Can we enjoy the art and condemn the artist?
As consumers, lovers and devotees, can we both enjoy the art and condemn the artist?
This question, fuelled by curiosity, has swirled in my mind for a number of years, ebbing and flowing as accusation and revelation frequently emerge in the hyperconnected world we inhabit.
A firm answer, however, proves dynamic and elusive to me. Sometimes it feels obvious, only to later become ill-defined, complicated and perplexing.
This post is an attempt to explore the question and settle on some kind of principle for dealing with the question as both a consumer and an educator.
Before beginning, it is important to make a declaration:
This exploration in no way, shape or form condones, excuses, minimises or forgives the behaviours or crimes reported, alleged, proven or otherwise attributed to these artists. It in no way, shape or form intends to belittle or denigrate or wash over the experience and trauma of those hurt, damaged, traumatised, betrayed or abused by these artists, allegedly or otherwise.
It is also not a criticism or commentary on ‘cancel culture’, the modern media, fairness, justice or alternative truths.
It is the reflections of someone far enough away from the epicentre of events to be just a consumer, admirer and fan of the art and artist as they exist in the public realm.
This exploration seeks to understand and find a resolution for consumers of all kind of artistic endeavour and the arts which make up the great ongoing humanistic conversation that has continued within and across cultures for centuries.
It is the art of music, film, television, poetry, painting, sculpture, plays, poems, photography, dance, architecture, fashion and design.
It manifests in the works that bring great joy, delight and profundity to our lives; they that comfort and reveal; they that spark joy and rumination and weave themselves into the fabric of life; they serve as plot points and beats of memory.
Their creators become celebrities and mentors. They become sources of inspiration and wonder and comfort. We become devotees, fanatics and promoters of their work. We anticipate their new works and often wish we could go back to the first time we discovered, devoured and explored their art.
Then, exposure and revelation peel back the image and the gloss and we are confronted with dark truths and realities which tear our vision of these artists apart.
This is where the conundrum lives.
Two examples of this emerged for me over this last summer. With a long break between school years, it felt like a good time to tackle Cormac McCarthy’s ‘The Passenger’.
One does not simply mosey or amble through his work – to make the most of it, you have to have your head on a swivel and be laser focussed on every word to savour and digest it.
Then, somewhere in midstream of the reading as we are want to do, I googled him, only to discover the revelation of his relationship with a much younger ‘muse’, as he no doubt would have called her, though most would call it something else entirely.
While it did not impact my enjoyment of the novel – which is brilliant in so many ways and a real joy – it did cast a shadow as I wondered if it was still okay to do so. Moreover, was it still okay to love the earlier work that had such a profound effect on me – Blood Meridian or The Road or No Country for Old Men?
Later in summer, allegations and revelations emerged about Neil Gaiman and this one hit a little bit harder because I discovered his work and have really enjoyed his books (not so much the comics) and also his advice on writing and love of fountain pens and so on. I enjoyed his ability to tell unique and engaging stories and also his velvety accent on podcasts and in interviews. He just seemed so damned nice and so cool.
So this is why the question of whether we could separate the art from the artist came roaring back into consciousness.
Can we enjoy the music of Michael Jackson or the acting of Kevin Spacey in American Beauty? Can we listen to Jay Z or P Diddy? Can we still laugh at Louis C.K? (No, the prevalence of men within this exploration is not lost on me.)
Though I realise this conundrum does not really apply to the art they make after we know if they are alive to do so. In most cases, this is a pretty easy question to answer. Where I’m stuck is, can we enjoy the great work they created before we knew? Can we ever really go back?
This is especially difficult as a teacher of English and Literature who recommends books as part of their job. It is also difficult as a member of a team that selects which works to expose students to. Can we recommend Gaiman’s Coraline or The Graveyard Book or Neverwhere? Can I still make reference to his wisdom and knowledge of writing and storytelling? Can we still use their art to teach others about art, or to share the love of their work?
Like many things that appear simple, this is a much more complex question to answer than we would like when subjected to deep consideration. It is a ‘well, it depends…’ proposition. It depends upon you and your other values, in your ability to separate and accept two ideas at once and possibly, the very human truth that there are sometimes no neat answers and we must simply do what we think is right, accepting that others will have different views.
We appear to have a sliding scale of cancellation based on the seriousness of the offending. Would we stop listening to the Foo Fighters now we know the nicest guy in rock, Dave Grohl, cheated on his wife? Do we stop reading Cormac McCarthy because of his immoral and illegal relationship with a young girl? Can we enjoy the works of Neil Gaiman now, or listen to his velvety voice give a masterclass on writing fiction?
Also, If we set the bar this high, then what of the problematic artists of history? What about Caravaggio? Michelangelo? Picasso? Hemingway? Enid Blyton? Dr Seuss? Roald Dahl? Chaucer? John Lennon?
While it can become something of a straw man argument to make such comparisons to modern examples, it seems worth remembering that when we set our norms so high, we risk destroying the ability to enjoy any art created by bad people, and it doesn’t seem to matter when we discover they were horrible people who did terrible things.
This possibility makes me of the warning in Goethe’s poem, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, when said apprentice admits while standing in a rapidly flooding Sorcerer’s workshop that “The spirits that I summoned / I now cannot rid myself of again.”
My feeling is that it is absolutely okay to enjoy the work of people who turn out to be horrible or do horrible things, but it also depends on all kinds of contextual factors.
This seems like a fence sitting position, but I think it actually acknowledges the inherent difficulty when thinking in absolutes. It also reflects the complexity and mystery of the very questions art strives to examine and make sense of.
As a consumer, there is a personal decision to be made, but also a collective one. This creates the tension at the heart of this conundrum. It also lies at the heart of the question of what it is to be an individual in the world with others.
As an educator, perhaps the best way forward is to be honest about the artist while making it clear that enjoying the work, even exploring the work, is not an endorsement of them or their behaviour.
To do anything else risks creeping into that area of curation and editing that denies young people the chance to exercise their own judgement on the one hand, but also learn the very human truth that sometimes two competing ideas can exist at the same time – that the fruit of the tree and the tree are both separate and connected.
Charlie Hynes 