Art and Artist
I never know where I stand on separating the art from the artist.
I found out a lot of disappointing things about a band that meant a lot to me when I was a teen.
One of few bands I’ve seen live. One who are skilled musicians and wonderful performers.
Performances I can’t imagine other bands pulling off in the same way.
The longest note I’ve ever heard anyone hold. Another band members had time during the note to unscrew a water bottle, drink, and do it back up.
It sounds fake as I write it, but that happened.
The swell of the crowd, not so much physically but emotionally when the big hit started playing.
Indescribable.
And then you find out about horrible beliefs, that they think some people are lesser because of silly social (and it’s easy to infer in this case religious) “rules”.
That the other band members don’t call out the behaviour, thereby bystander condoning it.
I don’t find value in naming them, nor will I confirm or deny if you guess or know me so well you know exactly what experiences I’m talking about.
It’s the jumble of feelings you have when you remember the deep and irreplaceable memories they have given you vs the nasty things implied about other humans.
My ability to keep the art and the artist separated seems to depend on how much I want the art.
If I want it a lot, I decry only the artist, letting myself keep the art.
If I find myself detached from the art for whatever reason, time, age, distance … then I find myself able to be of the “don’t support the art because it supports the artist” view.
This means my ethics on this feel baseless. Or is it responsive? Is it privilege because as a straight white woman it’s unlikely I will be the target of their words?
By the way, I write a lot about creativity (and creativity with a chronic illness) on my Patreon page. You can join for as little as $AUD 1.50/month and get early access to posts.
