Dec 2, 2017 from the Archive
Written during the first wave of public reckonings around artistic legacy and abuse. I’m archiving it here because the question hasn’t gone away — it’s just changed clothes.
The past few months have seen a deluge of reports of sexual misconduct by powerful, talented men. In the wake of repeated allegations, a chorus of questioners has asked: “Can we love an abuser’s work without condoning abuse?” Can we love the art but not the artist?
For full disclosure, I’m a woman who has experienced sexual misconduct. I’m also a culture lover who feels an affinity for the art of Pablo Picasso. Despite his abusive and vampiristic nature his work is remarkable and inspiring. As years and museum visits have passed, I’ve found no way to reconcile my admiration with my disgust. Picasso is rightly known as a prolific and influential artistic genius. He is equally the person who declared, “women are machines for suffering.”
When we speak of Picasso, we have the luxury of historicity and the distance of generations. This is not the case when we view the names of those currently accused — a list which grows by the day. Our efforts to separate achievement from abuser are more than an intellectual exercise. They are a veiled search for our own redemption within a flawed system. What if the fundamental question is not, “can I admire the work of an abusive person?” but “why are abusers so well-tolerated that they can develop a legacy in the first place?”
The world is full of talented people, including undiscovered geniuses who do not abuse others. Every opportunity given to those who “behave badly” takes one away from a deserving person who does not. When a community tolerates a known abuser because of his social or economic value they reinforce a culture of abuse.
Some grieve the career losses of the accused as if they have lost a friend. But what about the setbacks, transitions, and personal pain forced upon their targets? These are often dismissed as an unfortunate reality, rather than a preventable injustice.
The surfacing of these reports is a moment of both reckoning and hope. While we grapple with a variety of questions, we would do well to look into a different kind of frame, that of the mirror. Flawed individuals are rarely lone wolves or rogue monsters. They are people working within socially-supported systems.
These moments which interrupt “business as usual” are a bitter gift. Yes, they are an opportunity to discuss the legacy of flawed people. Let them also be a time for us to weigh our own legacy, that which we are empowering and creating right now.