Art in America
This country does not value the artist. Once I was an business executive. Then I became an artist. The difference in how our society has responded to me is palpable. A few weeks ago, someone labeled me as “semi-retired.” Making art, to that person, was akin to playing golf. In his mind’s eye I was amusing myself, keeping myself busy.
I feel it at parties and social events. In the past, talking about my work fit well into the chit-chat. I do this, they do that. Never mind that most of us aren’t really present during martini small-talk, it all felt very normal. I had a label and an identity. Now, I feel like someone who isn’t doing anything productive. Am I merely self-indulgent?
I feel it in meetings. I often hear, “Uh-oh, the ARTIST is talking,” when I speak up. When I had a more serious title, there was a tacit respect. Now, people don’t know quite how to hold my opinions. They often don’t know from where I come. I’ve lost my rootedness. I’m an enigma, an unknown. Am I semi-retired, crazy, or just self-absorbed?
The artist is the post-modern world’s shaman. We bridge the gaps of the various layers of consciousness. Those layers, once known by all, are now lost in the din. Society, confused by what we really are, would prefer to label us in more simplistic, maybe even romantic ways. We start out as “tortured artist” or “starving artist” or “anti-social artist” and end up as “celebrity artist,” if we are lucky. Our work goes from unknown to commodity, it’s value only appreciating after we are dead. We cut our ears off while alive, become immortal after death. So goes the myth.
Back on the earthly plane, we exist in some sort of dazed limbo. There really is no honored place for artist in America. When we push the envelope of convention we are seen more as charlatans than visionaries. I hear scorn for misunderstood art all the time. It’s usually part of the chit-chat conversation. Rather than allowing for the mystery of art, people get angry when they don’t understand, as if the artist were thumbing her nose at them, insulting their sensibilities, mores, and intelligence.
This struggle is mirrored by my battles within. Maybe all of this is because of the battles within. Perhaps respect for the artist starts with self-respect. It does sometimes seem decadent and frivolous to declare that I am an artist. It is hard for me to talk about my work. It is even harder for me to put a price on what I do. Maybe I was more comfortable in my formal role. It certainly seemed easier.
It is hard for most to realize that making art is work. It requires a schedule and discipline. It means denying oneself. We artists question ourselves constantly. It’s part of the awareness that we cherish. It’s hard to imagine an investment banker or a dentist questioning his or her worth the way we artists do. Who knows? Maybe we all question everything beneath our chit-chat facades. Maybe this angst is universal. Perhaps it is up to me to simply illuminate and show it the light of day.
Semi-retired, indeed.
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i love this post–full of angst and crankiness. i think, perhaps, we are our own worst enemies as artists–we are hyper critical of ourselves and each other, we are afraid to say what we do, we perceive that others don’t get or understand us or value our contribution or respect our work–but we, ourselves, are often the ones flip-flopping. i look at the unabashed way that dentists charge for and promote their dental services. i look at the way phone companies assault us with their “can you hear me now?” and then i think of the real life changing, soul changing, gorgeous, indulgent? work of artists reclaiming their humanity and creativity and doing the internal work to externalize the expression–and then playing small about what they’ve done. i do it, too. i perceive that people marginalize my work and perspective because my business card says artist now instead of vp of something–but it’s me, really, that is marginalizing my contribution. artists may, in fact, be the shaman of their human tribe in this 21st century america–but we are so removed from a tradition of shamanic respect that we are relegated to the weird ghettos of each other. i don’t think this is unique. i think this is likely always what it is to be a shaman, healer, artist, writer. i think the quantity of “self-indulgent” inbetween the worlds time it takes to get what wants to come through requires a kind of separation from the daily chit chat of otherwise thought to be upstanding society. we are not upstanding members of that society. we are called to another order of things–where dark rooms and a daily, delving in are required parts of our real work. the evidence that we do something–be it understood, purchased, or praised is not why we do it–nor, even, really, what we do–it seems to me, that the quality of the spirit connection is the real work. that it gets expressed at all–well, this is the real miracle. that we get the joy of connecting with it is our real wealth. that others, when left alone to experience the spirit made visible in the thing of our co-creation–well, that is something you can’t really chit chat about…isn’t it?
elizabeth benson-udom
18 Jul 08 at 10:23 am
Wow. I don’t really know what to say to that other than I know how you feel. It is interesting the reactions you get when you tell people you are an artist. There is always a pause…and then the “What kind of art do you do?” question. That, for me, has been the tough one. It was a lot easier when I was strictly a photographer. I just said, “photographer” and that was the end of it. I think people, mistakenly categorize photography as something easy to understand. But, when the words “installation” and “conceptual” come out of my mouth I get another pause, and then a slow, “ohhhhh…” This is one of the reasons Lisa and I started the Art is Moving collaboration. As attractive as it can seem sometimes to be that mysterious someone it can also be very lonely. We hope (and thanks Mark for being a part of it) to shed some light on the existence of today’s artist. What it is like to be consumed by one’s thoughts and ideas. The struggle you go through with the inner critic, the small dwarf sitting on your shoulder whispering “you are wasting your time.” Those are the things that people do not know about and I think would help when it comes to viewing art. I do not think you are self-absorbed. And I do not think you can help someone else before you help yourself (often mistakenly thought as selfishness). I believe that working on one’s own inner conflict, core, knowledge, has an automatic positive effect on the world. I have seen your work and know it effects my own, so you are making a difference.
Lauren
18 Jul 08 at 3:56 pm
Thanks Elizabeth and Lauren for your thoughtful comments! After I wrote my blog today I felt much better. It was as if it were a proclamation that I needed to shout to the world—kind of like Howard Beale in “Network.” Actually I feel so very fortunate to be an artist. It is a blessing in every way. And I get so much support from so many people. But, every so often, a comment sticks in my craw. So, art comes to the rescue again, this time in form of a blog. And Howard Beale is still my hero:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dib2-HBsF08
Mark
18 Jul 08 at 9:05 pm