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sesquipedality[from my Twitter thread, so the formatting might be a bit messed up.]
Watched "Mother!" last night. It was nicely executed and the invasion of personal space was so well presented it resonated with my own social anxiety. But I left it with the impression that the creative process isn't anything like as important as Aronovsky thinks it is.
I love art, especially good art, and I dabble myself in more ephemeral art forms. Art is hard, as is almost anything worth dedicating yourself to fully, but I don't think it has to be traumatic, or that the relationship between art and artist is inherently antagonistic.
I think maybe the issue is that, for all that Mother! is a female lead piece, it represents a conventionally masculine take on the creative process - one that pushes the line that monomania is the path to genius.
Traditionally, women partners of male artists have facilitated this model of creativity by providing the space in which "great men" are free from mundane distractions. Male partners have been less willing in general to subsume their identities into a female artist's work.
So the "monomaniacal artistic genius" archetype becomes by default a male trope. Female artists historically have not had similar space in which to allow artistic endeavour to take over their life. And yet they have still and consistently created great art.
(I should briefly digress by saying that I'm not intending to sideline how the relationship might have been different in same sex relationships, or for single artists. My point is simply that prevailing social dynamics mean it's easier for a male artist to be monomaniacal.)
But my point is that this idea of art as all consuming passion is rooted in historically male modes of artistic expression. I am not sure the being dominated by one's muse is necessary and even desirable in order to produce great art.
Taken to extremes, this leads to situations where directors physically and mentally abuse their actors in the guise of achieving an authentic performance, rather than, say, trusting them to, you know, act. That's a very dark place, and not, I believe, a necessary one.
Here's the thing. Art is, I think, part of the human condition. It is impossible to be conscious and not to be an artist to some extent. Ability will vary, but there are enough people in the world that there are more gifted artists than humanity has space to recognise.
Art is not rare, or fragile, as Aronovsky suggests. It is part of all of us, and abundant. Humans will always find a way to make art. What gets recognised as genius is largely a result of a mixture of luck, networking and prevailing social conditions.
(Oddly, monomania can be helpful in getting recognised. It sometimes means more prolific output, and more refusal to take no for an answer, both of which are factors which can increase the chance of discovery.)
Much though the narrative of the tortured genius makes for a compelling narrative, suffering and art are not intrinsically linked, any more than suffering is intrinsically linked to the human condition. Your art is no less valid if you did not suffer to create it.
Like any other unhealthy relationship, it is likely that therapeutic intervention can make the manner in which art is produced more healthy. To cling to dysfunction in the name of the chimera of "creative genius" is not necessary.
So what I thought about Mother! was that it seems to celebrate, or at the very least revel, in a harmful and arguably incorrect model of creativity which has its roots in narratives with patriarchal elements which link great art with suffering.
As a metaphor for a particular artist's dysfunctional relationship with his work, it works well, but I left it with the feeling that Aronovsky viewed that struggle as important and epic. To me it seemed commonplace, and significantly less interesting than he though it was.
It was, however, thought provoking. It certainly challenged me to try to articulate why things were not as portrayed in that film. As art, then, it succeeds in provoking both an emotional and intellectual response.
Watched "Mother!" last night. It was nicely executed and the invasion of personal space was so well presented it resonated with my own social anxiety. But I left it with the impression that the creative process isn't anything like as important as Aronovsky thinks it is.
I love art, especially good art, and I dabble myself in more ephemeral art forms. Art is hard, as is almost anything worth dedicating yourself to fully, but I don't think it has to be traumatic, or that the relationship between art and artist is inherently antagonistic.
I think maybe the issue is that, for all that Mother! is a female lead piece, it represents a conventionally masculine take on the creative process - one that pushes the line that monomania is the path to genius.
Traditionally, women partners of male artists have facilitated this model of creativity by providing the space in which "great men" are free from mundane distractions. Male partners have been less willing in general to subsume their identities into a female artist's work.
So the "monomaniacal artistic genius" archetype becomes by default a male trope. Female artists historically have not had similar space in which to allow artistic endeavour to take over their life. And yet they have still and consistently created great art.
(I should briefly digress by saying that I'm not intending to sideline how the relationship might have been different in same sex relationships, or for single artists. My point is simply that prevailing social dynamics mean it's easier for a male artist to be monomaniacal.)
But my point is that this idea of art as all consuming passion is rooted in historically male modes of artistic expression. I am not sure the being dominated by one's muse is necessary and even desirable in order to produce great art.
Taken to extremes, this leads to situations where directors physically and mentally abuse their actors in the guise of achieving an authentic performance, rather than, say, trusting them to, you know, act. That's a very dark place, and not, I believe, a necessary one.
Here's the thing. Art is, I think, part of the human condition. It is impossible to be conscious and not to be an artist to some extent. Ability will vary, but there are enough people in the world that there are more gifted artists than humanity has space to recognise.
Art is not rare, or fragile, as Aronovsky suggests. It is part of all of us, and abundant. Humans will always find a way to make art. What gets recognised as genius is largely a result of a mixture of luck, networking and prevailing social conditions.
(Oddly, monomania can be helpful in getting recognised. It sometimes means more prolific output, and more refusal to take no for an answer, both of which are factors which can increase the chance of discovery.)
Much though the narrative of the tortured genius makes for a compelling narrative, suffering and art are not intrinsically linked, any more than suffering is intrinsically linked to the human condition. Your art is no less valid if you did not suffer to create it.
Like any other unhealthy relationship, it is likely that therapeutic intervention can make the manner in which art is produced more healthy. To cling to dysfunction in the name of the chimera of "creative genius" is not necessary.
So what I thought about Mother! was that it seems to celebrate, or at the very least revel, in a harmful and arguably incorrect model of creativity which has its roots in narratives with patriarchal elements which link great art with suffering.
As a metaphor for a particular artist's dysfunctional relationship with his work, it works well, but I left it with the feeling that Aronovsky viewed that struggle as important and epic. To me it seemed commonplace, and significantly less interesting than he though it was.
It was, however, thought provoking. It certainly challenged me to try to articulate why things were not as portrayed in that film. As art, then, it succeeds in provoking both an emotional and intellectual response.
