A Rumination on the Artist as Reviewer

 I recently stumbled upon a quote from a writer I know, singing the praises of a second writer with whose work I am well acquainted. This second writer's work is quite popular, in my opinion deservedly so. In fact I quite agree with the opinions expressed by the writer praising his work.

What brought me up short was what seems to have been an attempt on said writer's part to establish authority to offer any comments on the work of this second writer. Without quoting or getting into specifics (I like the writer I know and have enjoyed his work as well, and I'm certainly not looking to throw anyone under any particular bus), suffice to say that Writer 1 said something to the effect of being able to really comprehend the difficulty of Writer 2's accomplishment with this certain book only because he was a fellow writer.

And while I think I get what he was trying to say, this statement got me thinking.

Here's the point I began to ponder: "Is it only truly in the eyes of a fellow artist that one's work can find genuine validation?"

Bearing in mind that these days phrases like, "The death of expertise" get tossed around quite a bit, and the internet and social media have done much to democratize the vast array of opinions on offer across a whole host of subjects, I began to wrestle with this question. And the answer I've reached can best be summed up with the rousing and self-assured phrase: "yes/no/it depends."

Let me see if I can explain.

First, let's distinguish between what we consider "art" and what we consider "science." For me, art is and always has been about what reaction it inspires in the person experiencing it. Art is about "feel," I guess would be another way of putting it.

And "science" is everything else. Facts are facts. They are not open to interpretation, only to analysis. And while art can also be analyzed, its impact is by turns differentiated, and frequently unique, dependent upon who is doing the analysis.

Take vaccines, for example. I have read the arguments against them. I am unconvinced. I am living proof that vaccines work. So is nearly everyone I know. Like someone a lot smarter than me once said: "Facts don't care about your feelings."

Art is a different matter entirely.

Facts might make you feel something. In fact, they often do. A baby is born. Her parents are thrilled. Her family is thrilled. It happened. It was real.

Art is visceral. It forces a reaction. Otherwise it's doodling (regardless of the medium). I get a visceral reaction when I hear the opening notes of any number of songs. Miles Davis' "All Blues." "Stevie Ray Vaughan's cover of Hendryx's "Voodoo Chile." The opening movement of Antonín Dvořàk's 9th Symphony.

All pleasant experiences.

Which is not to say that all artistic experiences need be pleasant, enjoyable, what-have-you. Revulsion is a perfectly acceptable reaction to be exposed to certain types of art. Photographer Andres Seranno's "Immersion (Piss Christ)" disgusts me, but I suppose that's what Serrano might well have been going for. True art is affecting. Regardless of the type of reaction, the reaction is the point.

Not so with facts. So to sum up: facts can be affecting, but need not be to qualify as facts. Art must be affecting, or it's not art.

Which leads me to the notion of the artist as reviewer/critic/influencer/what-have-you.

We've all heard the expression, "All taste is relative." Cliché or truism, it's a generally accepted rule of thumb when discussing something as personal as "taste." Another such notion is the idea that "There's no accounting for taste."

For example, I've known people about whom I've actually thought, "All of that guy's taste is in his mouth." Others, where I admired their taste, their sense of style, their panache, if you will. 

Kill me.

Wed "personal taste" with the notion of defining what art is and is not, and you can get into the weeds pretty quickly. Which is both foolish and a colossal waste of time.

Dismissing art one does not like as somehow not being art is equally ridiculous. Take the soundtrack for Saturday Night Fever.

Please!

(*rimshot*)

At the risk of dating myself, I'll admit that I hit my teen years right about the time this soundtrack ensconced itself in the Top 40 Charts, and flatly refused to leave for what seemed like an eternity.

I despise this album. I loathe it. I would sooner listen to Lawrence Welk (further dating myself!) than ever hear "Night Fever" or "Stayin' Alive" ever again.

And yet for all that, I cannot and would not dispute that the music on this album is definitely art. Not only does it evoke a strong visceral reaction in me when I hear it (Hey-revulsion is a valid reaction...), but I have had any number of musician friends attempt to explain to me how brilliant a feat the making of this album actually was.

Which takes me back to the question: "Is it only truly in the eyes of a fellow artist that one's work can find genuine validation?"

In this instance, as with so many others, I'd have to say, "No." My friends are experts on music and what makes it, well, music, and therefore, "art." And they like the BeeGees.

I don't need to be able to read sheet music and run scales to be able to have an informed opinion on this album. 

Is it art? 

"Yes." 

Is it well-done, well-written, well-played, well-constructed? 

"Yes, to all of the above."

Do I like it?

"Hell no."

Guh.

Same goes for Burt Bacharach. If I concede that the guy was a musical genius, producing all manner of well-crafted songs, can I be allowed to term his stuff "Boring as shit"?

Yes. Bacharach's work is art, accomplished, affecting art.

And I don't like it, either. What's more, I don't need to actually be a fellow musician to appreciate the skill involved in the creation of said music.

Let's shift gears and bring this train back to what initially sparked this extended rumination: writers and the work of other writers, and whether one needs to be a writer to validate said work.

Obviously, I'm coming to the conclusion that one need not be a writer to be able to effectively review/critique the work of a writer. One need only be affected by said work.

Two quick examples: I love the work of humorist David Sedaris. And I try to inject a bit of "funny" into my own work. But even if I didn't, my opinion on Sedaris' work would be no less valid.

Is Sedaris' work great art? I don't know. It clearly is art. And I enjoy it.

And yet there are writers out there whose work, accomplished, polished, well-conceived and well-executed, just flat leaves me cold. 

Like Cormac McCarthy (Whenver I've read something of his, I can never seem to shake the feeling that he's punishing the reader for attempting to take on his work).

Tana French is another one (Incredibly skilled. A virtuoso. Master of prose, of description, of narrative. An amazing writer. And yet I don't like what I've read of her work. Sometimes feel as if she doesn't quite play fair with the reader. Objective? Nah. But there it is.).

And there you have it. Does validation coming from a fellow artist mean more than that coming from a non-writer who is clearly deeply affected by one's work?

I say no.

But it's a free country. That's the beauty of art:

Your Mileage May Vary.

See you in two weeks!