A problem with heroism and art
What happens to our feelings about the art when we discover the artist isn’t a nice person, or worse?
Jessica Hooper explains the dilemma well:
“Yeah, we can just shorthand it as bad people making good art. I’m not interested in music that’s scrubbed and safe, and art is complicated.” (Full interview at Paste Magazine)
Which puts us in a similar position as our history classrooms and textbooks, what James Loewen, author of Lies My Teachers Told Me, describes as “handicapped by history”:
“The results of herofication are potentially crippling to students…Our children end up without realistic role models to inspire them. Students also develop no understanding of causality in history” (28-29).
John Lennon is one of the most influential songwriters, an outspoken symbol for peace; but he also acted in a terrible fashion to his family, a story plagued with affairs and domestic violence. (Julian Lennon’s interview: Dad was a hypocrite.)
Does it ruin the art?
Does history give him a pass because of his songwriting; and if we give one talented artist a pass, what does that say when we don’t give the same annulment to another artist? Say, Chris Brown?
Artists do need to be held accountable during their lifetimes, and we don’t do ourselves a service by whitewashing their legacies after they’ve died.
Art is a symbol of the human condition. We must embrace it, let it challenge us. And if the story of the human condition is complex, it most likely mirrors elements of our own life stories.
I don’t know what happens to our feelings about art when we discover the story of the artist, but the story of heroism is much worse. Leave heroes for the Greek myths. Let our role-models be human. Sometimes, the art must stand on it’s own.
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