Do You Want People to Separate You From Your Art?

Roman Polanski, Kevin Spacey, Michael Jackson, Caravaggio, Richard Wagner, Woody Allen, J.K. Rowling, T.S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, Virginia Woolf, R. Kelly, Miles Davis, Carl Jung, Francis Bacon, and Jackson Pollock.

A long list, but nowhere near exhaustive. I could cite hundreds of individuals who are both loved and hated — revered for their art and condemned for their actions.

What’s the point, Paul?

Fair question. This was not what I was going to write today, but sometimes that's the way the cookie crumbles when it comes to creativity.

I was in the shower (where most of my ideas arrive — or on the toilet, walking, lying down, sitting up, listening to music… basically anytime I’m awake), and a thought struck me.

First: wash the sack and crack. Essential.

But right after that: we’re always debating whether people should separate the art from the artist.

Yet if we turned that gaze onto ourselves, would we want to be separated from our creations?

Or do we secretly hope the people reading our work see the whole messy human being we are and still find meaning in what we make?

As someone who’s had his fair share of problems — addiction, online relationships outside my marriage, lying and deceiving, the whole duplicitous mess — this question has been on my mind more and more.

And honestly? My view might be controversial.

I don’t actually want people to separate my art from me.

Not because I think what I did was excusable. It wasn’t and the untold pain it has caused those nearest and dearest to me is evidence of that.

I think my own behaviour was disgusting and deplorable, and I won’t blame anyone who feels the same. Lying and cheating are disgusting and deplorable.

But that’s fine. That’s up to them.

I won’t lose sleep over it, because really the only people who matter in that regard are my wife, my kids, and myself. Isn’t that true for most of us?

Maybe that’s why I don’t use a pen name or pseudonym.

(English has three different words for one thing. Says the Scot.)

I write for me, first and foremost. That is, afterall, what we all should be doing.

Anyone taking notice — any success — is a bonus. One I'm constantly grateful for, when it happens.

So if someone thinks, “That Paul is a porn-addict lowlife bottom-feeder who cheated on his wife with online relationships, and I refuse to read his stories or poetry, let alone put money in his pocket,” then…

Fine.

Like I said: won’t lose sleep.

And it won’t change what I write.

Anyone who’s read even a handful of my work — let alone those who’ve been here from the start — knows addiction, cheating, deception, lying, and the emotional fallout of all that rot show up constantly. Especially in my poetry. I am brutally honest, and don't really know how not to be.

Why would I stop writing honestly because it upsets some people? Why water myself down just so it’s easier for strangers to separate me from my art?

I truly, genuinely couldn’t give a fuck.

That’s my experience. My perspective.

And just to be clear:

My failings are not the same as the severe harm some artists have caused others. The comparison here isn’t moral equivalence, and it certainly shouldn’t be read as ambivalence.

What I’m talking about is how we view creators — including ourselves.

So… what do you think?

Would you rather people ignore your sins and consume your art anyway?

Or should they apply the same logic to you that you apply to everyone else?

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Thanks for reading!

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