When your number’s up, your number’s up.
There’s a war going on right now in the science fiction community–between what used to be the establishment (a group called the Sad Puppies–mostly conservative, mostly male, mostly white), and the new establishment (everyone else). Without going into too much detail, the Sad Puppies are upset that sci fi’s preeminent award–the Hugos–is (gasp) political. They feel that good writers are being shut out because people are more concerned with inclusiveness and social justice messaging, than quality. (As if those are mutually exclusive.) And they are making a big ole’ fuss about it.
But really, the Puppies are facing what every artist–every human–faces. Their irrelevance.
Jerry Seinfeld smashed headlong into this recently, as well. Seinfeld said that he and many of his peers don’t play college crowds, because Millennials are “too PC,” and therefore don’t understand comedy. When college student Anthony Berteaux responded to this accusation on Huffington Post, Bill Maher and others ripped into Berteaux for having the gall to lecture a legend like Seinfeld about comedy.
In both cases, the establishment is saying the same thing: We are the arbiters–of what is worthy, of what is funny. But that is simply not how art works.
Your audience gets to decide, and they will change their minds over time. This friction between established artists, new artists, and an ever-changing audience has been integral to birthing artistic movements such as Rock and Roll and Dadaism. But change cuts both ways, and sometimes you fall out of favor.
As Berteaux said in his letter to Seinfeld, “Provocative humor, such as ones dealing with topics of race and gender politics, can be crass and vulgar, but underlying it must be a context that spurs social dialogue about these respective issues. There needs to be a message, a central truth behind comedy for it to work as humor.” He cited Amy Schumer, a woman 27 years Seinfeld’s junior, as an example of this kind of comedy done well.
What is becoming obvious is, whether it’s in their sci fi, their comedy, or elsewhere, today’s younger audience cares about fairness, inclusion, and balancing the scales. And if that’s not at the heart of your art, then you’ll find yourself at the end of a losing proposition.
I can understand the frustration artists feel as a result. What happens when your vision is out of step with current thought and trends? When your audience has moved on without you? You might go unrecognized, or fade into obscurity. And that is anathema to an artist’s sensibilities.
But protecting the vanguard will only hasten an artist’s irrelevance. And accusing your audience of being “PC” won’t help either, because it’s a lazy, throwaway term that makes anyone who uses it sound cranky and ignorant.
So what’s to be done?
Irrelevance is a concept parents can relate to well, so we might look there for some inspiration. From the minute you have a child, you realize your obsolescence is at hand. You’ve replaced yourself with a more robust version, which your own parents now prefer to you. And as you age, this person begins to act as though you were alive when Lincoln was shot, and says things to you, like “When you die, will you give me your jewelry?”
But there’s a beauty in this as well–a legacy. Because you see how life will continue after you’re gone. You know you’ve contributed by passing along your memories, (your jewelry) and whatever bits of wisdom you’ve gleaned. And hopefully, in this way, you will live on in the minds and hearts of your children and grandchildren.
Maybe artists need to take the same consolation. Keep creating the finest art they can, yes. But also, make room–gracefully–for other voices, and for new, challenging ideas. After all, an artist’s work is a catalyst and inspiration for everyone that has been inspired by it. So, even when art is no longer relevant, it is still very much alive.
