Questions from a young reader: Artists and loneliness.
written by Julie R. Neidlinger 3 comments link this post::Since this question, though technically belonging to a series on the main Lone Prairie Blog, dealt with art, I thought it ought to go here.::
Artists and loneliness: A friend of mine, a poet, told me not long ago that there is a certain loneliness in being an artist. An artist sees things from a different perspective, and while they do their best to confront and display that through their lives and its outpourings, a large majority of the time, people just don't get it. One can be surrounded by like-minded people, yet still be outside. I wonder if this is truly the case, or if the artist merely attempts to shut everything out to let their thoughts and feelings surface. I am still trying to figure this one out, but I know that my friend, the poet, was right. I know, because I am there. I suspect you are there many times, as well.
I can only speak for myself and acknowledge that there are plenty of artists (writers, poets. etc.) out there who are gregarious and outgoing and appear to not be of the "lonely" variety. Whether they are, or not, I can't say. I can, again, only speak for myself and those like me.
I don't want to feed into any ridiculous artist stereotypes, since they usually involve, at their worst, things like berets and caftan gowns and bizarre hair and sallow skin. My own experience, however, has been similar to what you've described, what your poet friend has described.
There have to be observers.
There have to be people who don't enter the fray, the ones translating what's going on. No matter how we twist it and wish it were otherwise, observers must be on the outside. Certainly, we enter the fray every now and then (often times getting hurt or overwhelmed before pulling out), but the nature of observing is that of being outside and away.
This place, one of outside and away, is very lonely. People might appreciate your observations, saying they are true and helpful and real, and sometimes even think they understand what it means to be this kind of an observer if you do your job well enough. Unless they've been there, though, they do not know. The best artists' work are the ones people assign all kinds of familiarity and recognition to without realizing that they are mistaking an understanding of the observations for what it is like to be an observer.
I do have to shut some things, some people, out, but it cannot be permanent. There is a lot of noise in my head: too many ideas, maybe, or the screaming that tells me I'm a fake and a failure that makes functioning even just a little bit so very impossible. It's noisy and I have to shut off and shut out periodically to get it under control.
I can't permanently shut people out, even if in my past experience, letting them in hurts. I can't shut out the rest of life, the rest of the world. My thoughts, my creativity, the very thing that keeps me going, is dependent upon them. Being alone too long is not good. It starts to create a kind of weak and inbred creativity, quickly becoming apparent that I need to get back out there and either jump in the fray for a short while or at least set up another observation post.
Artists have to be able to be alone, but they can't buy the lie that they don't need anyone. You can't be an observer if you're not watching. You can't translate if you're not listening.
It's a synergy, and kind of an upsetting catch-22 in my case (and others, I suspect). I find that I always end up hurt by people (often not their fault), but that I create the best art and writing after just such a times. If I am away from people too long, not happy but not recently hurting inside, ideas dry up and I lack some kind of spark to make anything truly real and passionate. Being with people reminds me I care, and what I care about. Being alone for too long makes me devolve inwardly, and become shallow and selfish. This is reflected in what I create.
I read the theory1 held by Kurt Vonnegut that artists and writers were like the canaries in a mine shaft when it came to society. The idea was that we could tell where a culture, where a people were headed, by looking at the creative output. I think it's a fairly accurate assessment, since as observers and translators, artists are reflecting back what they are seeing around them. The problem, however, is that the canary is stuck in a cage, and is far down a mine shaft. It's not an enviable place to be. The canary is the first to be overwhelmed, and to be hurt. And to die.
In the end, I understand that there are things to be observed and there are people to observe them. We can't be both, and I am not willing to trade my post.
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1 Here's a blog post on a take on Vonnegut's idea, though it is not the one I originally read a few years ago. Warning: graphic war photo.
Labels: art life, writing life
Copyright (c) Julie R. Neidlinger 8/23/2007 01:31:00 PM
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3 Comments:
"The best artists' work are the ones people assign all kinds of familiarity and recognition to without realizing that they are mistaking an understanding of the observations for what it is like to be an observer."
-- You lost me here. I think after "recognition."
By 
, at
August 23, 2007 6:24 PM
Basically, people sometimes gush and gawk over some art or writing, indentifying with the message, thinking that makes them able to say to the artist/writer "I totally understand you!" or something.
Often this happens on my blog, when I write something very personal and the comments I get seem completely off to me, not at all the message or what I was feeling. Yet the commenters say "Yes, exactly. I completely understand. It's just like such and such in my life" and then they go on to recount something that doesn't fit at all with what I was trying to convey.
It's mistaking a love for the painting or the written work (because of how it makes you feel) for understanding what it is like to be the person who has to live the life/moment it took to create it. It is not the same thing at all. Enjoying the post-observation work is not the same as being the person making the observation at its very moment.
By 
Julie R. Neidlinger, at
August 23, 2007 6:50 PM
I see a few things in this response.
1) The desire to be understood
2) The desire for appreciation of what goes into a finished product
3) Knowing the work versus knowing the person
I contribute to forums where I am constantly misunderstood. Now that really does make me grumpy. All that work only to have the meaning botched, sometimes turned into the opposite of what I intended. Then there is the assumption that, because of my views, because I disagree with something, I must be an evil person.
By , at
August 23, 2007 8:21 PM
