MT White
The Artist’s Fortitude
Fame
Who am I to write about this topic?
It’s easy to mistake narcissism for fame.
BUT!
In our modern era, it’s easier than ever to develop a degree of fame with a certain niche. The long tail is one feature of the social media world that is both positive and negative. You can reach an audience, but it can also give you a bloated sense of self-importance while also pigeonholing you at same time. For many, this may be enough. I’m reminded of those in my hometown of Bryan, Texas, who thought their position at the local Texas A&M University, or their monopolistic hold on a certain business in the town (like the artist Benjamin Knox who is kind of the unofficial court artist for the university or the local TV sports anchor), in which they wielded their fame with a disproportionate egotism. A couple of examples: 1) Knox allegedly told a co-worker of mine that his signing a document was a big deal with such a repulsive cockiness, she felt need to note it. 2) The local sports anchor, kind of an institution, tried to get a discount on some electronics at a local store by asking (without irony), “Do you know who I am?” Every small town, especially in the South, has their self-declared barons, a big fish in a small pond. Cyberspace is no different.
But it can give you an idea about fame, even if you haven’t appeared on Page Six or TMZ or been chased by paparazzi.
I think many artists want some fame or at the very least are curious about it. When someone tells me, “I don’t care about being famous,” I sense it’s just a protective statement either to not sound narcissistic or just declare themselves morally superior (a form of narcissism).
In a sphere like the arts, where “purity” is valued, it does make sense for one to be suspicious of fame and the famous, thinking they made some sort of devil’s bargain to attain it or (gulp) produced a work so amazingly generic that it appealed to a large number of people. But on the reverse side, one might want to have prestige, its own form of fame, lacking a monetary reward, as David Foster Wallace noted, “If you write philosophy books, you’re basically worrying a whole lot about what other philosophers think, and that’s just about it.”
It’s natural to want a modicum of recognition for your work because, let’s face it, in order to have any degree of influence you must be known by at least the “right” people, whether it be the powerful few or the masses.
Every artist referenced in this book had some form of fame, whether it be in their lifetime or posthumous. The latter case, like Vincent Van Gogh, or Franz Kafka is actually rarer than the former. Some like Dostoevsky, Braque, Gauguin, Fitzgerald or Herman Melville, were known commodities in their lifetimes, but their work became more appreciated and famous afterwards. Others, like Gore Vidal or Zane Grey, had their fame die with them.
I think many artists were inspired by a mass medium at the very least. I started drawing because of comics and to draw characters like Spider-man or Batman. Movies that awakened my sense of visual aesthetics as a teen, like Nikita, Brazil and Blade Runner, were not independent or experimental films but major releases. Up until recently, even the most avant garde work required some form of distribution and promotion in the biggest cities to gain notice. We know about early David Lynch or Stanley Brakhage or Chantal Akerman because someone found their works important enough to promote and distribute them. We know about the likes of Abstract Expressionists like Jackson Pollock because Peggy Guggenheim gave him patronage and got his work displayed at uptown New York galleries. Niche fame, but fame and favor nonetheless; respect given by a certain set.
Most artists want art to be their sole concern, and today this requires income. This income is usually provided by a patron who feels that by paying you their investment will be returned (a publisher, a movie studio, an art gallery, a record label etc.), or a patron who feels they are nurturing a talent that has yet to be fully appreciated (this can be in the form of a person or an endowment or the same entities listed above). In literature, JD Salinger received carte blanche because his books sold but Cormac McCarthy needed grants from endowments to support his writing until his work alone could support him. Jim Harrison got $50,000 from his friend Jack Nicholson. In film, Steven Spielberg got a mostly blank check. Robert Altman and Woody Allen had the favor of certain studio bosses, regardless of box office performance. Someone with money or influence was aware of and appreciated their talent.
Fame, recognition, and the sometimes monetary rewards that follow are very much prerequisites for legitimacy, artistic or otherwise. Example: I gave a female receptionist a copy of an essay I wrote, but she’s yet to read it…and yet, there she is at her desk reading Viktor Frankl because her favorite YouTubers recommended it. Frankl was designated more legitimate and urgent to read than me (someone she personally knows) because of his past and who championed him. Such is life. In the US at least, fame also gives one a form of moral legitimacy, that somehow attaining success legitimizes every other aspect of one’s life, decisions both personal and public (notice how, regardless of respective political or religious belief, when a celebrity expresses their support for said belief, the adherents celebrate it). Actors think their celebrity gives their political views weight. A billionaire like Bill Gates thinks he can lecture about and determine a global vaccination protocol. Billionaires like Ross Perot and Donald Trump thought they should be President. Most self-help and motivational literature is geared towards helping and motivating one to “keep going” in order to achieve their “dreams” (which is success at whatever task). The social media app Cameo features mostly celebrities mostly bequeathing their admonitions to “hang in there”, to respective, unknown individuals, even though they were paid to say it, yet somehow seeing a celebrity mouth the scripted, yet personally directed words, like a cipher, somehow will divine something. As playwright John Steppling observed: “Ambition has replaced curiosity.” And really, that’s why I’ve mainly excluded the platforms of the internet, like self-publishing, streaming, social media etc. These are just mass, electronic extensions of the avenues always available to independent artists. One could always self-publish or self-exhibit, the tools have just become more sophisticated. But it’s rooted mainly in ambition, with success of the respective artist geared on sheer numbers, on volume, the masses determining what is of value (and since when has the crowd been deemed smarter or worthier in determining talent?). It’s all based on ego, meaning it is at the not highest level of engagement and thought but the lowest. Self-publishing used to be called “vanity publishing” for a reason.
Living in the success obsessed results oriented NOW can warp an artist’s work and (excuse the word) motivation to varying degrees. I remember watching a documentary about Karate in Okinawa. During a sparring session, the instructor, a strict, older Okinawan yelled at his British student for concentrating too much on “winning” rather than participating in the natural exchange of Uke (loosely translated as “receiving”), just letting oneself be in the moment of the fight instead of concentrating solely on the knockout blow or winning. Many Japanese arts stress this flow in a sense. In traditional combat sports, like Kyudo, Kendo, or Sumo, there are ceremonial actions that must be performed before the contest. The contest is certainly important but so are the ceremonial rites before. The same with a traditional art like Tea Ceremony. The Maccha prepared is naturally important but so are the rituals performed making it and the rituals of drinking it. It’s an appreciation of the entire flow and unity of things. An artist, purely chasing success, can corrupt this. As novelist Karl Ove Knausgaard noted about his work, “I knew so much about what people liked, I completely lost authenticity in the writing.”
In seeking success, the artist may upset their flow, denying a certain natural course of action, like making something opaque or confrontational (like Abstract Expressionist painting), and persuade themselves to make something easily digestible and “commercial” (like Bob Ross or Thomas Kinkaide). The audience or critics or influencers and their respective opinions will haunt them as they work on their creations. While this is certainly a natural state of affairs regardless—no one exists alone—it can become heightened and all-consuming about pleasing THEM, a (mostly unidentified) mass who the artist will probably never meet or at very most have limited engagement with, and yet, this mass looms like an invisible zombie horde because the artist wants their cash or approval. In our long-tail niche world, it actually might become more warped. The artist might not want to upset their hyper particular audience by going even slightly off-script—you don’t want to anger your core audience. The purity spiral can drain quickly into a struggle session…But we are citizens of this hyper-modern world and therefore are products of its time. We desire fame or at the very least recognition from either those more famous or whom we esteem, seeing it as the gods bestowing us some favor by just looking in our direction. Indie filmmaker and instructor Rick Schmidt, a person very much against the Hollywood system, noted how after all his struggles to make his film 1988: The Musical, he ran into a drunk Dennis Hopper at a film festival and received praise from the famous actor. The climatic reward of going through divorce and financial hardship for a film is a verbal pat on the back from a notorious yet washed-up actor? Whatever helps justify the struggle. To promote Schmidt’s book Feature Filmmaking at Used Car Prices, the copy states how the book is “credited with influencing filmmakers Kevin Smith, Vin Diesel, Tom DiCillo and many others.” The subtext is clear: You read this book, you too could be successful like the aforementioned. Forget the fact the contents of the book betray the back-cover sales copy (the introduction by Ray Carney immediately nukes commonly held notions of commercial filmmaking).
But Schmidt isn’t alone. Whenever I’ve had someone more widely known than myself praise my work, I’m quick to inform family and friends. I have friends who have done the same. It’s just in our nature. If Dennis Hopper said he loved my work, I’d probably say the ends justified the means.
But fame is mostly fleeting. And fickle.
.jpeg)
.jpeg)
