Art and the Artist: Are They Inseparable?
While art can be influenced by its context and shaped, in part, by the sensibilities of its creator, I believe art to the individual should exist in an independent vacuum, separate from its creator’s personal views or actions. Learning about the actions, words, or beliefs of an artist merely changes my perception of them as an individual; their work is, and always shall remain, what it had been previously. In this way, I suppose the beauty of art for me is independent of context — a quality that exists outside of the creator’s influence. To illustrate my point I shall provide an example.
You may recognize this timeless piece as Salvador Dalí’s magnum opus The Persistence of Memory. Whether you’re aware of its origin or not, its popularity and recognition are undeniable, with its influence permeating popular culture — even making an appearance in an episode of the children’s program Looney Tunes. Whether you in particular find this piece visually appealing or not, the point still stands that it is viewed by many with fascination and wonder. Now, if I were to inform you that Mr Dali held sympathetic views towards Hitler and himself claimed to be a fascist — would your perception of the piece in front of you change?
I would assume not, though I could be wrong in making this assumption. There are likely numerous reasons for this, some of which I have considered when exploring what motivates individuals to view the art and the artist as inseparable. One of these reasons is temporal. Viewing this painting in a positive light carries no perceived immediate repercussions; the piece being created nearly a century ago. Therefore, even if support for the work were to be conflated with the artist, one would likely argue that this would not necessitate agreement with the artist’s personal beliefs. While his beliefs and actions fade into distant memory — acknowledged perhaps only by his contemporaries — his art persists in a vacuum, independent of him. Hence, art can be moving, even when we don’t know its creator.
Thus, the issue with supporting figures like Kanye West is that many people view his current work as inseparable from his openly expressed social and political views, due to their temporal relevance. This view is likely based on the assumption that supporting an artist with such views means supporting both their work and their personal beliefs. But is this really the case? Kanye has been ostracised from mainstream discourse and now exists primarily within the music world, while his music is still consumed. This suggests that even those who listen to his music may not be particularly interested in his social commentaries. Therefore, not granting them any level of legitimacy — his influence existing only meaningfully in the creative sphere.
Another factor leading to individuals separating the art from the artists is the magnitude of the backlash. Take the Me Too movement for example, figures such as Harvey Weinsten and Bill Cosby’s reputations were destroyed overnight. Not only are their actions on our mind, so too is the very public response to their actions — which plays a subconscious yet pivotal role in our moral judgements. Instances like this, where individuals — take Gwyneth Paltrow, for example — are directly affected, seem to evoke a stronger emotional and moral response than more general statements or actions, which, though equally harmful at times, are harder for us to grasp in terms of their direct impact.
The capitalist economic models of the West also play a practical role in influencing whether people are willing to appreciate art in spite of the actions of the artist. It is true that if you engage with the art of an artist you do not like, you’re often spending money on them or, at the very least, perpetuating their growth and enabling them to reach a wider audience — simple supply and demand. Therefore, in this regard, your taste becomes less personal and it can be argued that your actions have further consequences. When you purchase a piece of art, attend a show, or stream an artist’s work, you aren’t just supporting the art itself, but indirectly reinforcing the economic systems that allow those artists to thrive — sometime regardless of their personal conduct or controversial beliefs. This creates an ethical dilemma for consumers: how much responsibility do we bear for the actions of the artists we support, knowingly or unknowingly?
In A Treatise of Human Nature (1738), David Hume puts forth the idea that descriptive statements (what is) about the world cannot, by themselves, imply prescriptive or normative statements (what ought to be the case). Essentially, just because something is a certain way doesn’t mean that it should be that way, and we can’t directly infer moral obligations from mere facts.
- Is: Descriptive statement (e.g., “Pablo Picasso was (is) personally misogynistic”).
- Ought: Normative statements — (e.g., “People ought to stop appreciating Picasso’s work because of his misogyny”)
Hume’s central point here is that there’s a gap between what is and what ought to be. Simply acknowledging a fact about an artist — say, that Picasso held misogynistic views — does not, by itself, lead us to the moral prescription that we ought to stop appreciating his work. This leap from is to ought requires more than just the facts of the case; it requires moral reasoning and justification.
In the context of separating the artist from the art, this is crucial. The fact that Picasso’s personal behavior was misogynistic doesn’t inherently imply that we ought to abandon his art. Our emotional or moral response to the artist’s actions may lead us to distance ourselves from him, but this response is not logically dictated by the facts alone. As Hume would argue, the jump from his personal behavior to our moral obligation to reject his work needs additional reasoning — beyond mere fact — to justify it. This philosophical challenge, when applied to contemporary artists like West or Picasso, helps clarify the ethical dilemma: while we can acknowledge an artist’s flaws or problematic behaviour (the is), deciding whether we ought to stop engaging with their art requires further deliberation about the values and moral implications involved.
A real issue here, however, lies in our society’s cult of personality, where celebrities are no longer seen as flawed individuals, but as monolithic figures — either wholly good or wholly bad. This is not reality. Stars are human, with all the complexity, contradictions, and moral failings that come with being human. We need to remember that we are individuals, each with our own sensibilities, morality, and taste. I can’t tell you to ignore the controversies of an artist if they truly disturb you — but for me, I’ll continue to appreciate their work if I can separate it from their personal failings. I disagree with adultery, yet I still read Camus. I abhor domestic abuse, yet I listen to John Lennon. I detest racism, yet I find undeniable creative genius in Walt Disney’s work. If we base our taste solely on morality, where do we draw the line? At what point do the artist’s personal flaws become too dangerous to overlook? If we reject an artist’s work because of their flaws, how far do we take it? What becomes unforgivable? And, perhaps more importantly — who gets to decide?
Love the art, Hate the artist.