The arts in the world of contact
[[This is essentially going to be a narrative exposition of my headcanons, which may or may not go well...]]
First-contact was, without argument, one of the most impactful moments to human history. With a simple alien encounter the perception that humanity had of the universe as a whole was ripped open. And a single, nearly divine truth became the foremost idea in the heads of billions, we are not alone.
Such an upset was difficult for people to receive. Our very reality had to be rewritten, to include concepts that were literally alien. We had never even considered a "Turian" before, let alone Asari, Salarian, Batarian, Krogan, Quarian, and an entire galaxy more.
It was chaos, religions, governments, none of them were equipped to handle a shift of this magnitude. The hide bound organizations that had served us well into antiquity were ill equipped to shift their gears so dramatically.
But there was one thing that was always ready for such a thing, art.
At first, the art was little more than reaction and speculation. Visions of fiery destruction under alien boots or pictures of human paragons, hoping to cling to ideas of what makes someone human.
Eventually though, familiarity became understanding. The war was over, our enemies were discovered to be flawed and we begane to thrust ourselves bodily into a galactic world. And the arts followed suit.
painters mixed their colors with new Salarian influences. Sculptors found themselves emulating the methodical curves of the Elcor. Musicians found a Hanar Symphony inspirational. Plays with reinterpretations of classic myths from all the species spread across earth and the colonies.
And their art spread itself outward as well. The occasional turian could be heard whistling Wagner. An asari writer decided to turn her fingers to creating the perfect film noir script. The Quarian discovered themselves watching ballet en masse, transfixed by the flowing of gowns.
This is the world that Ashala finds herself in. A pure asari raised by a human father. The world of art was open to her, and she fell into dance like a sparrow might fall into flight. Old vids downloaded off the extranet of men and women who pirouetted and plied seemingly as effortlessly as breathing filled her imagination and brought a young girl to hold onto whatever railing she could, trying to extend her legs like she had seen those beautiful women do.
Art is the thing that bridged our species. Though there are few who would recognize it. Many would attribute treaties and trade agreements, battles fought over individual planets. But it was the sonnets, the dances, the novels and paintings and vids. The things into which artists could pour their humanity and embrace as it merges with another's Asariness.
