Should We Separate the Art From the Artist?

“The value of an idea has nothing whatsoever to do with the sincerity of the man who expresses it.”

Oscar Wilde

 

 

I recently read a book called The Journey to Ixtlan by Carlos Castaneda. The book is a memoir that Castaneda wrote when he was an anthropology student. And in it, he shares the lessons from a life-changing apprenticeship that he had with a Yaqui Indian shaman named Don Juan.

While Castaneda embarked on his apprenticeship intending to learn more about Yaqui culture, particularly their usage of hallucinogenic plants, he instead learns about finding his place in a marvelous, yet ephemeral world. The plants, as he came to realize, were just a medium to open his eyes about the realities of the world that were already there.

Needless to say, the book touched my heart. It was life-changing for me too, to learn about the book’s ideas on letting go of our past identities, taking responsibility for our decisions, and remembering our mortality.

I especially resonated with the book’s idea of “stopping the world”, or to experience life as it is, by letting go of our preconceptions. Because the reality is that the world is much larger and more sophisticated than we think we know. To give you a simple example, even the language that we have to explain or describe the world around us are at best, symbols or representations. We can never get close to truly depicting the world.

Since its publication, the book has had a tremendous cultural impact. In its heyday, it sparked a growing interest in Native American studies. It even started a movement of sorts, mostly among teenage beatniks who were eager to experiment with hallucinogenic plants. In fact, and oddly enough, I got to know about this book from a recommendation by author Robert Greene. According to Robert, if you read the book, you would notice where so much of his understanding about power came from — and he was so right.

But here’s the thing, though. Carlos Castaneda was a hell of a shady-ass character in real life. Especially towards the end of his life, he became a Jim-Jones-like cult-leader. His teachings became increasingly delusional, as, among other things, he came to believe that he was immortal. And in some ways, he began preaching his teachings more literally. The concept of letting go of one’s identity was no longer figurative, as he got his followers to literally cut their ties with their family and friends, and to change their names. This was a classic cult-leader strategy.

He also recruited a group of five female followers that he called “Witches”, who lived in the same house as him and had sexual relations with him. Carlos Castaneda died from liver cancer in 1998, and in the following days after his death, his Witches mysteriously disappeared. Only one of these Witches would be identified five years later, but most unfortunately, only in the form of skeletal remains, a few scraps of clothing and a small pocket knife that were found in the scorching deserts of Death Valley, California.

Experts have argued that Castaneda’s stories about Don Juan were completely fictional, as they were not even reflecting the actual practices of the Yaqui tribe. His ideas were likely adopted from ancient texts. It was as though he came up with those ideas when he was holed up with stacks of books in a library, rather than in a Yaqui settlement. And on top of all that, Don Juan likely never existed.

This brings me to the question that I’m putting forth in this article. What do you do when you encounter a dissonance between the artist and their art? — or in other words, when you realize that the artist is different in real life as compared to the image of themselves that they have built through their art? Do you allow this dissonance to affect your experience of their art?

Or perhaps, a better question is, should you allow this to happen?

Of course, this dissonance doesn’t have to be negative per se. For example, people who have met Robert Greene in person often have trouble reconciling Robert as an individual, with Robert Greene the author. From reading his books on power and social intelligence, it’s easy to assume that he is cold and calculating in real life.

Flip through The 48 Laws of Power and you’d find strategies on crushing your enemies and taking credit for other people’s work. But the people who have known him best, including his former research assistant Ryan Holiday, have often talked about how normal and warm he is in person, and how generous he is in giving credit and praise to other people for their work.

But particularly in the negative context, there is a longstanding debate on how to best deal with this dissonance, and whether we should allow it to interfere with our experience of the art. 

Generally, there are two philosophies that we tend to follow in dealing with this dissonance, which sit on opposite sides of the spectrum.

One philosophy is to approach this dissonance objectively, by separating the art from the artist. This way, who the artist is and what they do in their personal lives are none of our concern. Rather, their art is what matters.

I remember back when the infamous cult leader Charles Manson died in 2017. Most people knew about the gruesome murders that he committed with his cult. But not many knew about or understood his art, such as his ideas about society and the environment, and that he was also a songwriter. So, when Daron Malakian, the guitarist and songwriter of System of a Down, expressed his sadness at Manson’s passing on social media, he quickly came under fire.

Malakian explained that while he definitely didn’t condone Manson’s crimes, he was only interested in Manson’s ideas, and how he articulated his thoughts about social and environmental issues — some of which he personally thought were valid. Manson’s music and interviews had a deep influence on Malakian, which we can especially notice in the System of a Down song, ATWA, which was titled after Manson’s philosophy, Air, Trees, Water, Animals and All The Way Alive.

“Sometimes talented people do bad things,” said Malakian in his post. “For example, OJ Simpson killed his wife, which is horrible. But you can’t deny the fact that he was one of the best football players in history. So there is the murderer OJ and the football player OJ. So if I was a football player, I could not deny Simpson’s contribution to the game and the impact he had on future football players. Yes, he did a horrible thing by killing his wife, but his talent as a football player is undeniable.

“And for the people who are asking if I would feel the same if Manson killed my family or pregnant wife, there is an example for you. My family was in the Armenian Genocide where millions of Armenians were slaughtered by the Turkish government and Turkish soldiers. But I still enjoy Turkish music, Turkish art, and I have Turkish friends who probably had grandparents who were Turkish soldiers during the genocide.”

Another philosophy of dealing with this dissonance is more subjective and personal, which is to see the art and the artist as one inseparable thing. This way, our experience with the art becomes more of a matter of human connection. The art acts a bridge, founded on our shared humanity, by which we connect with the artist. 

A few days ago, I came across a heartbreaking article by a journalist named Jeff Gammage, in which he criticized Bruce Springsteen’s exorbitant ticket prices. Ticketmaster had recently practiced a dynamic or demand-based pricing system, which reportedly charged up to $5,000 dollars a seat for a Bruce Springsteen concert.

Gammage’s relationship with Springsteen’s music was deeply intimate. For the longest time, Springsteen’s music provided a voice for the average working folk such as Gammage. The music made him feel heard, like he had a shoulder to lean on during his toughest times. Not only that, it was the soundtrack of his life, as a Springsteen song would play in the background as he danced with his wife on their wedding day, and as they welcomed the birth of their baby daughter. He even planned for a Springsteen song to play at his funeral.

But over time, the irony became more apparent. Springsteen continued to write and sing songs about the struggles of the working class, while he was making millions of dollars himself.

Still, when Gammage heard the news about the ticket prices, he had some faith left in him. He thought it was a mistake, and that Springsteen would stand up for his fans, as he used to do. But Springsteen didn’t. He endorsed the pricing system, and like adding salt to his fans’ wounds, he said in an interview that, “If there’s any complaints on the way out, you can have your money back.”

For Gammage, this was the last straw, and he finally bid goodbye to his longtime favorite artist. “Once, covering Bruce’s book tour, I stood 15 feet from him,” he wrote in his article. “I thought it would be disappointing to be stranded in the press pen, watching others shake his hand and say hello. But I found that being close was enough. I didn’t need to tell Bruce how I felt. To thank him for all he had done and to try to explain all it meant. He knew.

“I don’t know what I’d say to him now. Maybe what he’s told us in a thousand songs: No one can hurt you as much as someone you love.”

And now, going back to the questions I put forward at the beginning of this article on how to best deal with this dissonance, and whether or not we should let it influence our experience of the art — honestly, my answer to all of these questions is, I don’t know.

Personally, I’ve been on both ends of the spectrum, and I’ve yet to find a middle ground. I don’t believe any of the philosophies I talked about earlier are better than the other. And neither do I believe that there is one best way to experience an art.

Both philosophies are valid. Everyone experiences art differently depending on their own preferred philosophy — whether objective or subjective. And like myself, your philosophy may change depending on the art and how much it means to you on a personal level. 

On one hand, I’m aware that artists are people, in the sense that they are never going to be perfect, or at least never as idealistic or larger-than-life as they may appear through their art. At times, I can acknowledge that human beings can be incredibly stupid — and some more stupid than others — and still create great art.

Just as how Daron Malakian objectively related with Charles Manson’s work, I can do this with Carlos Castaneda’s Journey to Ixtlan. Being fully aware of the shithead Castaneda was in real life, I can still enjoy Journey to Ixtlan as a great book in itself. I can even say that Castaneda was a great writer, whether or not his writings were true.

But on the other hand, I’m aware that some part of the artist inevitably exists in their art. And this is also what makes art so meaningful and sublime. Because having that visceral knowledge that there is a real person behind the art makes you feel that you are not alone in your struggles. Through their art, the artist is letting you know that they understand how you feel, and is offering their hand in getting you through life.

And so, it’s only natural for me to get attached to an artist through their art. Just as Jeff Gammage felt disillusioned and heartbroken about Bruce Springsteen, at times I can feel offended when the artist whom I look up to does something controversial, or when they act in ways that out of line with their teachings or public image.

I remember going through this sort of thing with Eric Clapton and his music a couple of years ago. I used to not only adore his music and guitar playing, but his personal story about sobriety and dealing with tragedy meant a lot to me in developing my own outlook on life.

But later, as Covid was raging at its worst, Clapton became a vicious anti-vaxxer, even writing songs to exclusively protest the vaccination programs. Looking back, maybe it was in the heat of the moment, but I thought he was being utterly selfish and irresponsible about a life-and-death matter, and I tapped on the unfollow button. Nevertheless, I couldn’t listen to Clapton’s music today in the same way I did before.

Anyhow, this article was more of a ramble than anything. I apologize if you expected to find clear-cut answers to my questions in this article. But I guess with some things, it’s probably better to leave their grey areas uncolored.

I’d love to know what your thoughts are.