Politicizing Art70

I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history, naval architecture, navigation, commerce, and agriculture, in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry, and porcelain.

—President John Adams

Although I hold some strong opinions about politics, justice, the environment, and other issues, I struggle with whether I should air these opinions in public, and by extension also associate them with my work. Time and again I weighed the arguments for and against, and each time so far, I concluded that I did not wish to be a public activist. I know that many of my friends and colleagues vehemently disagree with this sentiment, which is why I feel it’s worthwhile to explain my reasons.

Many artists throughout history had considered such choices. Some pursued their political convictions openly and harnessed their influence in support of various causes, while others valiantly defended the notion that art should transcend life, be a refuge from the petty and mundane, celebrate the ideal rather than become mired in humanity’s flaws and imperfections, and aspire to timelessness rather than become associated with some fleeting conflict and thus become less relevant when the conflict is resolved. Importantly, even those who chose to dissociate their work from political affairs often participated in them as persons, as citizens, as humanitarians, as philanthropists, etc., even if refusing to do so as artists.

I wish to state clearly that I applaud anyone who takes a stand for noble causes. To me, the decision to make a bold statement for a worthy cause is always admirable, whether one openly takes a side in a conflict or whether one chooses to defend the purity and idealism of art by shielding it from politics. In fact, I think the latter, in some cases, is harder and even more admirable, as it demands an allegiance to the sanctity of art that is as strong as an allegiance to any other cause: it requires looking beyond the challenges of the day and holding art in such regard as to refuse to compromise and corrupt its future standing even if doing so may yield some short-term benefit, even when under peer pressure, and even if such refusal may draw criticism from small and sometimes violent minds incapable of grasping positions other than “with us” and “against us.”

During World War I, Hermann Hesse pondered similar thoughts. In an essay titled “Fantasies,” he wrote, “From recent reading of various kinds, the idea of ‘politicizing the spirit’ was familiar, and it was to this idea, which had always been profoundly repugnant to me, that I now felt drawn. Even though poets were calling themselves ‘intellectuals’! Could one misunderstand and misinterpret oneself and one’s task more completely and more foolishly? . . . They had long since ceased to be poets . . . and now they had come forward demanding the ‘politicizing of the poet’! . . . they had long since stopped doing the one thing the poet is brought into the world to do, the performance of a sacred duty toward that world which is more than real, which is eternal.”

Some photographers of the past also pondered such thoughts. During World War II, Ansel Adams, under criticism for making seemingly benign images of natural subjects while the nation was at war, suggested in a letter to friend and patron David McAlpin that his greatest wartime contribution was “interpreting the natural scene as a part of what we are fighting for.”

The question is a simple one (the answer, hardly so): is the ideal of defending the sanctity of art as worthy as the ideals leading to wars, social injustice, religious zealotry, or any other? I believe that it is. In fact, I believe that in many cases the value of art to humanity even surpasses such things in importance.

I should emphasize that the idea of art transcending the quarrels of politics, wars, and injustice does not in any way imply indifference to such things. If anything, it implies defiance in the face of the lowest, least dignified, and most violent of human feats—a staunch refusal to toss yet more purity, beauty, and transcendence into the festering cauldron of base and petty things, however horrific their consequences. To the extent that we must fight, art should be among the things we fight for, not about, and not with.

For all our high ideals, as a species we spend the majority of our resources on violence and on the industries that support it. Artists, being human, are not immune to taking sides in conflicts. But the question remains whether, in the long run, we can be more effective in improving the lot of humanity by joining a fight or by defiantly refusing to, by weaponizing our work or by pursuing our work as a testament to humanity’s loftier and less violent capacities.

A society in which art does not stand elevated and separate above the roiling mass of violence, bigotry, ignorance, superstition, pettiness, and greed will, in my mind, be a sad one to live in. What good is our idealism if in the course of defending it we end up in a world where one can never find refuge, beauty, and inspiration in things beyond our quarrels?

My conclusion aligns with that of Hesse: an artist’s most sacred duty is in shielding those parts of the human experience that are beyond the flaws of arrogance, violence, superstition, bigotry, and greed, and the quarrels of the day.

After writing the words above, I became agitated and decided to tune out for a bit. I put on headphones, played a selection of favorite music, and went to work in my garden as a summer thunderstorm rolled through. I welcomed the rain and was oblivious to my clothes getting wet; I watched the play of light and shadow on the mountainside across the valley, rejoiced in the scents of wet earth and wet vegetation, and savored the sensation of sinking my bare fingers into the rich soil. I then took a hot shower and, feeling renewed, I set about processing some recent work as the storms continued outside my window. Even more than before, I now feel that to channel such experiences into a fight, ideological or physical, feels like betrayal—like turning away a great gift and spitting in the eye of the giver. It would be an act of profound disrespect toward all things truly and purely uplifting, things beyond the petty affairs of humanity. I became keenly aware of how the human-made world, with all its technological wonders, fell so far short in so many important ways, in comparison with the peace of simple pleasures; and I understood why those for whom such experiences are rare or absent never know true happiness, even if successful by other measures. If we lose this, what is there to fight for? To exist for the sake of existence alone, for nothing beyond essential safety or for the glory of some untenable belief, is not a satisfying answer, at least to me.

It is unlikely that I will ever sway the course of history like so many world leaders, celebrity activists, or even some pundits, but my duty, humble as it is, is still a sacred one to me. I am an artist. I side with art. I consider art eminently important to the quality of human experience, independent of any cause, and because it is independent of any cause. Without art and the peace of wild places (which in my world are two aspects of the same thing), I cannot imagine a life worth living. This is my small hill to defend, and I do so proudly.

I will continue to espouse my thoughts and political leanings in the same ways that any individual may, and should: among friends and in fulfilling my duties as a citizen and as a compassionate individual. But as an artist I feel that my contribution to the greater good is not in becoming an activist but in ensuring that my art remains independent of quarrelsome affairs, no matter how strongly I feel about them, and not for my own sake, but for the sake of art and for the sake of those who will benefit from art long after the great issues of today are forgotten and obsolete.