THERE is no doubt the arts are very precious. I don’t know anyone who is not interested in something arty, whether it be literature, music, the visual arts or theatre.

Music and books at the top of my personal list; although as a one-time amateur operatic society member, I also retain something of a fondness for the theatre.

I have played a gold digger in Paint Your Wagon, a gangster in 42nd Street and a crabby fairground barker in State Fair. However, I realised I wasn’t cut out for the theatre when at one performance I suffered stage fright and ended up stammering out a mangled version of my lines during a crucial part of a scene. It was an embarrassing mess which the audience could not have failed to notice. After the production ended, I retired from the stage far more gracefully than I had ever acted upon it. Ironically, my retirement speech at the next society meeting was the only time I delivered my lines perfectly. I even got a round of applause from fellow members; although that was probably more to do with relief that I was ending my amateur acting career rather than any appreciation of my farewell delivery.

Despite my experience, I retain a great admiration and respect for theatre – and most other artistic endeavour, much as the general populace does; but like many people at the moment I’m wrestling with the notion of public subsidy.

In many so-called primitive societies, art is embedded in communities. Cultural activities from body art to dance and story-telling are often a natural, everyday part of village lives.

In Western societies, culture has been accorded an almost detached, often elite, status. This is made possible because we are prepared to pay professional artists and performers to wow us - but usually not enough on ticket prices alone and that’s where subsidies come in.

There’s nothing wrong with publicly supporting the arts, of course. The problem arises if we focus too much on subsidising the professionals and not enough on creating everyday art in our own lives and communities.