A New Year's Eve Manifesto: The Artist and the Public

I saw La La Land this afternoon and my emotions are still whirling from its beauty; the film contains all of the elements that make a timeless movie: tragedy, joy, romance, frothy nostalgia, and dynamic characters.  More than that, the movie makes a profound statement about dreamers and creators. At the risk of being too effusive in my praise, I expect that this movie will be an ebenezer for many artists -- a touchstone to return to when rejections take their toll.

If you haven't had the chance to see it, I won't reveal any important plot elements.  But to provide context: the movie portrays two artists who believe deeply in what they have to offer the world, despite feeling that no one hears their distinct voice.  There was a moment in the film in which Emma Stone's character, Mia, eavesdrops on her audience as they leave her performance. They say nasty things about her skills as an actress. "Don't quit your day-job." She crumples backstage, defeated after pouring so much of herself into work that was so ill-received.

She took their comments personally.

There's an idea floating around that seems to be the steady diet of most artists I know: it's not personal. When your work or sound or aesthetic or interpretation isn't well-received, it's nothing against you. Because it's just work; it's not personal. The audience or judge or public or editor has every right to express their opinions, no matter how degrading or belittling.

But I just don't buy it. I may be wrong, but I believe that any art that's worth a damn is going to be deeply personal. Regardless of what you're calling into existence, if it's honest and authentic, then it's personal. Any claim otherwise seems to me to be a cowardly attempt to protect egos from the harsh reality of rejection.

So what am I suggesting? That all artists are fragile, insecure butterflies? That the public should coddle and stroke them, and make sure to never tell them the truth that their work just stinks and they should consider a different career?
And what then for the artists? Are the artists allowed to indulge in sensitivity and prize it above listening to friends and family's suggestions? Are they to interpret critique as a personal affront, rather than an opportunity to grow? Should they expect everyone to love everything they do, and if not, dismiss them as tasteless pigs?

Absolutely not. But I want to offer some thoughts, from the perspective of both the artist and the public. Because haven't we all been both? Sensitive and crippled with self-doubt, or critical, cowardly, and dismissive?

For the Artist

Can we acknowledge that the nature of our work is personal? That it demands that we be offended and rejected? Can we allow ourselves to be hurt? And then, after grieving, can we go back to the easel or the studio or the piano or the keyboard, and keep loving the work enough to birth something new again? Can we be brave enough to continue to create the work that burns in us, even when we suspect that no one hears or cares?

For the Public

Can we attempt to take on a new posture when approaching art? Instead of demanding that art entertain, or satisfy, or excite, can we allow the work to speak for itself without our judgement?  Imagine what it must be like for someone to come into your office or home and dismiss your career as tiresome or ugly or pointless, just because they don't understand it. Can we take the time to get to know the art or artist as a friend, rather than as a consumer?