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Dogma

February 21, 2014

There’s a casual dogma regarding the arts that every artistic creation is born in its entirety (or near entirety) from only inspiration. This is the popular notion: that art is made from fortune — made from chance. That art is created because its creators have been touched. In the same way those fateful dice choose which individuals will die of cancer and which will go mad, the making of art is independent of intent. Magic, superstition. Art is miracle.

This bubble has never burst. At least not completely. And to blame, I think, is everyone: artists and non-artists both.

Of course, each side has their own vested interest. Artists will happily claim the exclusivity of fate, of inspiration, of the favor of the muse, the magic and the wonder, the exclusion of being special. The badge of being different. The hedge of standing apart.

And non-artists? They make claims to be grounded, to be undistracted, and to accomplish real work in the real world. Furthermore, they claim they don’t engage in anything resembling either magic or witchcraft. That they are normal people. That they make regular folks.

From both sides, in other words: sales. The pushing forward (and repeating) the message of their (respective) difference. Marketing. Public relations. Propaganda. A way of waving the flag, of chanting the slogan. Of taking sides. The same.

I’m under the impression that this difference between artists and non-artists (and their corresponding pitches) is a modern invention. That once upon a time this distinction between artists and non-artists didn’t exist. That this border between art and not-art is something new.

Perhaps this is a myth. However, I’m fairly certain that in the past such distinctions weren’t so stark. Both science and art were learning, work and imagination were thought, aesthetics and function indivisible in human makings and human doings.

Vladimir Nabokov wrote entomological papers regarding butterflies. Albert Einstein played the violin. Each did work of both the art and non-art kinds. Work was work. Nabokov studied butterflies in the field, and from this effort came his inspired conclusion: the best way of distinguishing species of butterflies lay in the differences of their genitalia. Einstein played “thought experiments” in his head, imagining hypothetical instances of relativity, which proof required he learn the advanced geometry he skipped at university to spend time with his girlfriend.

Perspiration leads to inspiration. Inspiration leads to perspiration. The snake eats its tail. More effort leads to the innovation, the innovation leads to more effort.

So, yes, my pitch: the dogma must die. Although of course I don’t believe it will (people love dogmas; who doesn’t love dogmas; if you don’t love dogmas, there’s something wrong with you). But still I present the morality: at least we must vie. We should put forth both the effort of work and the effort of imagination. Therein lies invention, and therein lies, perhaps, at least one of the hallmarks of the human species: to suppose and then to make the thing supposed. From which we suppose further and make again. The magic and the muscle. The profound and the plain. The work and the wonder. Let’s together feed on that tail again.

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