Art for no one
Inspired by Jacob Geller’s video essay of the same name
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I cannot imagine a world where I do not play to an audience: I am the tree, fallen, in the forest, my sound echoing in the ears of those who pay witness, or else not echoing at all.
Art, to me, exists in the eye of the beholder, and so what of that art that spits in that eye? Not by way of drawing attention to itself, or to make a statement, but to hide itself away. This is no hidden grotto, meant only to be shared with those precious to the artist, but instead meant to be hidden entirely. An artist who creates for nobody is not indifferent to an audience, they will instead hoard and hide away their work, and for the life of me I cannot understand it.
The idea alone is maddening, it astounds and confounds me. I try and I try to understand, but all of me, everything I am, is so completely foreign to the idea. This is not something beautiful hidden away to be found later by an unassuming stranger, delighted at what they find, no, this is to be hidden away and rot, crumble into dust.
Art is a message, to me, from the artist to audience, but why must you insist on a complete lack of one? What is your message, and whose ear is it you whisper into? God? Yourself? Nature? What do you know that I don’t, how can you create and not wish to share your thoughts, your process, the finished work?
Did it bring you shame, that wonderful work I can only describe as a masterpiece? You spend half your life, you painted it upon the walls of your house, you’ll never feel the same way again and you must look at that paint constantly. You, who carved lines into stone, perfect curves and parallels, seen only by those who watch up above, long before your decendents touched the sky, who were you carving for?
Self motivation is all well and good, but even an artist most removed from their work will still showcase it, and even if that work was mere practice, surely it wouldn’t be hidden away? Do you feel our presence; our analyses and critiques; our thoughts and our actions; might ruin your piece? Do you feel that to allow your work to be perceived is to taint it, to somehow usher in imperfection? Is it a matter of pride? Of hubris? Of shame? I only wish to understand, but is that the very reason you keep it from me?
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