Artistic temperament
by Bob on April 23, 2008
We all know what kind of craziness surrounds true art. I have been a musician and photographer, writer and poet for a lot of years, so I know the turf. Especially in Art, too, including cinematography and assorted media, we see kind of kooky characters
It makes some sense. Shakespeare wrote and rhymed about it, this kookiness of artists.
Many artists have an extreme degree of self-centeredness and huge egos which don't allow them to see anyone else's work in a true light. It's unusual to find a modest artist. Corporate art brings in a totally new dimension to the issue.
A fussy artist said something a bit crude to me today. I felt the sting but after decades and decades of dealing with the oddest types in Art and Science, I could cope with it. Just shut the door. Make it go away.
Madness and artistic brilliance go hand in hand. Again, Shakespeare said it and tomes of scholarly books have been written on the topic. Somewhat recently, a 1996 book on the topic was "Touched by Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament" by Kay Redfield Jamison who I might add I had the pleasure of meeting and dining with in a group after a lecture some years ago in New York. The book was simply brilliant and Kay was a lovely and smart person.
Somehow, though, without that fiery engagement and tempers flying off the hook with the artistic crowd, I reckon that very little truly interesting art would be made. Cooler heads much of the time produce rather banal art. The electricity of the crazy artist and his brilliance is at the core of real insights into the Human Condition and what we call perception of reality.
The most obnoxious artists and people have a keen insight into what other are thinking. They pick it up in the aether or air unlike duller personages. And it makes for fascinating, although sometimes hurtful, intellectual exchanges.
But sometimes people are just simply full of themselves, and with all due respect to Paracelsus, a very bit bombastic. That's boring. There's little brilliance in flummery and pretense of a thin sort.
So we all pay the price for intense brilliance. Perhaps occasional obnoxiousness is a fair wage to pay for true art.
But it still stings.
I think I will let it all go, close the door, and follow in the emotional footsteps of Gauguin and Van Gogh. They knew what a real electric relationship was like. And if there is a next life, or afterlife, I really hope it's a lot better than this one has been.