Separating the Art from the Artist

I’ve wanted to write this piece for a very long time. If I’m honest with myself, it’s been a few years. It started to percolate around the time the first #MeToo Movement dominos began to fall. I hesitated because I didn’t know what to say or how I felt. My perspective kept changing. I rallied behind the women who took these men down. I found my voice in their strength and actions. Yet, some of the villainous men were in charge of projects I loved. I didn’t want to give up pieces of art that were important to me, even if it was tarnished. In a way, I was going through a break-up; I was angry and hurt and in denial, and yet empowered. I was conflicted, and it felt complicated. But is it? Is it complicated?

If a person conducts themselves in a way that demeans, belittles, and/or takes advantage of someone in a lower position, do they deserve praise for something they had a hand in creating? I’m conflicted about whether I can still cherish the works of art that were created by monstrous men and benefit from the movement that brought them down. Am I a hypocrite for boycotting their most recent work, yet waiting to take a stand on those past projects that had an integral part in my evolution?

That is when the real question presented itself to me: Can you separate the art from the artist? To make matters worse, I consider myself an artist, and I put a little bit of myself into everything I create. It’s what makes these things mine, they represent me in a way. I can’t separate myself from my creations, but is it fair to put those high standards onto others?

If you have any sort of understanding of classic Hollywood, you are familiar with the term “casting couch.” It’s one of the unspeakable evils of the entertainment industry that has “supposedly” faded throughout time. Yet, as a woman, that concept was something I have always been aware of. Powerful men feel like they have the right to take from women. The female gender has always had to be vigilant about protecting ourselves from entering into those situations. In a way, it was a fool’s errand because it’s not something we had any control over. However, as the agreeable sex, the responsibility of prevention fell onto us. 

That is, until we reached our breaking point. When we shattered the glass ceiling and knew it wasn’t all on us anymore. Power is not an invitation to overpower. We might have swept things under the rug in the past, but our apathy was causing the world pain. It was time to stand up.

And stand up we did. 1 in 6 women have been the victims of attempted or completed assault. That means, on average, at least 2 of your closest women family/friends fall into that category. It may be sickening and inconceivable, but it’s true. While the beginning of the movement might have started in Hollywood, it wasn’t long until women across the country, the world even, found the strength to push back in all areas of their lives. I found strength in pushing back and standing up for what I went through. I found the courage to prevent other close calls, or anything worse, from happening again. There was a sense of solidarity among women. 

(I will take a brief side note to say that along with the movement, there were false accusations that were handed down. I do not condone those. I believe we need to listen to women when a situation is brought up, but I don’t believe we need to blindly fall in line. This, however, is a much larger topic that deserves its own investigation.) 

Within this solidarity for women in Hollywood and the entertainment industry, the boycotting of projects by those accusers was enacted. Once these men fell, the prestige of their body of work crumbled. The problem is, these projects weren’t built by themselves. It’s embarrassing to admit that this aspect of the soul-hitting question of the separation of art and artist wasn’t my own. It was brought to my attention by someone else. 

That’s when there was a shift for me. When I was faced with that mind-fuck of a concept, I knew I had to get this out of my head. I wasn’t sure I had the right to condemn a work of art because less than 1% of the builders were problematic. These works of art were built by the blood, sweat, and tears of hundreds of other crew members. These hardworking people also put their love into it, their souls are just as much a part of the creative entities as their figureheads. It’s not their fault their boss was a piece of shit. Should they be held accountable for their bosses’ crimes?

No matter what my internal debate is, those deplorable villains deserved their fall from grace. Accumulation of power does not equal power over others. You have to be the strength and compassion that you supposedly represent. But I’m starting to rethink my dismissal of their work as a whole because others were a part of that that deserve my appreciation.

These creative entities still mean something to so many, including myself, and that holds Power. Their messages and the hope they inspire don’t go away because the creator is tarnished. We shouldn’t let despicable people continue to take something important from others. 

I don’t know if I've been able to find my answer to the central question in writing this. What I do know is that no one person should hold all the cards on how we feel about something. We find strength in things for a reason. Something specific speaks to us, and we can’t ignore that. It’s not right to deny ourselves that emotional unblocking, and it’s not right to deny the pride of a job well done to all those involved in making it. We should honor that and not focus on the main asshole. Maybe that’s the answer: hold the problematic person accountable, but never forget the spark that was awakened from the project. We must separate the two.

Written by Lisa M Mejia
Images from the film The Usual Suspects, the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and the novel The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian.