When an artist, celebrated for their creative brilliance, is revealed to have committed acts that are morally or legally wrong, where does that leave their art?
Can an awesome artwork, a captivating film or an incredible song still be appreciated, untainted by the faults of its creator?
This isn’t a simple question and, in the context of contemporary culture, the world seems to change it’s mind quite a bit.
On one side of the debate stands the argument for the art.
This view asserts that a work of art has an intrinsic value, separate and distinct from the personal character or actions of the individual who brought it into being.
The beauty of a painting, the empathetic power of a film or the emotive pull of a piece of music – in many ways, the meaning and impact sits within the canvas of its construct.
To deny the experience of some of the most life-affirming art because the crackpot who created it has committed a crime feels like a greater loss for the audience than the author.
A titan of twentieth-century art.
His name alone is used to reference creative genius in conversation and culture.
Picasso’s impact on modern art is undeniable. Yet, the tales told of Picasso and his treatment of women would be inexcusable in any modern context.
Hannah Gadsby, in her 2018 comedic odyssey Nanette, gives a lengthy bit about the bad behaviour of the 20th century’s most revered artist. And, from many other accounts, it can’t be denied that Pablo was an asshole.
Yet, have you stood in front of Guernica?
Does his bad (bordering criminal) behaviour negate the artistic merit of one of history’s most powerful anti-war masterpieces?
The painting's visceral depiction of suffering, potent political message, artistic impact – surely these stand alone, irrespective of Picasso's personal failings?
It’s tempting to draw a line between Picasso and his incredibly prolific back catalogue - and perhaps the world has?
Ol’ Pablo’s artworks have maintained a leading position across auction rankings for decades with Rene Magritte only recently taking the top spot for global auction turnover. Likely due to the fact collectors perceive Picasso’s artworks to be too valuable to sell, for now.
One might argue that as soon as the art is released into the world it takes on a life of its own. Its interpretation and impact shaped by the viewer and no longer dictated by a creepy old dude with a paint brush.
This perspective aligns with the postmodernist notions of New Criticism, a 20th-century literary theory that focused on the text itself, emphasising careful reading and encouraging the analysis of form, language, and structure to create or understand meaning. In short, thinkers of this school only want to see the art.
Probably the most famous argument for new criticism was penned by Roland Barnes in 1967 in his essay, The Death of an Author.
Barthes argued that the meaning of a text is not fixed by the author's intention but is instead constructed by the reader.
In this framework, the moral failings of the artist become less relevant to the interpretation and appreciation of the art itself.
A straight down the barrel counter-argument would insist that such a clean separation is not only impossible but also ethically dubious.
Art is never created in a vacuum. It is invariably embedded with the values, experiences, and worldview of its creator.
To ignore the immoral actions of anyone because they do good work is, in essence, to turn a blind eye to the potential influence of those actions on their work and (more importantly?) on the broader cultural landscape.
Harvey Weinstein. A very bad man. Convicted of sexual assault and rape, produced and distributed numerous critically acclaimed films under Miramax, Dimension and TWC.
Yet, the horrific nature of his crimes makes it difficult to engage with these films without acknowledging the pain and exploitation that might have played a part in their creation.
The economic reality is that consuming an artist's work, in most cases, provides them with direct or indirect financial benefit, potentially enabling further harmful behaviour or at least contributing to their continued power and influence.
Any child of the 90s should find this moral conundrum at least a little bit worrying. The filmography distributed and produced by Weinstein’s businesses is extensive and in many instances, practically genre defining.
There have been a number of powerfully philosophical essays written in recent years which brood on this very dilemma.
Claire Dederer wrote a whole book about it - more pointedly, her own struggles as a lifelong fan of Woody Allen in conflict with her feminist self.
Writer Roxanne Gay, in her powerful essay "Can I Enjoy the Art but Denounce the Artist?", argues that we cannot simply compartmentalise artistic genius and moral failings.
There are certainly ethical implications from this debate, and an even greater risk of creating a culture that tolerates or even excuses harmful behaviour in the name of artistic achievement.
Books, films and art all, in a weird way, benefit from their medium - as there is often a physical distance between the art and the artist.
For example, Harvey Weinstein just put up the cash and assembled the teams for many of his films - you could easily argue that the works created under the banners of his subsidiaries are not actually his creations.
Music, however, treads a much murkier path. Many musicians, and the songs they create, are portholes into their worlds. They sell authenticity, in their songs and their public facing personas.
Rap, punk and country have similarities in their emergence as art forms, but also their rejection of the mainstream. They all demand a verifiable level of authenticity from the artist. A rapper that riffs about a life of crime will be torn down by genre loyalists if the truth is free of misdemeanor. Likewise, punk, for all its contradictions, demands a level of authenticity from artists.
Rappers tell tales of gangland wars, murder and infidelity - and we learn all the words to sing along. If what they’re singing about is no cap (as the kids say), then where does that leave us ethically and morally?
When we hear the name P Diddy we shake our heads, but when we hear the chorus to ‘I’ll Be Missing You’, we nod.
Jacob Kuppermann posits that "by creating a culture that excuses the misdeeds of the powerful, talented or rich, we make it harder for their victims... to retain their dignity in society."
The act of continued consumption, therefore, becomes not just a personal choice but a political and social statement.
Maria Gracia, a senior editor of The ARTery, offers a critical perspective on the very notion of artistic genius, arguing that "the art that we uphold as genius or indispensable from human history is also of this world — tethered to and a product of existing systems of power, like capitalism and white supremacy."
This viewpoint challenges the idea of art as existing in an "altruistic, alternate universe.”
Instead, it emphasizes the social and political context in which art is created and consumed, suggesting that our appreciation is often shaped by and reinforces existing power structures.
Our individual moral compass, our proximity to the victims of the artist's actions, and our personal connection to the art itself all play a significant role in how we navigate this complex terrain.
The article proposes three potential scenarios: if one feels distant from the victim, separation might seem easier; if one feels a strong connection to the victim or their cause, abandoning the art might be the only ethical choice; and if one loves the art but is also sympathetic to the victim, a state of uncomfortable cognitive dissonance may ensue.
Ultimately, there is no universally applicable moral algorithm to resolve this dilemma.
The attempt to establish a collective moral standard for separating art from the artist is likely to remain elusive.
As the concluding thoughts of both articles suggest, this is a nuanced issue that demands careful consideration, empathy, critical thinking, and a commitment to justice.
While the allure of artistic brilliance can be powerful, we must also grapple with the ethical implications of our consumption choices and the potential impact they have on the broader cultural and social landscape.
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