“It is as dangerous for society to attract and indulge authors as it is for grain dealers to raise rats in their granaries.” - Anton Chekhov
Right now it is very difficult to be an artist. I feel for you.
When I started writing in 1966 it was very different. It was the era of abstract expressionism and conceptual art — fiction was the domain of the new French anti-novel, the ‘new criticism’ dominated poetry,’ and Bergman ruled film. Susan Sontag just published her ground breaking essay Against Interpretation (READ IT NOW!). Artists were suspicious of work with a clearly articulated message — or even of art with a meaning. Instead, artists were rebels, aesthetes and dreamers. They created — for passionate reasons they themselves could not fathom — works that some did not understand. But nevertheless somehow the greatest of these works communicated — not about the latest ‘issues’ in the news — to people who were moved, upset, angered, and inspired by art’s form, style, grace, wit, craft, and, yes, well, beauty.
Today, art is a very different matter. We are told that every artist must have a clearly articulated message, and that message must be the correct one. What is correct — and what is not — are both relentlessly argued on social media. Christian publishers will give you money to write a ‘Christian’ book. Social justice publishers will give you money to write a book that articulates the principles of social justice. Everyone will want to know what you have to say, and there are lots of rewards for saying whatever is considered by the ‘powers that be’ to be ‘the right thing.’
You must not expect to get support from libraries, universities, arts councils, publishers — in fact institutions of any kind. You must stand alone, outside. Digital media is now the conscience of the world, decreeing that there are two points of view — right and left. They world knows (and rightly so) that these ruling dichotomies are deeply threatened by artistic work.
Knowing all this, will you still want to create?
I suspect so.
Why?
Because you must, because you can do nothing else, because your art is your life.
So do it.
(How? On the sly, in secret, 'privately circulated to friends’ — however you can.)
You may be called ‘amateur’ because at one time professional standards were wholly aesthetic; now they are merely ideological.
But remember, ‘amateur’ means ‘lover.’
So always remember, you are not a preacher.
You are a lover.
