Of Art and Audiences

In the comments on the previous post, Dave mentions the move by musicians to cut out the middlepeople, and connect directly with audiences online; Lorianne responds, "Isn't that what we're doing with blogs and self-publishing?" and Rana wonders if perhaps the trend toward smallness and de-centralization is picking up momentum. I'm thinking about all of these things too. (I see that Dave is writing more about this today too.)

As artists working with words, what are we trying to achieve, and why? For many writers, let's face it: the dream (whether we'd admit it or not) has been to have a best-selling book. The article cited previously shows just how quixotic the publishing industry is, but what it doesn't show clearly is that they're only talking about the books that actually make the cut into publication at all. There are tons of deserving books which are less likely to find a publisher now than ever before because they are too offbeat or too specialized or some other "too" that translates into "too risky" for a traditional publisher to back, at a time when consolidation and mass-marketing make each title more costly to produce and sell.

As Rana mentioned in her comment, you see "big predictability" replacing "small specialness" everywhere in our culture now, from the box stores replacing locally-owned shops to the crates of tasteless tomatoes being trucked thousands of miles - even in the middle of summer - to local markets perfectly capable of growing and supplying all the tomatoes anyone could eat. Mass media tells us what to eat, what to wear, what to watch, what to read; in America today (though not in Quebec) I see young people who seem vastly more accepting of authority and less individualistic than my own generation was, and their goals in life seem to coincide with what the media trumpets. Of course there are exceptions, and of course a lot of people in my generation sold out, too, and went for the bucks bigtime in the 80s and 90s. But I think I'm right about the trend; and books like demographer Michael Adams' American Backlash bear me out.

One thing is certain: these forces are not going to change direction, so it is up to individuals and groups to reclaim control over their own artistic work, just as it is up to local communities to regain some control over the production and distribution of food, or the viability of their downtowns. That's not a new discussion.

My question, as a writer, is what is more valuable for me to do right now: work on a book (say, about my father-in-law) that I could end up being responsible for producing and selling, in the range of perhaps 750-1000 copies, or put my writing energy into my blog where I reach 200-300 people per day? Do I continue to try to do both? What is the value of such a book today? How much of it, I must ask myself, has to do with my own ego, my own attachment to the idea of "book"? With so much writing being produced in the world, how important is it that books exist as physical objects with the potential to last on a library or home shelf? If a person is a poet, how important is a physical collection of poems, in an edition of, say 300-500? I think it is important, both to the writer and to the audience - but we can't think of this effort in terms of money; the profits and audience are simply too small. The motivation, for me, needs to be something deeper than that to justify the effort and sacrifices that writing a book entail.

I think of the example of dance: perhaps the most ephemeral of artforms, and yet one that I seek out and find extremely moving. We have close friends who founded and have managed to maintain a successful dance company  - Pilobolus - over the past thirty years, and we recently heard them discuss what they do, during a weekend celebrating the donation of their archive to Dartmouth College. The immediate question was "What is a dance archive?" Most of Pilobolus's work hasn't been filmed - my husband photographed them in their earliest days and some of those photos are the only record that remains of their early work. The most interesting part of their archive is probably a collection of notes on the creative process.

Dance exists primarily in the moment, and in the memory of the viewer -- not even so much as images of bodies in motion, but as a feeling. In its purest form, this is perhaps what art is: the movement of the human spirit from one state to another, and the memory that movement creates. As artists, we strive for that in our work. Being motivated by the process itself of using all that we are and all that we have, at a given moment, to express the unexpressable -- rather than the seductive goal of fame and profit -- has to stay uppermost as we seek to share our work. I'm still idealistic enough to believe that when we succeed in that, our work touches people, and has lasting value. The numbers are less important than keeping one's eye on the ball.

Comments

[Rana]

And this is why I named you a Thinking Blogger!

I feel a post coming on, but for now I'm going to turn all squee-girl and express my delight that someone I know has a connection to Pilobolus, which has fascinated me ever since I found out about them in high school. I have a book somewhere, and a calendar, and once my mother and I saw them perform - magical.

*heads off to contemplate writing*

[Lorianne]

Beth, you're asking here the very questions I've been struggling with lately. It seems everyone I know is publishing/has published books: I feel like my proverbial "clock" is going off, except instead of everyone around me having babies, everyone around me is making books.

I have no idea what the answer to your "either/or" question is...I've always been a fan of "both/and," myself, but there are only so many hours in the day. And neither option of your "either/or" exactly pays the bills. (sigh...)

[Dave]

For poets, fame and profit have never been the issue. But somehow that doesn't keep them from being very jealous and competitive about publishing and awards (often now one and the same). I like Lorianne's birth-giving analogy. Books are very charismatic in their own way; a book project takes on a life of its own, just as a child does. Anyway, good thoughts, Beth - thanks for connecting all these dots. I'll be interested to see what other comments come in.

[Jean]

Thanks for making me think about this. I have no answer, though, to the question: book or blog? except what feels right at a given moment; the question of online or printed form becoming another question for the writer with each new project, like fact or fiction, prose or poetry, long or short.

I'm a huge fan of online writing and visual art - it's immediacy, democracy, interactivity has truly changed my life. But...

Recently, after taking photos for a couple of years, viewing and sharing them only on line, I began to print some - just on ordinary A4 office paper with a colour laser printer - and I was absolutely, unexpectedly delighted with the result. The images, 'framed' by the white paper around them, seemed deeper, took on a new life and significance, and became lovely objects that I could hold in my hands and stick up on my wall. I don't think seeing and holding what you've created as a physical object is replaceable.

Then, perhaps especially with a memory project, like a work about your father-in-law, there's the issue of permanence, having something physical to keep, to preserve the memory. None of us knows at this point how ephemeral all these words on line will be.

Also, I believe there's psycho-neurological research indicating that reading words online is not the same as reading words on paper, that the lower resolution means the brain is less engaged, takes it in less deeply...

Lots to say and think about here, but I think the answer is whatever feels right for a particular project.

[Richard Lawrence Cohen]

I'm facing a similar dilemma, book versus blog, at the moment, and my attempt at a solution is to try to do both, which means in practical terms devoting less than full energy to either. Which means that the book will take a bit longer to finish than it might have, but I hope it forgives me for that, and in fact a book more slowly written might turn out to be a better book.

In the old days, doing both at once would have been no sweat for me, but at some point age does start showing its effects...

I'm with Jean in loving both the spontaneity of blogs (and the lesson in evanescence they teach us) and the palpableness and hopefulness of having a permanent, beautiful object as the result of one's labors. (And I'm very glad to learn that Jean's started printing her photos, which I love.) My recent solution has been to self-publish a book of my best blog posts. I had complete creative control and produced a book that belonged to no genre, no category, and was absolutely faithful to me and a few readers.I spent a little money on it and got a bit less money back. All in all, an excellent deal.

Something to keep in mind is that, realistically, almost all books are as evanescent as blogs if not more so. The permanence of the physical object is an illusion. Publish a book this year and in twenty years no one will have heard of it except your friends and relatives and an occcasional stranger here and there --- the very same kinds of people who would have heard of your blog. This is an unpleasant truth that most writers at the beginning of the process understandably don't wish to face. So the book versus blog question isn't even a question in the long run.

In fact I'm betting there's a good chance that the writings from our era that the future will be most interested in will be in many cases nonmainstream writings. I like to believe this because incorrigibly I'm still attracted to the idea of fame and profit.

I differ with Dave about this: I believe that fame and profit have been issues for poets just like anyone else. It may not seem that way anymore because poetry is no longer a mass entertainment in our culture, but in the old days, poets were unashamed of seeking fame and, from the ancient Greeks through at least Keats, wrote about it as a motivating factor in their art. Whitman, for one, was a notorious self-promoter who planted reviews of Leaves of Grass that he had written himself and who carefully nurtured his avuncular public image. Not to mention Pound, Frost, Ginsberg, Dylan Thomas -- not every poet, certainly, but plenty of good and great ones. Today, academic position, tenure, grants, and prizes serve quite nicely as the manifestations of poetic fame and profit, and are the objects of endless craving. And who knows if that's a bad thing?

[Dave]

Well, O.K., you're right, Richard - I was thinking solely about our own culture, and within recent decades, but even then, fame and profit are relative. It would've been more accurate to say, "poets have usually been satisfied with whatever morsels of fame and profit fall from the general table. One enthusiastic fan at a poetry reading is almost as good as a gushy review in the New York Times."

[Natalie]

Beth, as you know, this is a subject that is much on my mind at this time. There's no doubt that the internet in general and blogs in particular have a made a huge difference in breaking down the barriers between the creator and the public and have made it possible to reach large audiences without the need for intermediaries. Technology such as print-on-demand and free sites such as YouTube, MySpace, Flickr and all the blogging software provide tools that anyone can use to get their ideas (or themselves) out there. Every day we hear mega-success stories about big-bucks book deals offered to this or that blogger, or record deals signed, or home-made videos being viewed by thousands, etc.etc. But here's the rub: we (I mean those who are creating something) still want and need that stamp of Authority (never mind whether it really deserves that title), validation by the Big Media, the Critics, the approving quotes which, when printed on our book covers, can guarantee respect and sales. I hate myself for it but am nevertheless spending a lot of time working out ways to get that kind of "accredited" attention. Because,in theory, getting it will mean I don't have to bother about it anymore. When Authority will say: "Okay, you're in. Here's the money, here's the contract, here are the glowing reviews in the quality press, here's your book on all the shelves everywhere. Now go and create more of your wonderful work and you'll never have to do another thing to sell yourself ever again." Yes, of course this is illusion and fiction. But it's an illusion that serves as motivation. I agree with Richard. I'd love to be rid of the craving but without it, I might just sink into a disillusioned apathy which blogging would be a distraction from, but not a cure.

[Rana]

Add me to the list of people who like to see the results of their work "in the flesh" - as a blogger/writer and a digital photographer, most of my stuff is trapped in pixels - which is perhaps why I love handicrafts like knitting so much. My work is so much more REAL when I can hold in my hands.

[Mouse]

A book about your father-in-law?
Yes, please

[Lucy]

Not sure what to add; profit seems a separate issue from fame, fame different again from the pleasure gained from a more physically tangible printed or otherwise fabricated object...
One or two people have said 'make sure you save it somewhere other than on Blogger', not for fame and fortune but for... what? I don't know! But I'm not sure that I want to do so; I like the evanescence of it.
I am not ambitious, (have little to be ambitious about, not false modesty,just realistic about what I do and why I do it), and I have a horror of physical clutter left behind, something to do with dealing with my parents stuff after they died, and many moves and changes; I hate the idea of leaving someone else with the responsibility of whether to ditch or keep.
On the other hand, currently planning a project of words and pictures with someone else which will have a discreet and finite span rather than the immediate and ephemeral nature of the blog, I find myself thinking, if we're pleased with it, it might be nice to have it in some kind of hard copy just to look at and pass a few on to friends. For myself I wouldn't care if they threw it away after a time, I have no wish or need to leave anything behind.
Yet I'm grateful that those who went before DID leave what they did. Another problem is perhaps also that at one time there weren't that many talented and exceptional people around and able to express themselves ( village-Hampdens remained just that), so the ones who did are to be treasured, whereas now there are many many gifted, talented souls who all deserve a hearing. The only way they can get it is to share it around and necessarily spread it thinner, which is what on-line publication does.
But again,

[Lucy]

... that's very strange, I have no idea where that final 'but again,' came from, I've no recollection of writing it! Please ignore it, I've no more to add!

[zeladoniac]

On the topic of permanence, I've tried making digital prints of my drawings and paintings, using the giclee method, but it never felt quite right, or real. So I've begun learning the old etching techniques. Hard copies have their own intrinsic value. It's why my bookshelves are full and so is my wallspace.

I love the comment about the biological clock for writers, I'm sure it applies to visual artists as well.

[Judy Wise]

What a thought provoking post and good comments. I paint and blog but do not feel that my paintings are more "durable" than my blog or spoken word. Every impulse I have travels out infinitely and effects whatever it touches. Your words change me as much as your book or your painting; everything material is lost in time. I think of my most lasting work as the people I have touched in my life; my blog is a way of reaching a wider audience and having what influence I can on gentle-ing the world. I was raised by a very harsh method but one person changed my life by showing me that love was the better, if not the only way. I want to pass that on.