Appreciating Box Sets and Biographies
One of the things I often get quoted on is the appreciation of a piece of artwork as a sole entity in and of itself. A friend once asked me to recommend a bio on Carson McCullers. I replied that the story of her life is her work : That’s what separates an artist from a professional biographer. With the exception of Vincent Van Gogh’s Complete Letters, I can’t think of an artist or writer whose life supercedes his or her work.
Certainly in an era of paparazzi and completism craze, where box sets of musicians scratching their armpits -between unacceptable takes- are presented in excruciating high definition super dvd-audio, it’s not difficult to understand how we may want a 500 page hardcover liner notes to enhance the experience of listening to a recording where a 5 track vinyl LP was once adequate.
I feel similarly about all the writers and artists who went through times of adversity in their lives. That’s not to lessen their suffering in any way. It’s just that the creative output is the ends, the product, the perfection, the ideal in a world that would otherwise be flawed. It’s difficult for me to relay this notion, because I’m sure people who have a feel for a particular medium of expression can derive a deeper insight into an artist’s work of the same milieu: A poet, for example, will have great difficulty in conveying the ecstasy of an iambic trimeter, to a cook who derives satisfaction from a tender morsel produced sous-vide. It is then, the public domain of mainstream consciousness, that most of us look to, to act as a common denominator, which then substitutes insight into an artist’s work.
An insight to one’s private life, however, is not equivalent to an insight to a piece of work created for public presentation.
When we buy into the completism of box sets and the tell-all unauthorized biographies of artists, what we are really doing is eradicating the editing decisions an artist has made.
I think your over-thinking things Princess.
When I look for a biography or an essay about an artist it is simply because I want to know more about someone who’s body of work I admire. I am sure that is all that was behind the request for you to recommend a bio on Carson McCullers.
Oh I do understand that. And I think it’s natural to want to know more about someone who’s work you admire. But appreciating a person’s life is not the same as appreciating his/her work. What I was meditating upon was the notion that the artist does not necessarily want his/her readers to know about the background processes that went into creating the works. Notice I did not include autobiographies. I think an autobiography is a fiction, but an authorized one, from the same hands of the creator. I guess I just think if a piece of artwork isn’t strong enough to speak on it’s own, no amount of title cards, liner notes, extra color photographs is going to enable it’s chances of doing so.
Now I understand; and I concur.
In the last little while I read bios of Jorge Borges (who I know you greatly admire) and Patick O’Brian who wrote sea-faring novels that I love. In both cases I felt their lives, as presented by their biographers, took away from their works.
I still think highly of their works; despite, or perhaps because, I think less of them.
Which brings up an issue my sister and I continually argue about: Predisposition. If one were to read ecstatic reviews, good write-ups, and positive bios about an artist or his/her work before experiencing the actual work: will it “color” one’s judgement and appreciation of that work?
I know I said if the work is strong enough, it shouldn’t matter.
But most of the time, it isn’t. I guess that’s why covers of books are plastered with “If you had to read one book this year…” -Josephine Blo, New York Times on the front and back jacket.