” for you — it still has practical and psychologically positive functions. Making it, performing it (in the case of some art forms) and the various social links and connections that arise (or don’t) in the whole world of surrounding activity are where much of the usefulness comes from. Participation (whether making it, dancing it, singing along or being together) is so obviously psychologically cathartic that it’s hardly worth mentioning. It facilitates talk, flirting, hanging out, travel, and money exchange. Isn’t that useful? The object itself might be useless, but, like paper money, it has a kind of agreed upon exchange value — it’s a kind of social currency.