In his two most recent videos on the channel “Vlogbrothers” – which he runs collaboratively with his brother, science communicator Hank Green – writer and philanthropist John Green discusses art: why we make art and for whom we make it. As is often the case, I have to say, his musings really resonated with me.
“When I was younger,” John says in the first video, “I thought art existed solely for the audience, or as I used to say constantly, ‘books belong to their readers’. The job of the artist was to make something for others as a gift. This is why art is different, for instance, from a journal you keep for yourself.”
Mind you, this is not about creating art for popularity’s sake, for amassing a large audience, but simply a matter of perspective: Are you writing for your own sake, or for somebody else’s. (I found the journal comparison particularly interesting, as it also reminded me of some recent discourse in Swedish newspapers about famous authors publishing what is purportedly their diaries, and the line between auto-fiction and an actual journal.)
John goes on to say, “I think this way of thinking about art misses something really important. There is pleasure and meaning to be found just in the making of art, regardless of whether anyone else ever experiences it. Put another way, making art is fun!”
I wholeheartedly agree – making art is fun! And I think – I hope – that I myself will keep enjoying making my own kind of art for as long as I am able to. Composers write music for any number of reasons. For me, I would not want to write music that I do not like, only for the sake of popularity or notoriety. I want to stay honest, essentially, about what my music is, irrespective of its prospective audience.
In the second video, John describes his “strict policy” against re-reading his own works. “I can’t stand re-reading my own books on account of how I can’t change anything, and all I feel is an intense self-loathing.” He goes on to describe how in spite of the fact that he is an objectively successful and accomplished writer, he thinks of most of his works as terrible. “I can’t think about what is good in those stories or what has resonated with millions of people. I can only think about their insufficiencies and their failures which, in my mind at least, are legion.”
That is also something that I recognise all too well, both in myself and in friends and colleagues. Perhaps not always to the point of self-loathing, but definitely self-critical. Later in the video, John describes the business of writing as “an insecure-making business” because of the necessity, in his opinion, of bringing “your deepest self to the story, which is inherently very vulnerable” and by extension opening yourself, not only your work, up to criticism.
For my part, I believe I have gotten better at separating myself from critique of my work over time. But for me much like for John, my works are inextricably a part of who I am, probably at least in part because of what I wrote earlier: I insist on staying true to my own aesthetic and philosophy as a composer. Therefore, what I write ends up a kind of reflection of my values, and thus critique of my work could end up feeling like critique of my values.
The impetus for John’s second video was him re-reading a novella he wrote in 2010 that he initially remembered as “being truly, truly terrible” but upon reappraisal found to be “quite enjoyable” and states in the video, amused and almost a little nonplussed: “Being able to like my own work – is fun!”
I have heard plenty of times in the past about never being satisfied, never being happy with what you’ve accomplished extolled like it’s one of the seven virtues. You might suspect this as relating to the infamous Law of Jante, colloquially used to denote Scandinavian disapproval towards expressing individuality and personal success, but it has also come from people from Central Europe as well as the Anglo-American world so I doubt it is as easily explained away as that.
As a teacher, I try to stress to all of my students the important difference between 1) being satisfied with your accomplishments and curious/hungry to develop further, and 2) being satisfied and settling for what you’ve learned or the skills you have at that point.
The former, I believe, is an important trait to cultivate as a kind of silent pride, modest rather than boastful. It can also be very helpful as a source of motivation. The latter, on the other hand, is in my opinion simply a long-winded way of describing laziness or tardiness, and not something I have a lot of patience with.
I can’t help but feel like all those people in the past talking about never being satisfied failed to see the difference between those two perspectives. Liking your own work in the way John describes it in his second video sounds to me very much like the first kind. “We do not only make art to delight and instruct others” he says, paraphrasing the Ancient Roman poet Horace, “we also make it to delight and instruct ourselves.
In his poem Ars Poetica, literally “The Art of Poetry”, Horace writes: “Aut prodesse uolunt aut delectare poetae aut simul et iucunda et idonea dicere uitae” – the poet wishes to benefit or please, or to be pleasant and helpful at the same time. Additionally, Horace talks about being simultaneously useful and pleasing: “miscuit utile dulci”.
Thinking back to the Rhapsody for oboe, bassoon and piano I composed last year, in a way I did write it to instruct and delight others as well as myself. I wanted it to be stimulating for the musicians and engaging for the listeners, but I also had fun writing it and I think I developed my skills as a composer, as well. Trio Nastela, who commissioned the piece, reported that the audience loved it at each performance, and they seem to enjoy playing it as well.
A success, in other words, in Horace’s perspective – and why shouldn’t I allow myself to be proud of it? Hank and John Green themselves express it very succinctly, thus: