Vulnerability as Art Separation

Before getting into the continuation of my last essay, On Art & Separation, I realized that I had found a much more poetic way of saying it all along. E.E. Cummings, one of my favorite poets, wrote some advice for young poets back in 1955. The bit that I read is quite short—a minute read, tops—so I won’t say anything more on the subject except to quote what I believe to be most relevant to the subject of personas in art:

Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a single human being can be taught to feel. Why? Because whenever you think or you believe or you know, you’re a lot of other people: but the moment you feel, you’re nobody-but-yourself.

Like my theory on personas, Cummings is touching on the notion of what the artistic pursuit requires, both in creation and reception: experience. Reducing it down to emotional feeling is perhaps not exactly what I argued for, but it certainly informs it. As humans, our daily experience of life is at its most unique, bound to our feelings. Imagine thought informed by how it sits in your heart, as opposed to its logical implications, which can theoretically be seen and thought by everyone. If your goal in writing poetry is to evoke feeling [truth], you must write it first. And to do that, you must know yourself; specifically, know how life sits within your own heart.

I am finishing a different piece that delves into my thoughts on the initial source of our inspiration, where it might reside, how it might work, etc. I think this quote in particular is a simpler way of getting at this question, perhaps a starting place for that exploration. I may return to this quote.

I do hope you read Cummings' tiny piece of poetic advice.

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I ended the previous essay discussing the utility of separating the creator from the creation, how ideally, we should do both: separate and include the context or intention. This is the core of my argument. However, I believe that consumers put too much weight on the artistic intention, artist background, the inspirational story, and the like. We see this in many different forms of art, music, film, writing, visual art, and more. If a reader or viewer takes one of these things and discusses it in a way that goes counter to the creator’s intentions, we can now hear about it on social media platforms or the news, and possibly get blamed for bringing unconscious biases to our interpretations.

To my view, and according to all that I’ve previously discussed on the utility of artistic separation, this is what happens when we expect art to be a direct reflection of the artist (any notion of personas ignored). Even the artists are falling into this trap.

The truth is that as much as the artist may wish for the perfect audience, they have no control over it. And that's okay. If someone is loudly proclaiming the wrong conclusions about your book, for example, you have no control over that. You can rebut that person, sure, but ultimately, they’re just doing what you wanted them to: Experience what you created.

(Lines are crossed when free speech is hindered. Free speech is a tenet that I will always defend, as artistic expression is its highest form.)

I believe there is a universal belief regarding art: It is meant to expand beyond the creator. This is done by reaching the receiver, the audience, and touching them somehow. Nothing can be more important than this, for art cannot fully manifest until it is experienced.

If an artist keeps his creation secret, all that matters then is how the piece affects him and him alone. Once someone else sees it, all that matters is how the piece affects that person (and then the next, and the next…) So art cannot remain inside the intentions of the author, or even the era and culture it was born into. As time goes on, art touches different parts of the audience, as they bring their own context to it. It is a conversation, always.

As a writer, I find that once I publish a poem or story, I enter into a reality completely apart from my creation process. Giving it to a beta reader, editor, or publishing it in any form—that is an act of vulnerability. It should not be an act of catharsis. If it is, I fear the writer expects validation rather than honest reception.

I believe this can be seen in authors who take criticism poorly. Pouring one’s heart into a piece does not grant one the right to dismiss valid (or even invalid) reviews or critiques out of hand. The nature of art is to take a pulse. If it’s weak, you adapt. If it’s strong, expect to find a few who didn’t like it. The "few" in either scenario will inform the majority opinion. No matter the pulse, though, an author must accept what happens. My goal is to always take criticism with an open mind, as I rarely find myself to be correct about my own work. I may like it, I may read it and feel proud. Yet, I’m too close to it.

Can you see where I’m going with this?

If the artist is too close to their own work, it follows that the consumer should strive for distance, even separation. In the last essay, I said, “The closer art is to its creator, the shorter its leash, and the harder it is for an audience to fully understand and experience it.”

Consider visual art.

Paintings, sculptures, buildings, or drawings…All of these are visual experiences that trickle down into our emotions, memories, beliefs. They are pieces of soul from the artist, yes, but this fact is secondary to what the viewer’s personal context brings to the experience.

An example of this not being embraced is with abstract art. Artists who push their intention onto their pieces just can’t allow their art to stand on its own. The reason for this? It can’t—and that’s not a bad thing, merely, a convention of the genre. Abstract art has got to be the most subjective form of art that I can think of. If an artist can’t accept someone’s interpretation of it because “that’s not what I intended,” I can’t in good faith consider them a true artist.

The artist has to be able to let go of their work.

This separation starts with the artist, as we have to push it away from us into the eyes of someone strange. Once there, it should not rubber band back. The separation must continue, if only for the initial experience of the piece.

I think about the distance at which we consume writing compared to art. While reading, I am inches, maybe a foot and a half, away from the story. That’s too close to stand to a stranger or even a spouse. Yet in an art museum, we stand feet, even yards, back. With architecture, sometimes we’re hundreds of yards back. That space is where the viewer feels. To have that space to a piece of writing, we need to consciously and mentally create it. An exercise.

As creators, as artists, as writers, we are only one half of truth: the proposer. Truth doesn't exist merely because it is true. It has to be accepted, too. We must prepare for our proposition to be rejected, criticized (constructively or not), considered indefinitely, and played with until it is accepted. Perhaps it will never be accepted…but we must do it, just as the truth demands to be completed.

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Thank you so much for reading!

If I write a third installment, I know I will explore the notion of art as it travels through time, and how the separation takes on reality. It is not, at this point, the foundation for a long essay, or even one that holds new insights. Let me know if you’re interested, and I’ll see what more I can bring to it.

Any questions or suggestions are most welcome!