Separating Art from the Artist : A Guide to a Consistent Principle
TW: Discussions of abuse and sexual assault (including of children)
In 1994 Dylan Farrow, the adopted daughter of Mia Farrow and Woody Allen penned an open letter that was published on Nicholas Kristof’s blog in the New York Times. It opens with this:
“What’s your favorite Woody Allen movie? Before you answer, you should know: when I was seven years old, Woody Allen took me by the hand and led me into a dim, closet-like attic on the second floor of our house. He told me to lay on my stomach and play with my brother’s electric train set. Then he sexually assaulted me. He talked to me while he did it…promising that we’d go to Paris and I’d be a star in his movies…To this day, I find it difficult to look at toy trains.”
She goes on.
“Last week, Woody Allen was nominated for his latest Oscar…For so long, Woody Allen’s acceptance silenced me…Woody Allen is a living testament to the way our society fails the survivors of sexual assault and abuse. So imagine your seven-year-old daughter being led into an attic by Woody Allen. Imagine she spends a lifetime stricken with nausea at the mention of his name. Imagine a world that celebrates her tormenter.
Are you imagining that? Now, what’s your favorite Woody Allen movie?”
This past Sunday HBO aired the final installment of their documentary “Allen V. Farrow.” I highly recommend you check it out. There are criticisms of it, of course, Woody Allen disputes the conclusions it draws, people claim it doesn’t include all the facts…but frankly, to me, and to many, many others it looks like good, solid journalism.
The documentary raises questions, especially in its finale, about how we can, or if we should, separate art from the artist. In our post #METOO era with revelations about, and consequences for the likes of Bill Cosby, Harvey Weinstein, and many more, how do we continue to have a relationship with the art they created?
I felt compelled to write something about this topic – one that has been a major discussion in Hollywood, but I’ve heard almost nothing about it in the theater world. I thought it’s important to look at it from all sides and rationally talk about it.
But my next thought was: I’m the worst person to start that discussion. Because I can’t help but be biased.
Let’s just say that there are remarkable similarities between Dylan Farrow’s case, and what I experienced when I was younger – the main difference is that her abuser was a beloved, famous artist, and mine was a wannabe whose name you do not know. Dylan’s was Woody Allen. Mine adored Woody Allen. I remember being uncomfortably sat in front of Allen’s movies while this person watched them with me. How they thought the relationships between a nerdy older man and, let’s just say it, basically children was perfectly fine and a source of joyful humor.
In watching “Allen V. Farrow” I started to wonder if this person hadn’t deliberately taken a page out of Woody Allen’s playbook when they decided how they were going to go about disputing the allegations I made against them. They were known to quote Allen, why not model his actions too?
I wrote a play based on my experiences. It’s called TRIAL – and it had a hit run off-Broadway at ATA directed by the incomparable Lori Petty. I won the WellLife Network award and a county commendation for the show. At every performance (and every developmental reading we did prior) almost every audience member came up to me and shared that they, a friend, or family member had experienced something similar – but no one ever talked about it. That’s one of the reasons TRIAL is so important to me. We need to talk about it. No one should be silenced about their feelings or experiences.
So then I thought, maybe I’m the perfect person to have this conversation about separating art from the artist – because there may not BE a way to have a truly neutral discussion about it. In its most basic terms on the one hand you have people who (thankfully) have never experienced abuse and just want to continue loving the art that shaped and affected them. I think we can all relate to that. If you’re reading this you are likely someone whose life has been changed for the better because of art. Who wants to have that undercut or erased? But on the other hand, you have people who have experienced abuse and, because of their experiences, are triggered and forever impacted when the artist is ignored so that their art can be untarnished.
Where is the middle ground experience in that?
So, because I’m someone who knows how much art can mean, but also someone who has experienced abuse, I thought, what the heck, maybe I should weigh in. Especially because we need to start talking about this in the theater community.
In film, once a movie is made, it’s there. You can watch it or not. In theater, shows can be revived, productions can run for decades, and abuse or its history can be an ongoing, ever-present thing in real-time.
There are brilliant performers who keep getting cast even though they have a history of assault and abuse. In one case I’m specifically thinking of, someone who had such a history was then cast in the role of an older man preying on a young woman (playing opposite an actual young woman.) Even if everything behind the scenes was on the up and up, I think that counts in this conversation just as much as an auteur who creates the art being presented from the ground up.
I often hear an argument that goes something along the lines of: “But if every artist has to have a perfect, upstanding moral character we’d never consume art again. No one could live up to those standards.”
And to some degree, I agree. I think, while the roots of “cancel culture” may have started as something positive and needed (I like to refer to it as “accountability culture,”) it has certainly taken a deep dive into a very, very dark place. People of differing opinions don’t have conversations anymore. They “cancel.” And “canceling” gets into some serious, heavy questions about censorship.
Personally, where traditional censorship is concerned, I believe in informed consumption. But there’s a difference between censoring something because of a disagreement about the content and censoring because the creator is a bad person. A (sadly) good case in point is the “Harry Potter” series. There is a difference between groups of people banning the “Harry Potter” books because they believe it promotes witchcraft to children and boycotting the books because the author made very hurtful comments and statements about the Trans community. One has to do with “keeping ideas at bay,” the other is about holding the artist accountable for their actions.
Because, at the end of the day, what I think this whole discussion boils down to is more than how do you separate the art from the artist. Truthfully, that’s up to you and how you feel. I love “The Cosby Show.” But I can’t help feeling a bit icky whenever I happen to see a clip of it. I just can’t look at Bill Cosby without imagining what he was doing after they yelled “cut.”
Without worrying about the female actors on the show being in such close proximity to him. That’s not a choice. It’s not an intellectual discussion I have with myself. It’s a gut response. I hate it. But it’s not up for debate. Maybe one day that will start to fade and I’ll be able to emotionally separate the two enough to enjoy watching the show again, but that’s not something I have any control over. And frankly I think those who are most willing to do mental gymnastics to justify continued enjoyment of works by newly revealed problematic creators are doing so more because they don’t like that uncontrollable icky feeling and they want to do everything they can to justify ignoring it, rather than because they really feel fine about the whole thing.
No, I think the real discussion, the part where choice comes into play has to do more with questions of actively supporting the artist.
Case in point: Picasso was an awful guy. He said and did some pretty horrible things to women that I won’t repeat here (for more illumination, check out Hannah Gadsby’s brilliant comedy special “Nanette.”) But if I had millions of dollars and decided to buy a Picasso painting I am not benefiting Picasso in any way. He’s not making any money from it, he’s not personally profiting.
But if I buy a ticket to a Woody Allen film, or buy a “Harry Potter” book, or watch an episode of “The Cosby Show” I am directly benefiting Woody Allen, J. K. Rowling, and Bill Cosby. Money is going into their pockets because of my action. Their power in the industry is strengthened. And they can (and have) used that money and power to continue to do troubling things. Woody Allen was able to get away with what he got away with for so long because he had money to get tough lawyers, buy people off, and have a PR rep who threatened news outlets if they didn’t “toe the line” on the narrative he wanted to perpetuate. Celebrities stood by him because they wanted a job and he could make careers.
And people in positions to hire artists are in a challenging situation too. Hey, if you can get Woody Allen you’ll immediately get funding, and big-name actors, and huge box office returns.
So is this really all about money?
To a degree, yes. I think so. I think there’s a “we protect our own” mentality in the entertainment industry. If someone’s a big star, a huge moneymaker, or even just really talented…well, you don’t want to lose that commodity, do you?
So what do we do?
First of all, I think people in a position to hire artists need to be the first ones to NOT separate the art from the artist in situations where the artist is still living and earning a personal, professional, and monetary profit from creating work. I’m not saying I believe in blacklisting people, and I certainly don’t mean anyone should be denied the chance to earn a basic living, but I do think that these artists should not be in a position where their work is allowing them to perpetrate more abuse (and frankly, I think this is a mute issue since, really, a lot of these people should just flat out be in prison.)
But what about everyone else? Well, here are my suggestions, for what they’re worth. Keep in mind, I have adored work created by problematic artists, and I have also had abusers create work that was consumed by others while completely ignoring who they were as a person.
Trust your gut. It’s something you can’t argue with. If you feel icky consuming a particular artist’s work, acknowledge it. Don’t try to ignore it or justify it away. You may not want to stop consuming it, but better to stop than feel a little grossed out whenever you do. And remember, eventually, you may feel differently. That icky feeling might ease. Taking a break doesn’t mean never looking at it again. Likewise, if you feel fine consuming a work of art and it continues to bring you joy and edification, that’s great, and that’s ok. None of us want to lose something we love because a person made some awful, stupid choices.
If you do want to continue consuming a problematic artist’s art, find ways to do so that won’t financially profit them. For example, check a book or movie out of the library instead of purchasing it.
Do whatever you can to encourage people in positions of power not to give a platform to, or protect artists who have done bad things. At the end of the day, the consumer’s wants matter.
Aim for accountability culture, not cancel culture. There is a difference between someone who made a mistake that they’ve worked to rectify, or someone you happen to disagree with, and someone who is actively destroying lives.
I love the book “Walking on Water” by Madeline L’Engle. Both she and C.S. Lewis (much more eloquently than I’m about to) talk about the idea that God can work through unlikely vessels, and often it’s shocking what truth, grace, and love can come out of such flawed, sometimes terrible people. Forgive the God reference if you don’t ascribe to it, but I do think there is something to be said for human beings being more full of unearned grace than we have any right to be. And because of that, I think there may be a time for any particular artistic work when what is lovely about it can shine through independent of the vessel who made it. The key words there are “may” and “a time.” That time may not be now and it may not come for a very long while, if ever.
This problem is one we must actively struggle with and engage with. It does us no good to either keep defending the art and ignoring the artist so we don’t lose something dear to us, nor to cut off all art (that might have the potential to do good,) because its creator was deeply flawed.
And if what makes an artist flawed shows up graphically in their work (I’m thinking of how many times Allen cast himself opposite teenage romantic interests) maybe let that be a warning and let that be something not to overlook.
And above all, as Neil Gaiman says, “Make Good Art.”
Can’t read your favorite book anymore because you learned terrible things about the author?
Make Good Art.
Feel gross watching what used to be your favorite T.V. show?
Make Good Art.
Scared about how many criminals are getting support and a platform?
That means it’s your turn to make a platform for yourself.
And tell the truth.
And
Make
Good
Art.
~
Additional resource:
Lindsay Ellis “Death of the Author” Pt. 1: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MGn9x4-Y_7A
Lindsay Ellis “Death of the Author” Pt. 2: