The Artist’s Fortitude by MT White 'Obstinance'

 The Artist’s Fortitude

By MT White

Obstinance

Felt a need to title this chapter “Obstinance”. Not sure why. Looked up the definition online and found: “Stubbornly refusing to change one’s opinion or chosen course of action, despite attempts to persuade one to do so.”

The “chosen course of action” in question here is making art, being an artist.

Who or what is trying to persuade us otherwise from creation?

Loved ones, circumstances, the world itself with its institutions and economic structures, you know, life in general. But we ourselves are also trying to persuade ourselves to stop. At least one side of us…

Recently, after watching an interview with Tom Wolfe on YouTube, I wrote the following in my notebook: “Tom Wolfe said (on “Firing Line”) an author should be popular, citing those like (Emile) Zola and (Yukio) Mishima. One should only be considered ‘pure literature’ if it’s ‘pure’. But my literature isn’t ‘pure’. And I have no support system, like an inheritance or endowment, grants etc. So, it’s either go popular or go home. Which begs the question: Why the fuck am I doing this? You should only do things for love or money. And I neither love this nor am I making any money and I hardly have any notice. I’ve been doing this (writing novels) for 13 years and the dividends have been minimal. Nothing is forcing me to continue. Is it God-given talent I’m denying (by not writing)? I don’t know. I suppose if you don’t know then you do know.”

The entry immediately after: “I have close to nothing to show for it (writing). I wrote for money and fame. I failed to acquire either of them.”

There’s pages more of lament but I won’t burden you with them. But here’s the final entry after concluding it all a hobby: “I want to enjoy my hobby, not hate it. I’ve come close to hating writing. Yet, I’m still collecting notes (for a forthcoming novel).”

I feel depressed just revisiting said notes. But it’s a snapshot of where my mind was, and where it can wander from time to time.

And the concluding note…haunts? “Yet, I’m still collecting notes”…

A novel in the back of my mind for years. Collecting and collecting…

Habit? Obstinance? Probably both.

Emotions are fickle, especially when it comes to things important to us. In the span of a day or the span of a minute, we can run the gamut of emotions from love to hate, elation to despair. But sometimes, one overarching emotion sits with us, like despair, with infrequent and brief visitations from counter emotions. 

For all the admirable wisdom of the Stoics and even that of later philosophers—like Immanuel Kant and Arthur Schopenhauer—it’s easy to get discouraged by external circumstances (objective events). Training inner (subjective) resolve is quite a task that we are not always up to…and let’s be honest: The artistic/creative type tends to be more sensitive than most.

So, the persuasive discouragement from our inner voice can ring loudly at times, even overpowering us.

And it isn’t always wrong.

Sometimes we just need to stop. Even quit. Or at the very least, take a break.

For writing, I’m not a believer in the theory that one must write every day, as stated by commercially successful writers like Stephen King, Steven Pressfield and even literary novelists like Larry McMurtry. They’re all more accomplished than me, but there’s a good chance they are attributing a dubious habit to their success (because all three are from working class backgrounds?), a survivorship bias. A counterexample is Georges Simenon, who only wrote three months out of the year, and was equally successful (maybe even more so) than those above, or Jim Harrison, who wrote “Legends of the Fall” in only nine days and felt you should let a work just build up inside of you before you sit down to write it. In other fields, there’s the likes of Abstract Expressionist painter Jackson Pollock, who only painted between long bouts of alcoholic binges. Another bias is that of privilege: They are all professionals, after all. They can write, paint, or whatever daily because they are paid to. It’s like saying, “Do your job” every day. There’s multiple reasons for someone’s success. Habits are one of multiple factors, superseded by things like connections, talent or just the pure luck of producing at a time when the market conditions are ideal for what you are selling (the talent of business acumen mattering more than the talent of writing—or any other type of art).

For those of us not full-timers, the frustration or exhaustion can set in as the years go by, seemingly with little progress made. There’s also the effect of having another job, regardless of what said job is—whatever pays the bills and puts food on the table. The fact we are doing another task, dedicating our time to it day in and day out at the expense of what we feel is our true vocation, will affect us mentally, spiritually and even physically. 

When I participated in an AMA with Bret Easton Ellis, I asked him about his editing process. In my question, I used the phrase “revise accordingly” which seemed to bother Ellis. He chided me in his reply for using such a “corporate” phrase. In retrospect, he was right. But I work in the corporate world. It has affected me to my deepest core in the words I use (like “revise accordingly”), the way I interact with others (guarded or even canned conversations), and the way I see the world. This is reflected in my novels and essays. I can use and have used it as a tool of reflection, a perspective from inside the belly of the beast. Bret, on the other hand, from a financially well-off family, has been a professional writer since college (when “Less Than Zero” was published and became a best-seller). His experience is different. But every worthwhile artist’s experience is reflected throughout their work, like a diamond reflecting light in multifaceted ways, depending on the angle. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s eight-year experience in the Gulag, and subsequent exile in Kazakhstan (where he worked as a math teacher and wrote in the evenings), informed his work more than just providing raw material. It also set him on a path to question the very foundational existence of the USSR, to the point he felt like a foreigner in his native Russia.

But the fact we must “work”, modern society’s demanding it, takes a toll. As psychiatrist Peadar O’Grady noted, a person’s “ability to work” is the gauge of their mental health (Someone unable to work? Prescribe them some drugs!), whereas the root cause of mental distress (workplace conditions/financial concerns) is rarely discussed—and if they are discussed, it’s only in the most superficial way. 

This permeates the cultural environment at large—even for artists. Phrases like “writer’s block” have a negative connotation: You can’t write, implying you can’t produce. It’s purely pejorative. The refusal or inability to produce is seen as flighty or weak. David Mamet told actors not to “internalize the industrial model” but it has been internalized at almost every level.

This quote from Yamamoto Tsunetomo’s “Hagakure” inspired this chapter: “A Samurai should be excessively obstinate. Anything done in moderation will fall short of your goals. If you feel that you are doing more than is needed, it will be just right.”

Of course, the Samurai were a privileged class but as a ruling class they also had a duty: To their retainer and by extension, their fiefdom. 

And as an artist, when you do work, the question must be asked: “Who am I working for?”

Are you working for an audience? Applause? Yourself? God? A mixture of all? For Michel De Montaigne (also a member of the ruling class), an audience of the self was sufficient enough. Yet, for Tom Wolfe (not necessarily from the ruling class but upper class for sure), a work needed to be popular. Add to this the daily drudgery of a job with the rest of life’s challenges and things appear overwhelming.

But there is that silent thread of obstinacy in an artist… 

Artist Jeff Koons (comfortably middle-class) talked about walking on the street, feeling a physical pain while contemplating a potential work. I’ve felt same…

It’s here where inspiration can appear. Sometimes doing tasks on autopilot, or just having a routine, frees up the mind and that’s when ideas appear. We can’t help but think creatively. Ideas, concepts—they present themselves and it is then we have a choice to follow these seeds, help them grow, or ignore them.

As a working-class teenager, when I washed dishes in the kitchen of the hot deli at my local grocery store, I’d think of many ideas for the comic books I was planning or working on. I almost looked forward to doing the dishes in a way. Did any of these ideas come to fruition? Hardly. But it was an impulse I eventually started acting on more and more. 

One time, on the drive in to work, I thought about my novel “CONTENT”, which I was writing at the time. I forget why or what, but as I pulled into my parking space, I couldn’t help but think “I really care what others think.” Then I thought, “I care what you think.” Decided to start the novel stating outright, “I care what you think” which started an entire thread of ideas, becoming almost a mantra throughout the novel. Subsequently, it’s consistently mentioned by those who have read “CONTENT”. A creative victory from just doing something as innocuous as parking. 

This is where, I think, free will and choice play their part. The artistic impulse is a seed that needs to be watered. 

Does modern life retard this growth? Absolutely. The reason I didn’t act on my ideas as a teenager was mainly distractions and pure laziness. Our world is only growing in distractions, mainly with passive entertainment growing, which can only encourage laziness in the less conscientious of us. But throughout my search for entertainment, there was always that gnawing feeling…of creative ideas, whether it be book, movie, comic, art installation or whatever. After I actually started acting on some of these ideas, there was the gnawing idea of “failure”. 

Either way, there is a gnawing feeling. “Failure” is better of the two because 1) It’s a subjective definition (some have expressed jealousy at my life and accomplishments) 2) It could potentially reap dividends (forgive the corporate word) in the future and 3) It’s better to know you’ve been obstinate and done something than rather live with “what if’s”, while just watching TV, playing video games—being a consumer while being consumed. Obstinance feels better. 

As Solzhenitsyn said about his time in prison: “We are highly responsible for the development of the innate qualities nature bestows upon us.” He noted how his fellow prison inmates nurtured their respective positive or negative qualities while being locked up. Some became scoundrels, some became saints. He chose to nourish his creative nature, even if he didn’t have the best ingredients: He wrote passages on small scraps of paper or even committed whole works to memory, typing them up years later. In the Gulag, the worst of circumstances, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn was obstinate. This continued in the years of exile, through the publication of “One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich” eight years later.

We may not have such a historical moment. I know I certainly haven’t. But what good are we doing otherwise, ignoring these artistic impulses? By at least creating, we are opening up possibilities. It’s better than nothing.

French film director Eric Rohmer said when he started making films, he decided that if he was consistent enough on a theme he would eventually gain some sort of following. I’ve experienced same. There’s billions of people in this world. There’s going to be at least a few who get you.

And an artist can’t help but create. And they don’t have to create to the demands of the modern world’s schedule. But if they are an artist, they will do…something. 

When I am doing something creative, when I feel I’m at the peak of mental taxation, that’s when I’ve done my best work, echoing the “Hagakure” passage. I’m NOT advising to work yourself to death. Actually, I’m not advising anything. Just reflecting on my own obstinance. There has been no great fiscal pay-off, hardly any critical accolades, save for those close to me.

But per Montaigne, that should be enough. It really should be because without any other reward, I would just be taxing myself, stressed out comparing results to the market model. Actually, that is what I did—and still do to an extent. But I started the slow, subtle shift to asking myself, the audience of one, if I was satisfied with my work. And it helped refuel the creatively obstinate nature, because the pressure, the burden to produce, was lifted.

But even then, it was just temporary relief.

M.T.White’s powerful & provocative novel CONTENT is available on Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/CONTENT-M-T-White-ebook/dp/B0877CNVRD. I called for it to be banned & pulped, they refused. “Combining provocation with apocalyptic vision, CONTENT presents a world on the brink of chaos as the forces of governments, technology, social media, ideology & religious cults vie for power & control of the masses.”