So why are artists such lousy business people, poor helpless souls who never seem to get anywhere without the help of some more practical person making the deals and doing the books. Humans are quite adaptable, surviving in almost any environment, by any set of rules, but there are limits on how far one individual can stretch. The same person could turn out to be an artist in a studio attempting to express something unique yet universal, or the top-dog at some premier ad agency, beguiling public consciousness for any product or service that pays big bucks, but it’s highly unlikely one person could manage to be both at once.
The overall overriding ethic of a commercial culture is, ‘gain as much as you can while giving up as little as possible,’ and doing it well, in any legal endeavor, leads to prosperity and elevated community standing. We grew up with this cutthroat formula and take it for granted, and probably won’t sense anything wrong as long as we stay warm and dry, but it isn’t the only way to approach spending time on the planet. Sometimes frustrated damaged people, post-traumatic seeking healing, possibly in some degree autistic attempting connection, or temperamentally just not inclined to participate, and somehow have it backward. They’re called artists.
(Something happened in modern times to obscure this distinction. A business mentality, contained and regulated in its natural terrain, invaded and overran commerce in art, and the auctioneer became the final authority determining value. It’s a red-tide contamination brought on by an unnatural inversion in market forces, too many newly-rich customers and not enough high-quality supply. A big-bang inflation of trademark, its fans call it ‘signature,’ art emerged, featuring velvet rope exclusive and all the media signifiers of glamour and excess. The entire era will be seen as an aberration, and major museums with an example of each modern ‘master’ will de-acquisition to disappointing returns some day, but that’s not part of this discussion.)
The artist, instead of considering wise market strategy, pours out as much as they can, working weekends, late at night, all in the hope of getting something back, anything back, just enough to live on would be ever so nice. It’s somewhere beyond unreasonable to expect such a person, with such naive and wide-eyed trust in fate, to wade out into the surging rapids of commerce and do much more than drown. Darwinism dictates our social order, and we each have a share, but artists shouldn’t face discrimination simply because they think there are things more important than money. What those things might be must vary with each artist, but the fact that they feel this way is apparent from how they devote their energy, in what they do, and it’s always going to be there in the art.
Does it have any real value, this created thing more important to the artist than money? I wouldn’t try to convince you that it did, but the artist must have felt that way, and others when they see it, may begin to realize they do too. If some practical sort needs to reduce this transference to strictly mechanical terms, we are just organic robots, after all, constantly digesting examples all around us, with the sum total determining who we are. Art is an enriched little thumb-drive of experience, longing, and attitude about life. This information, encoded in colors and shapes, is meant to be compatible with your operating system, goes straight in, an automatic update you won’t even be aware of, but everything will work better, quicker, and you'll process more information. Business, in the future, will try to keep up.
The overall overriding ethic of a commercial culture is, ‘gain as much as you can while giving up as little as possible,’ and doing it well, in any legal endeavor, leads to prosperity and elevated community standing. We grew up with this cutthroat formula and take it for granted, and probably won’t sense anything wrong as long as we stay warm and dry, but it isn’t the only way to approach spending time on the planet. Sometimes frustrated damaged people, post-traumatic seeking healing, possibly in some degree autistic attempting connection, or temperamentally just not inclined to participate, and somehow have it backward. They’re called artists.
(Something happened in modern times to obscure this distinction. A business mentality, contained and regulated in its natural terrain, invaded and overran commerce in art, and the auctioneer became the final authority determining value. It’s a red-tide contamination brought on by an unnatural inversion in market forces, too many newly-rich customers and not enough high-quality supply. A big-bang inflation of trademark, its fans call it ‘signature,’ art emerged, featuring velvet rope exclusive and all the media signifiers of glamour and excess. The entire era will be seen as an aberration, and major museums with an example of each modern ‘master’ will de-acquisition to disappointing returns some day, but that’s not part of this discussion.)
The artist, instead of considering wise market strategy, pours out as much as they can, working weekends, late at night, all in the hope of getting something back, anything back, just enough to live on would be ever so nice. It’s somewhere beyond unreasonable to expect such a person, with such naive and wide-eyed trust in fate, to wade out into the surging rapids of commerce and do much more than drown. Darwinism dictates our social order, and we each have a share, but artists shouldn’t face discrimination simply because they think there are things more important than money. What those things might be must vary with each artist, but the fact that they feel this way is apparent from how they devote their energy, in what they do, and it’s always going to be there in the art.
Does it have any real value, this created thing more important to the artist than money? I wouldn’t try to convince you that it did, but the artist must have felt that way, and others when they see it, may begin to realize they do too. If some practical sort needs to reduce this transference to strictly mechanical terms, we are just organic robots, after all, constantly digesting examples all around us, with the sum total determining who we are. Art is an enriched little thumb-drive of experience, longing, and attitude about life. This information, encoded in colors and shapes, is meant to be compatible with your operating system, goes straight in, an automatic update you won’t even be aware of, but everything will work better, quicker, and you'll process more information. Business, in the future, will try to keep up.
No comments:
Post a Comment