Can We Enjoy Good Art by Bad People?
A hotly debated moral dilemma with a catch
Welcome to your Wednesday Fix at The Drip Tray: A weekly dose of inspiration and reflection to keep you focused, like a philosophical espresso.
I mentioned in the last Monthly Muses that I recently read Monsters: What Do We Do with Great Art by Bad People? by Claire Dederer and it got me thinking about my own experiences. With the unforgiving nature of cancel culture and a false sense of security in an online community, it’s something that we’ve come to ask ourselves every time we consume a work of art. I’ll be unpacking the connotations of such a loaded question and suggesting ways to approach controversial artists and their work.
The short answer? Of course we can. Art is not literal, so any creative form of expression is certainly able to be interpreted and received however the consumer wants. Nobody is stopping you from enjoying the works that you want to (unless it’s censored where you live, as is my case with American Psycho). The real question is whether we should – or, more specifically, if an unethical artist deserves praise. I’ve had this conversation with a number of people and most came to the same ambiguous conclusion: It depends.
I don’t have the answer, and perhaps there isn’t one, but I do think that it’s nuanced. There are a lot of variables and contributing factors, although this would imply that the love for a work of art is conditional. This leads to a range of qualifying questions: How is the artist perceived to be a “bad” person? Was the work created before or after they committed the crime? Have they since redeemed themselves by making amends or denouncing the work? Dederer wonders if it’s a kind of ratio; the quality of the work in comparison to the severity of the act.
I’m in two minds about it. On one hand, I believe that art should be separated from the artist and consumed solely as they intended. On the other, I believe that art is an extension of the artist and is impossible to be completely disassociated from them. As an artist myself, I know that there’s a piece of me baked into all of my work, whether I realise it or not. Perhaps there’s a way to appreciate art but not resonate with it, to understand that a work is objectively “good” while acknowledging that the artist is subjectively “bad.”
I love The Simpsons. I still enjoy the episode “Stark Raving Dad” with alleged child sex abuser Michael Jackson and sing along to the earworm ‘Lisa, it’s your birthday.’ The Exorcist (1973) and The Shining (1980) are some of my favourite films, even though William Friedkin and Stanley Kubrick famously abused the actors on set for their desired results. I regularly read the brilliant poetry of deplorable drunk Charles Bukowski. (It’s worth noting that each of these artists are now dead, which may or may not influence how we talk about them.)
I could go on, from H.P. Lovecraft and Stephen King to Metallica and Eminem, but you get the point. It’s also worth noting how nostalgia softens our perception of the artists we enjoy. When we look at these people – or “monsters,” as Dederer refers to them – through rose-tinted glasses, it’s easy to forget about their past transgressions. But even when the work is widely considered a masterpiece, it seems that majority rules. If more people embrace than rebuke it, it’s hardly a hot take. Does the work of a great artist depreciate in value if they are revealed to be a terrible person?
You could argue that I didn’t know any better, though my childhood innocence allowed me to simply enjoy the art without it being clouded by preconceived notions of the artist. Besides, if my parents showed it to me, who’s really to blame? Didn’t they realise that they were informing my taste when my mum was loading my MP3 player with metal and hip hop while my dad put on scary movies every weekend? Nevertheless, I’ve matured and recognised that publicly professing my admiration for these artists may not sit right with everybody.
Like parental figures, artists are often role models for their fans. In some cases, fandom can border on the irrational and swing too far in either direction. Die-hards are convinced that they know the artist personally, sometimes intimately, while others vilify them for their mistakes and take it as an affront. These parasocial relationships are merely fictional and therefore harmful, which is how obsessive fans end up committing crimes themselves. Consider John Lennon’s killer Mark David Chapman, for example, or Eminem’s “Stan.”
Most of us never get to meet our heroes, yet there’s a reason why they say that you shouldn’t. It’s a strange dichotomy. We can love the artist, but not necessarily like the person. Respect the talent, but reject the personality. Sometimes their questionable lifestyles are endorsed and even emulated by fans. Consider gangsta rappers toting pistols and hitting women, for example. But ends do not always justify means, just as we can enjoy controversial art – like gangsta rap – without taking on the qualities of the artist or condoning their actions.
The harsh truth is that if we were to shun all great artists who do bad things and erase them from history, we wouldn’t have the art that we do today. Classic works of art have had such a big influence on subsequent artists that to remove them completely would do the next generation a disservice, like Disney pulling “Stark Raving Dad” from their streaming service. Although, perhaps that’s better than altering the work, like revising Roald Dahl books for the 21st century by removing contentious language for sensitive readers. Just include footnotes!
This leads to a further realisation that these monsters, so to speak, are mostly old white men. Why is it that rock stars, movie moguls, and established authors were able to get away with anything? The answer, sadly, is because of their identity. What’s worse is that we as a society have enabled them to do so. A recent post by Daniel Parris of Stat Significant outlined key moments in history when the usage of particular celebrity names dropped sharply after a contentious incident. Notice that it’s almost always those of women despite being the victims.
Besides, can you criticise somebody for what we deem unethical behaviour when they were not acting out of character for the time? More importantly, what makes any of us qualified to label an artist as unworthy of our attention? This is where the cracks in our digital landscape start to show. With the whole world connected behind a screen in real-time, each user is judge, jury, and executioner – and every verdict is reached in a trial by fire. The instantaneous demonisation of social media and vitriolic tabloids ruins reputations like an angry mob.
Take the recent scandal of rock legend Dave Grohl fathering an illegitimate daughter, for example. It’s uncanny how frequently I’ve heard “My Hero” on the radio and cringed since the disappointing news. While it may or may not be warranted, cancel culture is like cutting out a family member on a global scale and vandalising their portraits on the walls. It’s good that we’re comfortable with speaking out and feel that we can hold wrongdoers accountable, but too often stones are cast before a proper investigation can take place.
Perhaps we can praise the work while acknowledging the transgressions of the artist, recognising the “stain,” as Dederer refers to it, but not letting it diminish the beauty of it. Then again, if all art came with a disclaimer, we might be too reluctant to enjoy anything at all for fear of being criticised ourselves. Maybe we just need to trust the consumer to have a calibrated moral compass and let them make their own decision, like my parents did with me. So, how do we decide if a work of art is stained or not, and is it transferrable?
Ted Gioia of The Honest Broker raised some similar questions in a recent post:
“And what about guilt by association – do we punish all the cast and crew when a director falters? Should the whole band get cancelled when one member does something bad?”
We can’t chastise ourselves too harshly for enjoying a creative work, or resonating with the message, regardless of who made it. Ted offers a solid reason why:
“Art speaks the truth even when the artist is a liar.”
But as they say, if you’re not part of the solution then you’re part of the problem, and what you ignore is what you accept. In our episode on Jeepers Creepers (2001), written and directed by the infamous Victor Salva, my podcast co-host Nathan proposed that you can enjoy the work without supporting the artist financially (we watched it for free on YouTube). He also echoes Ted’s point, explaining that it was a collaborative effort from an entire team, so why should they all suffer for the actions of one person that are unrelated to the film?
But when we celebrate the work of a “cancelled” solo artist, are we forgiving them, or simply accepting the stain? Doesn’t everybody deserve a second chance, a path to redemption, regardless of their wrongdoings? The media is ruthless in its methods of bringing wrongdoers to justice. What does that say about us as consumers? Are we fulfilling our moral duty by calling them out with a public name and shame, or are we merely being petty? Dederer puts this to the reader more eloquently: Are we more than the worst thing that we’ve ever done?
This leads to questions of empathy. We hurt others by hurting ourselves, whether we realise it or not. Can we empathise with an artist who has done wrong when they haven’t wronged us specifically? If so, what do we make of the innocent child who still loves their abusive parent? Or the toxic couple in an unhealthy relationship who both know that they should leave? Does consciously consuming (and enjoying) the art of bad people make us bad, too? Are we then stained, just as the work of a monstrous artist is, spreading it by word of mouth?
When you consider good art by bad people, it raises more questions than it answers. At the end of the day, nobody is perfect and we’re all flawed human beings. Creativity is not exclusive to the honest and pure. Art is a big part of our cultural diet and it’s important to maintain a healthy balance. Consume what you want, but consider how you might be supporting – or neglecting – the artist when you do. Know the difference, it could save your reputation (and theirs) and a good night’s sleep.
That's not a picture of Charles Bukowski. I suggest using real pictures when depicting real people, not AI generated pictures. Especially when you label it as if it's an actual picture.
p.s. I don't think Bukowski was a "deplorable drunk" either, but that's a separate and legit debate.