PRESIDENTS ARE BORING : WHATEVER HAPPENED TO INTERESTING RULERS LIKE FREDERICK THE GREAT?

OESTERHOUDT STRIKES

In centuries past, political leaders led much more interesting lives than they do today. They were not just politicians and party bosses. They were more than petty thugs and criminals. They did more with their time than merely sign legislation, negotiate treaties and give speeches. They had more freedom to be themselves, not the calculated personas we see in rulers today. In the past, rulers have not just been commercial administrators. They have been painters, singers, writers, sculptors, generals, conquerors, heroes, scientists, philosophers and theater lovers. But today, most political rulers have no outside interests: They are usually just devious lawyers and cutthroat business tycoons who crave reelection.

By American standards, Barack Obama may be "interesting." But he is still pretty staid compared to history's more well-rounded rulers. In brief, he's just another wealthy lawyer who wears a lapel pin and panders to business interests. Come to think of it, no American President has ever been very well-rounded. The office simply does not lend itself to flamboyance or rebelliousness. Perhaps that has something to do with Democracy: People in a Democracy want relatively boring "stewards" to manage their affairs. In the American Democracy, for instance, people want stability, not calamity. After all, you can't make money without stability. That explains why virtually every American President has been either a lawyer or business baron. Lawyers and business barons are "stable people." Boring as hell, generally, but stable. They don't invite calamity, at least intentionally.

By contrast, interesting people aren't usually very stable. And they court calamity. That's why American Presidents aren't very interesting. American Presidents just want to keep the economy going and get reelected. That might yield a comfortable existence, but it isn't very memorable.

But rulers like Frederick the Great of Prussia (1712-1786) are memorable. Frederick was no mere commercial orchestrator. He was a general, a conqueror and an arts patron. He invited French philosophers to stay with him in his palace and engaged in homoerotic banter with his all-male courtiers. He played the harpsichord and the flute. He carried on correspondence (in French) with Voltaire and wrote music in his spare time. He even penned marches for his army. About his wife, he said: "There can be neither love nor friendship between us." He never had children; his wife lived in her own castle and he visited her once a year for tea. And he even tried to flee his own country with his ostensibly gay lover when he was 18. His father caught them before they left. Then he forced his son to watch as he had his lover beheaded.

Now that is interesting. A man like that could never be President: Too interesting.

Yet Prussia became a major European power under Frederick's rule. Frederick might have been a composer, artist, general, philosopher and arts patron. But he also ran the country extremely well. He was interesting and well-rounded. He inspired faith in his people. His example shows that well-rounded rulers can be exceptional, despite the impulsion to be boring commercial orchestrators.

I find it significant that no one remembers Frederick for his commercial tact. In fact, no one ever thinks about commerce when they think about Frederick. They think about his military prowess, cultivation and Enlightenment. They think about the things that made him a well-rounded person, not his skill as a financier.

In a way, Frederick's example shows that great rulers transcend commerce. After all, people don't remember quiet bourgeois comfort. They remember unique personalities who vault beyond the banal concerns of prospering at business. They remember interesting people.

That is why most American Presidents are quite forgettable. They just aren't interesting. The only ones worth remembering did things beyond commercial management. Abraham Lincoln comes to mind. He saved the country from dissolution, led it through war and abolished slavery. He might not have been an artist or composer, but he spent his time attending to matters larger than commercial management. In America, that is memorable. After all, almost all the other Presidents did little but manage the economy. Like Frederick the Great, Lincoln transcended commerce. That is why he is the most memorable American President.

But even Lincoln was not as interesting as Frederick. Lincoln was just another lawyer in a long line of lawyers who became Presidents. An exceptional lawyer, to be sure, but nonetheless just another bourgeois. He was a creative statesman and even an amateur inventor, but still nothing like Frederick. America simply does not tolerate such colorfulness in its political rulers. They would never get elected in the first place. Can you imagine what the media would say if a Presidential candidate admitted he tried to flee the country with his gay lover? Or that he preferred to speak French? That would not go over too well in South Carolina. America just doesn’t like flamboyant originals in high office. Especially flamboyant originals who might be gay.

Instead, America likes mediocre career politicians in high office. America likes one-dimensional Washington insiders who know how to work the system just well enough to keep unemployment down and income up. It does not want men like Frederick the Great, or even Abraham Lincoln. Put simply, American democracy does not want leaders who rock the boat too much, even if rocking the boat improves things in the end. Well-rounded men might be brilliant, but they are risky. And commerce abhors risk.

It is no accident that someone killed Lincoln. That's what happens to American rulers when they get just a little too interesting for comfort. And that's a shame, because interesting people can lead Nations to incredible new heights.

LIFE IS NOT RATED PG-13

OESTERHOUDT STRIKES

Movie ratings amuse me. Whenever I see a movie poster, I always look at the rating box. In the old days, the rating box was simple: It just listed the rating (G, PG, PG-13, R or X), plus the general description for the rating. For G, it said "General Audiences." For R, it said "Restricted Audiences."

Now the rating box is a little more complicated. It still gives the rating and the general description. But it also gives "reasons" why the movie earned its rating. For example, it might say the movie is rated "R" because it contains "Nudity, Some Sexual Content and Drug Use." Or it may say the movie is rated "PG-13" for "Some Language, Adult Situations and Scary Images."

I know why there is a rating system. The Motion Picture Association of America started the system in order to help parents decide whether they should take their children to the movies. If a parent sees "R" at the bottom of a movie poster, then he or she would know not to take 6-year-old Johnny to see it.

But the rating system does more than "protect children from unsuitable content." I have written that it can also perform a political function by limiting access to a film if the "raters" do not like its message. An "R" rating, for instance, substantially reduces a film's potential audience by reducing the number of theaters that will show it. That, in turn, makes it more difficult for a film to reach a broad audience. In sum, raters can influence an artwork's communicative outreach by tacking on harsher ratings, even when they are not really warranted.

And who are these raters? What criteria move them? Put simply, they are private Americans with relatively little tolerance for "unconventional" ideas, language, themes, images or messages. They also have a very squeamish moral sense. Sex and nudity put them off more than violence. Breasts are more threatening than explosions and killing. If a movie even remotely strays into "controversial" ground, they will rate it "R." A straight make-out scene might only generate "PG-13." But a gay one would definitely yield an "R;" or maybe even "NC-17" if it is graphic enough. And if you dare to use the word "fuck" once in your movie: Forget it; that's an "R" for you. Hey, you could always opt for "fudge" to save your
box office.

What explains this hypersensitivity? Is it really all about the children? Why should movies that deal with "real-life things" earn harsher ratings than meaningless fluff?

Consider this: I recently saw a movie poster with a "PG-13" rating because it contained "Some Smoking." Say what? Smoking? Since when did smoking become a taboo subject? Do we really believe that our children will turn into criminals because they see someone smoking a cigarette onscreen?

I mention this for three reasons. First, I do not like the moral hypersensitivity in the movie rating system. Second, it is just not possible to shield children from every single allegedly "bad" thing in life. Third, there is little correspondence between what happens in movies and what happens in actual human experience.

Children see smoking all the time. They do not need to be 13 to know that people smoke. In fact, if their parents smoke, they probably have known about smoking since the moment they could form memories. Even if their parents don't smoke, it does not take long to see someone else smoking outside. Smoking is everywhere. Sure, it's not good for your health. But it's part of life. There's no sense morally rebuking a movie simply because it shows something that millions of people do every single day. And there's even less sense in attempting to prevent children from learning about it: Chances are they already know.

There is so much about movies that is totally unrealistic, even in movies that claim to portray reality. Movies are a fascinating medium because they lead viewers into a dimension that closely resembles reality. Yet on reflection, it is clear that they are not real--not even close. Life does not have snappy dialogue, segue cutscenes or a melodramatic soundtrack. It does not have a set run-time, either. Put simply, there is a wide range of human experience that will never appear on a movie screen. And even the most banal things--like going to the bathroom or sexuality--often earn harsh scolding from the raters.

We do and say things every day in our lives that would lead to an "R" rating or worse. Just getting undressed to get in the shower pushes us into "NC-17" territory. The human body, in other words, is a taboo subject. And movies are supposed to represent reality? How could they when they don't even show the most basic things that people do and say every day?

Movies are artificial. They do not represent reality. In that light, it is foolish to rely on them to form impressions about life because there is so much about life that they never portray.

Movie ratings are artificial, too. If anything, they simply measure the moral qualms of a few squeamish Americans. It is too bad that the raters have such a strong influence on what millions of people see on movie screens.

All I know is that my own life is not even close to PG-13. It's been NC-17 since before I could even talk. If you've ever been naked in your life, you're rated "R" at least.

Movies might spare the faint of heart. But life doesn't. This shit is rough.

MICHAEL MOORE IS RATED "R" : APPARENTLY, COGENT SOCIAL COMMENTARY IS FOR RESTRICTED AUDIENCES ONLY

OESTERHOUDT STRIKES

I still have to watch Michael Moore's new movie, Capitalism : A Love Story. To prepare myself for his latest offering, I went back to the catalogue and watched Bowling for Columbine (2002). It made me laugh and cry all at the same time. But this time I noticed something interesting about the movie that I never considered important before: It was rated "R." The Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) said it deserved an "R" rating because it contained "Language and Some Disturbing Images." That piqued my interest. Then I noticed that Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004) and Capitalism : A Love Story also were rated "R."

I recognized at once that the MPAA does not like Michael Moore. Bowling for Columbine did not even remotely deserve an "R" rating. Its "disturbing images" were no more than stock news footage showing gun violence in America and abroad. There was no bloodshed. By the MPAA's reasoning, virtually every nightly newscast in the United States should be rated "R" for "some disturbing images." So should almost every National Geographic Channel documentary and World War II show. And the "language" that earned the movie an "R" was this: A single use of the word "fuck" by Marilyn Manson during an interview about violence in American society. I could make only one conclusion from this: The MPAA did not like Moore's "provocative message" about American society, so they "pulled power on him" by slapping an "R" on his movie.

It is no small thing for the MPAA to dish out "R" ratings. "R" ratings reduce a movie's potential audience by up to 83%. They dramatically weaken its chances to speak to millions. As a documentary, the movie intended to reach a broad audience base. By all objective measures, the movie's content should not have warranted an "R." But the MPAA obviously felt uncomfortable with Moore's message, so they took action to automatically minimize its potential impact. The MPAA projects "authority" by vindicating "American values," like obedience, patriotism and respect for social hierarchies in an unequal commercial system. Michael Moore wages war against those values in every movie he makes. It is no surprise that the MPAA--as a corporate entity--jumped at the chance to take petty revenge against Moore. Michael Moore is a corporation's worst nightmare. He is the archetypal populist gadfly. He speaks all the words corporations try to suppress. What better way to stymie the gadfly than by restricting the number of people who can hear his words?

Michael Moore is a controversial figure. People either love him or hate him. Anyone with a trace of conservative blood generally detests him with homicidal passion. Moore haters say he "distorts the truth," "gets his facts wrong," and "sensationalizes issues," all while "being rude" and "intruding on people's privacy." Many say he "just lies."

But Michael Moore never intrudes on anyone who doesn't deserve to be pilloried. He "fights the power" in the purest sense. He only castigates those who use power over those who do not. He does not ridicule the weak. He is not afraid to call powerful people on their hypocrisies, nor is he afraid to uncover the injustices that poison American life. Naturally his targets resent his efforts; the truth always hurts. Typically, his targets respond that he only tells "half the story" and "says things inaccurately." Still, Moore's impact flows from his conceptual strength. His messages are effective because they broadly contrast principle with practice. That effectiveness does not depend on rigorous accuracy. As long as the basic ideas work, so does the film.

Power does not like exposure. The MPAA is an institution of power. It is only natural that the MPAA would use its institutional authority to strike at Michael Moore. After all, Michael Moore exposes and embarrasses power in every movie he makes. But why is the MPAA so powerful? Why is it so arbitrary? It is not a governmental institution. If it were, it could never pass judgment on artistic works consistent with the First Amendment to the United States Constitution. Only State actors must abide by the Constitution. Private actors--like the MPAA--can ignore it all they want. In essence, then, the MPAA is nothing more than a collection of powerful private individuals who get to pass judgment on artistic works for any reason they want. And they don't even need to explain why they judge as they do. Unlike judicial officers, they don't even need to reference laws and precedents to support their conclusion. They can just say: "I gave it an 'R' because I didn't like it and I think I heard the word 'shit' in it."

So why do filmmakers submit to the MPAA's ratings? Simple: Movies must have ratings to enter mainstream distribution. Without a rating, no commercial movie theater will show a film; it will be doomed to arthouses and college campuses. This might satisfy fringe directors and hardcore artists. But most artists want as many people as possible to hear their messages. The only way to really "spread the word" is to obtain mainstream distribution. And the only way to do that is to submit to the MPAA's asinine review board. That is why every director struggles to appease the MPAA's private censors. Even then, if the MPAA board does not like the director or his message, it will find reasons to restrict his audience with a harsher rating. That is what happened to Michael Moore.

I think this is really shameful. In essence, the MPAA channels artistic expression in this country to conform with the authority-serving values of a private committee. Artists willingly pay tribute to those values because they want to reach the broadest possible audience. And in some cases, the committee will do its best to restrict a filmmaker's audience no matter what the filmmaker concedes. Again, this is what happened to Michael Moore. The committee simply does not like his messages, so it branded his movies with "R" ratings to prevent more people from seeing them. Only bias and prejudice can explain why Bowling for Columbine and Fahrenheit 9/11 received "R" ratings. A documentary that shows mildly violent stock news footage and broadcasts one expletive should not be deemed "unsuitable" for people under age 17.

I really don't think Michael Moore cares whether the MPAA rates his movies. He is going to say what he wants to say no matter what. He knows many people will categorically oppose him simply because he is Michael Moore. Yet I find it despicable that the MPAA can dare to call a movie "restricted" when it merely collages images that we see on television news broadcasts every night. American life, I suppose, is rated "R," too. Or maybe "NC-17" would be more like it.

MAKING STIMULUS WORK : AMERICANS WOULD RATHER HAVE JOBS THAN ART

ECONOMIC POLICY CONTRIBUTION

By : Mr. Cornelius D. Zimmerman, Ph. D., Senior Fellow, The Employers' Coalition for Effective Stimulus Through Greater Executive Compensation; Former Director, Gerstein Industrial Paint Co., Inc.; Author, "Money Talks : Paying for Loyalty is OK" (Bantam Business Publications 1997); University of Pennsylvania Business School (M.B.A. 1969).

For over a year now, our government has assumed an unprecedented role in our economy. Following the disaster that befell Wall Street last autumn, Washington has literally foot the bill for private investment losses. If employers need extra cash for operations, they just need to ask the government for it. If a corporation is running low on money for executive bonuses, it just needs to fill out some forms claiming "economic difficulty" and it gets a fat federal check. Washington calls these measures "economic stimulus." Still, many companies feel embarrassed about taking government handouts. But as business owners and employers, we say this: Do not be ashamed to take free money.

As a general rule, we believe in hard work and earning your keep. When we raise our children, for instance, we teach them that nothing is free. We teach them that traditional, daily employment is the only way to respectably earn money. We even teach them to feel ashamed for accepting too much help from other people. After all, a good, zealous worker needs no extra help. If he does, that means he has failed somewhere. Put simply, we do not appreciate government efforts to help people who are too lazy to work, or people who fail. When you fail, that's your problem.

Still, we relax our stance when we benefit from government spending. Workers should feel ashamed to receive government help, but we do not feel ashamed when the government bails out our companies. After all, our companies are necessary to the economy. Employees are less necessary. Anyone can type data into a spreadsheet. But not everyone can sit at a Directors' meeting and ask blustering questions about finance. We are different. Without us, employees would not have a place to work and earn. In that sense, it is perfectly acceptable for major companies to receive government aid without any shame at all. In fact, we deserve it. When government gives major corporations money, it acknowledges our vital role in the national economy. We salute the Federal government for its recognition that private corporations must remain profitably funded in order to maintain our free market system.

Yet government's willingness to spend money to support private employers introduces new issues. How can businesses benefit most from government's new largesse? We founded The Employers' Coalition for Effective Stimulus to answer exactly that question. If government wants to spend money to help pay our bills and our executive salaries, we think it is important that government spend effectively. Effective spending means cutting away needless expenses and putting money in the right places. That means guaranteeing two basic things: (1) That executives continue to receive their pre-2008 salary levels; and (2) That companies can employ more people at livable wages. Executives must receive their old pay because no business professional will take risks without it, and companies must hire more people because more employees mean more profits for executives, particularly when government pays for them. Without profits for executives, the whole system collapses. Who would want to run a business without profit? Thus, when government spends money on private companies, it must bear these two goals in mind.

Stimulus is still a relatively new concept in Washington. We believe that Washington can benefit from executive consultation on stimulus programs. First, we insist that Washington increase stimulus for our companies. Americans want jobs. We can give them jobs if Washington gives us money to pay them (less a service fee payable as executive compensation). Washington knows that Americans want jobs. Yet it sabotages its own stimulus efforts by wasting money on things Americans don't want, like art. At present, Washington spends billions on extraneous initiatives like the "Federal Writers' Program," the "National Endowment for the Humanities," the "Federal Performing Arts Fund" and many other "artistic" endeavors. This is pure waste. Americans could care less about art. However much they cared about art in rosier times, they don't want it now. No one wants to look at paintings when they are unemployed; they want a job. In a word, jobs are more important than art.

By targeting useless spending such as the National Endowment for the Humanities and the Federal Sculpture Society, we free up cash for job creation. By streamlining Federal aid, we ensure that money goes where it is needed most: To private employers. When more government aid fills corporate accounts, that means more jobs. Yet when government wastes money on photography, essays and art history lectures, that means less money for private employers. And when that happens, Americans lose jobs. It is no answer to say that private employers can pay their own employees. That is not the point: The point is that more money for companies means even more jobs for Americans. Neither we nor the American people will further tolerate government spending that prevents Americans from getting jobs. Put simply, every time the government spends money on art, it costs thousands of American jobs. This must stop.

Art does not pay medical bills. It does not send children to private colleges, nor does it pay mortgages. Art does not buy furniture, groceries or electronics. In a word, it is useless. In difficult economic times like this, Americans do not need useless things. They need jobs. They need things that will save them from bankruptcy and ruin, not pornographic sculptures and left-wing theater pieces. The Coalition understands the American people: The American people want jobs, not art. We know that Americans would much rather have a job at the local insurance company than free admission to an exhibit on splatter painting. Stimulus will not reach its full potential until government halts competing support for art.

America does not need art. America needs stimulus that works, not decadent luxuries like painting and novel-writing. Cutting arts funding will help us on the path to universal private employment. But there are other ways to create jobs beyond effective stimulus for private employers. For example, the Federal government can provide funding to private entrepreneurs to round up and burn existing art. Just as government created ready jobs for unemployed workers in the 1930s, so too can it create ready work for the unemployed in 2009. There are millions of artworks in the United States. Unemployed people can immediately get back to work looking for them, seizing them and destroying them. Even more Americans can stack up paintings, while still others can feed them into fires--all for decent pay. Skilled contractors can build furnaces for artworks, keep them fueled, clean them and maintain them. Thousands more can drive trucks transporting artworks between furnaces. Unemployed accountants can count how many artworks are burned each day at each furnace, then draw up ledgers detailing trends and productivity. These measures will provide immediate relief to millions and pay them a dignified wage. Furthermore, they will give unemployed people hope and a new sense of national pride.

We can do this. We must simply start rounding up and burning art. This is stimulus that works.

Americans can do anything they put their minds to. When Americans have a purpose, they are stronger than anyone else on earth. We can survive this recession by reevaluating what it means to live in America. There is nothing wrong with accepting government assistance. When stimulus stimulates private spending on employment and executive compensation, everyone wins. Additionally, when government shows the people that it cares about their jobs and even creates work for them, they feel proud to live in a country that cares for them. We can accomplish all these goals by cutting arts funding and destroying existing art. Thousands of Americans need work. Millions more need hope. Effective government spending will ensure that they all get well-paying, private sector jobs within the next twelve months. Anyone who wants a job will have one. After all, anyone can burn art. Even disabled people can play a part by telling able-bodied workers where to find hidden art.

For over two hundred years, artwork has accumulated in the United States. Destroying it will take years. During that time, millions of Americans will receive excellent wages. They will be able to afford their own health insurance, feed their children and even buy homes. Destroying art will provide all these benefits. And what will we really lose? Americans would rather work than look at sculptures or drawings. Employers would rather make suitable profits than cut jobs. Yet this is precisely what they will have to do if government does not streamline its stimulus efforts. In today's economy, government cannot afford to waste money. It must ensure that every dollar results in job creation.

Let us move forward. We can overcome this depression without socialism. We must merely spend money where it counts: On private employers, not art. Spending money on art led this country into despair and depression. Let us take our prosperity back. It is time to spend money on things that Americans want: Jobs. By paying executive compensation and destroying art, Americans will get all the jobs they want.

Let us get back to work. If you are out of work, tell your Congressman to abolish arts funding. And mention that you are ready to help look for paintings, sculptures, sketches and picture books. We have a new mission as a people: To work, not to hoard wasteful art. Burning art will unite us all.

Better days are coming. That means more jobs and less art.

OFF FOR TWO DAYS

I finally had to surrender some prime writing time to make some money. For the last year, I have managed to stay afloat without having to seek "traditional employment." Over that time, I had free rein to indulge my creative interests. Yet my cash supply has been running dangerously low for a while now, and today I am off to do a little consulting job to pay the rent this month. Thankfully it pays pretty well and it only lasts two days. I apologize for not posting during this time. Until I get a steady patron--or some wealthy financier buys my catalogue--I will periodically have to suspend the blog to make a few extra dollars here and there. Believe me, this is not my will. This is cruel commercial necessity.

It is nice to have money. It lets you spend time the way you want and elude the legal vengeance of spurned creditors. Working provides some cash. But you sacrifice so much to get it, leaving virtually no time to enjoy the freedom it can offer. For the last few years, I have learned that balance is everything. I need money just as much as the next guy, yet I refuse to unbalance my mind in order to get it. I only want as much as I need. If I thirsted for more, I would find myself at a law firm or some other God awful place from morning to night. This I refuse to do. This is not laziness; it is conscience. I always "work." I just avoid "employment." There is an enormous difference.

I hope this message finds you all well. As always, I am grateful for everyone who stops in to read my posts. Even after writing without pause for a year, I still feel inspired. I still have a long list of issues I want to discuss. In that light, how can I surrender my time to mundane commercial pursuits when there is so much Reason, Commerce, Justice & Free Beer to be had?

Here's to financial independence, spiritual independence, self-definition and a life of purer motivations.

Oesterhoudt

ARTISTS IN DEBT : THAT'S JUST THE WAY THEY ARE

AN ESSAY

Sometimes I genuinely identify with stories I read in the news, especially when they involve credit, hardship and creativity. You might think that those three issues do not arise in tandem very often. But they certainly have in my life, and apparently they have for photographer Annie Leibovitz, too. See For Annie Leibovitz, a Fuzzy Financial Picture, N.Y. Times, July 31, 2009. The article tells us that Annie is wrangling with a bank for control over her intellectual property catalogue, which she pledged as collateral for a $24 million loan last year. It looks like she will lose. After all, law favors the creditor; and Annie hasn’t paid her loan back. Pretty soon, a New York County sheriff will escort bankers into Annie’s home. Armed with clipboards, BlackBerries and appraisal books, they will seize her priceless works—all pursuant to contract, of course.

How did Annie sink so deeply into debt? How could such a “successful” artist be so dissolute? The article offers a striking answer: “The mind that can take these extraordinary pictures is not necessarily the same mind that is a perfect money manager.” Put simply, Annie Leibovitz doesn’t think about money. Her head is in the proverbial “artistic clouds.”

And there is nothing wrong with that. Annie may not get along well in this world, but she will live on long after she dies. In the end, people will remember her majestic portraits, not her petty disputes over loans and cash advances in fiscal year 2009. Put simply, “money managers” die and no one cares. Annie Leibovitz’s lender will die one day and be forgotten the next. But “flighty artists” with “money issues” die and leave behind a transcendent testament. It is true: Creative minds do not sit well with the banal concerns of money, credit and day-to-day management. The same gifts that make them unique make put them at a tremendous disadvantage when it comes to “everyday administration.”

Yet it may not be fair to simply assume that Annie’s money woes derived purely from her “artistic nature.” Although sources in the article say that she had always been “notoriously bad with her expenses,” that she “never turned things in on time” and “forgot to pay bills,” apparently she faced some genuine hardship, too. According to the article, Annie lost both her parents, her life partner and gained two children within five years. Perhaps she let her finances go because she really didn’t give a shit after losing the most important people in her life.

I can understand that. My father died three years ago and I will never be the same. His sudden death completely undermined my belief in “traditional life pursuits” because I saw that they all come to nothing in the end. Losing one parent is a cataclysmic psychological event, even if you don’t recognize it when it happens. Losing both multiplies the impact. And losing a life partner intensifies it even more.

I identified with Annie because I have suffered similar personal losses in a relatively short time. Within a year after my father died, my life partner suffered a catastrophic injury that landed him in the ICU for over a month. His heart stopped twice on the operating table and his doctors said he probably would not live. He recovered, but he has never been the same and will remain permanently disabled. I have been at his side ever since I received the dreaded 2 AM phone call alerting me that “your friend in the emergency room” two years ago. All this happened before I had fully processed my father’s death. It confused and deepened my grief. More importantly, the two events combined to make me deeply question every path I had chosen in life. They made me question assumptions I made about money, career and happiness. In a word, personal calamities—especially the death of parents and loved ones—force you to fundamentally reevaluate your life. Things that once seemed important suddenly seem ridiculous. After all, when your life’s foundations can suddenly evaporate in an instant, you can never really take anything for granted again. And you learn to doubt every plan, because nothing is certain.

I am a bad money manager, too. Even before I suffered my personal setbacks, I recoiled from money because it always struck me as “petty.” “Making money” requires careful, unexciting, mundane daily administration fraught with threatening financial consequences. Basically, it requires disciplined attention to profoundly boring subject matter, like scheduling and checklists. I certainly do not claim to be an artist on Annie Leibovitz’s level, but I understood what the article meant when it referred to her mind’s natural hostility to “management.” My mind does not naturally germinate toward daily administration, either. I have trouble making phone calls. I hate making appointments. I forget things on the “to-do” list. I detest doing laundry and running errands. Yet I do these things because I must: Left to my own devices, I would probably ruin myself. Why? Because my mind naturally germinates to “more substantial” things, like philosophy or the next satire I want to write. My mind dwells on the absurdity and foolishness of existence. Money and “administration,” however, typify that very absurdity and foolishness. That is why I can’t stand either one. I intellectually abhor them. I push them out of my consciousness as much as I can, even if it makes me “irresponsible.”

I suspect that Annie Leibovitz does the same thing. She doesn’t think about debt; she thinks about the next grandiose photo shoot she wants to do. She is thinking about the exquisite details and social commentary she wants to express through the image. She is thinking about aesthetics, color, lighting, shading and beauty. She is not thinking about outstanding bills, credit scores or whether a loan is 45 days past due. These are “insignificant matters” to an artist’s mind. Of course, this is not a healthy prescription for survival in a commercial world that exults daily administration over creativity. It may lead to artistic achievements that transcend the centuries, but it renders the artist an outcast during his own lifetime.

Mozart was no different. He generated monumental artistic works during his life. But he was a “notoriously bad money manager” who constantly racked up debts and died penniless. His mind was elsewhere. He didn’t think about commerce and administration. He thought about the beautiful melodies in his head. He worked to express his creative impulse, not to satisfy petty creditors and bankers. His commitment to creativity ruined him in life, but it made him immortal after his death. Of course, fame after death pays no bills. Yet artists, like Mozart and Annie, really could care less whether they pay their bills. After all, that is mere administration—who has time for that? In short, artistic genius rarely translates into earthly success because the free-ranging mental state necessary for artistic genius typically rules out the mundane mental state necessary for financial “responsibility.” Artistic geniuses simply do not attach importance to matters they consider trivial or petty, even if they suffer for it.

Many great artists die worthless. Then their creditors move in, seize their works and exploit them for all the money they never earned during life. I always find it ironic when banks play Mozart’s Symphony No. 40 when I’m on hold for an agent ready to take my payment. That’s a debtor’s song they’re playing!

It is hard to live a “responsible” life. It is hard to hold your emotions together long enough to survive childhood, go to college, get an education and please private employers. If any substantial misfortune strikes during the journey upward, success becomes progressively more difficult. If anything derails your focus, you will not achieve great commercial goals. If you are creative, you stand a greater chance to be distracted from the “traditional life program.” Success in the “traditional life program” requires unswerving discipline and rigorous attention to administrative matters. Yet those matters are revolting to creative people. They attend to them with grudging resentment, if at all. And if they don’t attend to them, they come to ruin. In a word, creativity is a “handicap” in the quest for “responsibility.” Some, like Annie Leibovitz, achieve success on their own terms. They get patrons and stipends without selling themselves into the “traditional life program.” Creativity may impose a disadvantage on most people struggling to “live responsibly.” But a few break through despite their creative handicap. Nonetheless, they remain uneasy with the demands of “responsible life.” It is only a matter of time before commerce smacks them down. After all, they are not “responsible” enough to fend off creditors and avoid debt. They blunder into financial straits because they do not even really think about what they are doing. This is what happened to Annie.

Combined with personal hardship, artistic creativity makes commercial success virtually impossible. Genuine artistic creativity interposes a natural aversion to the administrative tact necessary for commercial success, while personal hardship undermines the very motivation to seek commercial success in the first place. Taken together, personal hardship and creativity combine to form a recipe for commercial failure. I know this because my own creative impulses predominate over my commercial impulses, and my own personal hardships showed me that seeking “success in the traditional life program” is really a quest for meaningless shadows. For me, “responsibility” and “management” are a chore, not an opportunity. And my personal hardships make me see that success really yields nothing in the end anyway. Recognizing that, I am happy simply to live and to give voice to the ideas in my mind. That may not make me rich, but it gives me a feeling of more lasting significance in a world that actively rewards insignificant lives.

In sum, I was not surprised to read that Annie Leibovitz is in debt. Artists usually are. They simply do not attach importance to “everyday administration” the way “responsible people are supposed to.” Artists just don’t “fit” in the “normal commercial value system.” Their minds dwell on larger issues, not just property. And when I read that Annie suffered profound personal losses, I understood even more. When creative, thoughtful people suffer hardship, money management is the last thing on their minds.

But perhaps that is a compliment. In commerce, it is a cruel truth that uncreative, forgettable people always prevail over creative, memorable ones. Forgettable people know how to handle money and die unknown. Memorable ones are scatterbrained, irresponsible and live forever. No one will remember the banker who seized Annie Leibovitz’s photographs and “owned” them. Yet everyone will remember Annie Leibovitz, the great photographer.

NUDITY IS EVERYONE'S CONCERN

CONSIDERED OPINION

By : Rep. Victoria N. McCummings, Ph.D. (Child Development); Representative (New York State Legislature); Senior Chairperson, New York State Board of Decency Regulation; J.D., Yale University School of Law (1984); Art Lover.

You can scarcely turn on the news these days without hearing about some scandal involving nudity. All too often, these scandals affect the most vulnerable members of our society: Children. In our digital world, images travel fast. In centuries past, societies could better control nudity because there were not as many ways to broadcast it. Now, photography, the internet, television, DVD-video and even personal newspaper ads transmit nude images everywhere, without regard to whether an innocent child sees them. This is profoundly troubling because nudity is dangerous. That is why I have introduced legislation to curtail the expansion of nudity in 21st Century life.

I have never liked nudity. I do not like bare breasts, nipples, pubic hair, chests, genitalia or buttocks. They are—quite simply—disgusting. They revolt me. They are not pleasant to look at. When I was younger, I became physically ill when I saw a photograph depicting John Lennon and Yoko Ono standing naked next to each other. It was just revolting. Even before that, I became very uneasy when studying classical sculpture. Michelangelo’s David, for instance, often requires me to avert my eyes. I do not care whether art experts and nudity apologists say there is nothing threatening about these works. I disagree. Just think of the children who may see them. If they make me feel ill, imagine the damage they could do to children. It is heartbreaking to even think about it. If we truly care about our children, we must do something about nudity—now.

And it is getting worse. Teenagers use the internet to spread nude images all over the world in an instant. They post nudity on their Facebook pages, leading to shock, embarrassment and family strife. Clearly, we must do something about this. We must find a way to prevent children from accessing nude images, as well as from creating new nude images. Nude images are as dangerous as crack cocaine and crystal meth. Like drugs, nudity leads to immorality, licentiousness and unproductive behavior. Nudity is like a cancer. It threatens to undermine our society’s very foundations, just the way opium destroyed Chinese society in the 19th Century. Unless we act now, nudity could well destroy our Nation.

My legislative plan includes measures calculated to do two things: (1) Control existing nudity; and (2) Prevent the creation of new nudity. To control existing nudity, I propose making clothing mandatory at all times. Naked bodies cause untold damage to our society. When people see nudity, naughtiness, envy, disgust and even violence ensue. In short, nudity represents a very real social danger. To that extent, police measures are justified in reducing it. Public nudity has always been illegal. Traditionally, our society has drawn a moral line between female nipples on the street and female nipples in the home. But this is an irrational distinction; nudity is dangerous no matter whether it occurs in a full sports stadium or a private home. Nudity incites harmful behavior and leads to moral decline; it does not matter whether it occurs in public or private. In short, a female nipple is a female nipple, no matter where it is bared.

In this light, I propose legislation that will make private nudity a crime. No longer will citizens be allowed to sleep naked or even take showers without in some way “covering up.” Although group nudity poses greater dangers than individual nudity, individual nudity is dangerous to the extent that it incites bodily comfort in the perpetrator. That bodily comfort—like criminal intent—can mature into more severe offenses against the law and decency. In my view, bodily comfort is not good for society. By threatening criminal punishment for individual nudity, we can suppress bodily comfort. As long as some people are afraid to get undressed, we reduce the potential for nudity-related harm. We may not fully eradicate individual nudity, but we will at least strike fear into every man or woman who dares to remove his or her clothing at any time, for any reason. And less nudity means safer children.

We must also take steps against the creation of new nudity. Nudity is most dangerous when preserved in tangible form. Prior generations did not face this threat as much as we do. At most, statues and paintings depicted nudity, and only the rich could obtain them. Now, however, we are literally awash in nudity. Nakedness is everywhere. Photography and film largely bear responsibility for this terrible proliferation. Not coincidentally, crime and immorality have intensified in the generations since photography and film increased public access to nudity. We wonder why children talk back today? We wonder why people disrespect each other? We wonder why they hold nothing sacred? Simple: They see too much nudity and they spend too much time naked.

Under my legislative plan, we will combat this free fall by striking at the source: Devices that can create nude images. I intend to introduce legislation that will compel camera makers to develop “nudity-safe” mechanisms for their merchandise. These mechanisms will automatically detect whether the camera is recording a nude image, then disable the camera’s image-making capability. As soon as the nudity disappears, the camera will regain its image-creating capability. This represents a technological approach to stopping nudity proliferation. When my proposals become law, every camera sold in our State must meet Anti-Nudity obligations under the statute. The statute will also criminalize the possession, use and transfer of any camera or visual recording device that does not meet Anti-Nudity protocols under the law. By these measures, we will reduce the creation of nude images. In so doing, we will protect our children from a major source of potential nudity. If cameras literally cannot create nude images, we necessarily will see a drop in nudity. When there are less nude images, there will be less abuse on Facebook, less immorality on movie screens and safer children. A society with less nudity is a safer society.

I recognize that it will be difficult to eradicate all nudity-producing media. Artists will always paint or draw naked human bodies. But it takes much more skill to draw nudity than merely to record it with a camera. Additionally, direct Anti-Nudity obligations under the law will make it impossible for artists to observe nude models because models will no longer be able to lawfully pose in the nude. This will require artists to produce nude images solely from their imagination, not their direct observation. I believe that imagined nudity presents only a marginal threat to public decency. If an artist convincingly depicts fanciful nudity, the law can deal with him as necessary. Thankfully, there are not many artists with the ability or resources to produce large amounts of dangerous nudity. We can handle a few renegade painters. By eliminating nude photographs and movies, we eliminate the most widespread abuses. Everything else is just cleanup.

I am confident that I will obtain legislative support for my initiative against nudity. Like terrorism, nudity lurks among us. One can never know for sure whether the person next to us creates nude images, or whether he secretly wishes to get undressed. By taking strong action against nudity, we reduce the likelihood that nudity will affect our children. We will usher in a whole new era of safety in which our children learn that remaining fully clothed is far better than undressing. True, we will need to modify our behavior to comply with the law. We will have to learn to use the bathroom in new ways, shower in new ways and sleep in new ways. We will have to learn how to change our clothing without becoming fully naked. And we will have to learn how to reproduce with minimal nudity. Nonetheless, these are bearable burdens because they lead us to a better society—a nudity-free society. By waging war on nudity and the harmful social problems it creates, we both defend our children and edify ourselves. We are better than nudity. We can control it and defeat it. When we pass my law, the era of naked terror will see its last day.

Nudity is everyone’s concern. It is dangerous. We must band together and address it as a society. Today, we can take a step toward a better life—a fully clothed life. Once we overcome human nudity, we can conquer animal nudity, too. We have a duty to our children. Until every mammal learns that nudity is wrong, our children will not be completely safe. Until every dog, cat, hog, bird, horse, rabbit and cow learns to wear a coat and stockings, there will be danger in our society. But we will move incrementally. We will take one step at a time. Today, we move against nudity in humans. Tomorrow, we move against nudity everywhere—and when there is no more nudity, there is peace for all.

A SHORT BREAK, AND A WORD ON WRITING

I don't like it when "real life" interrupts my writing. But that's exactly what it does from time to time. Today, I have so many nagging administrative tasks that I won't be able to sit down and really generate a good post this morning. With luck, I will have some time this evening, but please forgive me if fatigue compromises my writing muse.

Tracey Ullman recently satirized J.K. Rowling in her State of the Union comedy show. Essentially, she mocked Rowling for obsessively controlling the "Harry Potter" franchise by depicting her suing the most insignificant transgressors against her "intellectual property." During one exchange, Ullman qua Rowling says to a U.S. Customs official who has aspirations to be a writer: "You're really not going to take time off from your job to write, are you? You're not going anywhere with this, are you?"

There was brutal truth in Ullman's satire here. Not only did she excoriate Rowling--who only had time to write because she was unemployed and received government benefits to help her avoid homelessness--but she also hit upon the sad reality that "employment" and "real life" tend to snuff out artistic expression altogether. Rainer Maria Rilke said that you should not even bother writing unless "you must do it." In other words, you "must" write, even if your obligations and commitments pose virtually insuperable roadblocks. That sounds great, and I even agree with it to a point. But Rilke never had to worry about his rent, nor did he have sick relatives to care for, nor did he suffer mental illness, nor did he have crushing debt that required him to seek energy-draining "employment" to pay it off. More importantly, Rilke never spent his hours attending to menial tasks and boring (but depressingly necessary) labors to fulfill commitments to creditors and family members. Because he did not have such commitments, he never arrived home exhausted, uninspired, torpid and incapable of imagination. Yet this is how we feel when we get home after a day of compulsory "service" fulfilling obligations.

In short, we have to slog out a living to avoid homelessness and bankruptcy. Rilke could sit musing in Paris salons and get handouts from scintillated bourgeois women. We cannot all be so lucky.

And it is not our fault. Our circumstances in life dictate whether we have time to write. When I have to take a day off from writing, I do not despair. I do not consider myself "defeated." I wish I could be like Rilke and all the "professional, successful" writers who do not have to worry about creditors, rent, administrative obligations and the myriad annoyances that plague me every day. If I were, I would have bottomless energy and creativity from the moment I wake up in the morning until the evening. But all too often I have to contend with some nonsense, or even work for someone else; and that sucks the very life out of me. By the time I get home, I can do little more than stare, let alone be creative. This is "real life."

Having said all this, I do my best to write despite all the personal and financial challenges that hound me. I try not to describe them in detail; this is not a psychiatry blog, nor do I expect anyone to really care about my issues. This is just the way life goes. Some have it easier than others. Still, I am relatively content with my lot. It could be much worse: I am healthy; I am just broke, in debt and romantically committed. I just resent the suggestion that it is somehow "anti-artistic" to refrain from writing one day because "real writers write" no matter what else they face in life. That is simply unrealistic. For debtors like me with relationships, bills and sick relatives, I have no choice but to be "anti-artistic" every now and then. If I weren't, I would be homeless or emotionally wrecked. And if that happened, my "artistic production" would fall to nothing. Thus, I take a break when I must, Rilke be damned.

As yet, I haven't found a wealthy patron to finance my scribblings. Until I do, I regret to say that I will occasionally need to take days off from writing once in a while in order to stave off bankruptcy and to maintain crucial relationships with important people in my life.

Does this make me a cop-out? Maybe in J.K. Rowling's eyes it does. But please forgive me; I haven't yet published 45 novels with 17 film adaptations. I actually fret over unexpected bills because every single dollar I earn has already been spoken for. To some extent, that stays my artistic hand. If I don't sometimes grit my teeth and handle administrative crap, my creditors would do me in. So I give up the writing some days.

But rest assured. Administrative nonsense only restrains me once in a while. At all other times, you can count on Reason, Commerce, Justice & Free Beer. And thanks again to all those who take the time to read what I write.

ART : TASTE, POPULARITY, DISCOVERY, FAME...WHAT DOES MERIT HAVE TO DO WITH IT?

AN ESSAY

What makes art great? Is it the color? The brushstroke? The imaginativeness? The originality? Does effort help? Is there some checklist to follow? Can you learn how to create great art? Or are great artists merely “chosen,” as if by fate? Why does a van Gogh sell for more than some unknown artist from the same era with a comparable style? Why are Basquiat’s dribblings worth more than an unknown artist from the same era who generated similar dribblings? In other words, what makes “great art” so special?

There is no way to objectively answer these questions. In fact, they are profoundly troubling. I am sure that art historians and university professors can lecture me on the myriad reasons why a Picasso is “better” and “worth more” than “lesser known” artists’ works from the same period. But I reject all attempts to objectively qualify art. Art has nothing to do with objectivity. And artists achieve fame because someone discovers them, not because they have “objective talent.” “Great art” did not become “great” because of some magical gift in the artist. Rather, it became “great art” because influential people liked it at the time and vigorously promoted it. Ironically, these influential people have never been artists, nor have they lived artists’ lives. Mostly, they have been bourgeois liberals with enough spare money to buy paintings, then yap about them to their bourgeois friends at wine-drenched gallery openings.

Art appeals to taste. Everyone has different tastes. While many people share tastes, no one can rightfully assert that their taste is better than another person’s. One person likes Limburger cheese. Another does not. One person likes pop art. Another hates it and doesn’t even consider it “art” at all. There is no way to objectively measure “artistic value,” because “artistic value” is a taste question; it is in the eye of the beholder—or perhaps, we should say, the tongue of the taster. Art represents an individual’s expression through imagery. Some will call it beautiful. Others will call it ugly. If enough people call it beautiful, they might make it famous. But maybe they won’t. The viewer is not bound to do anything. Viewing art is subjective; and the viewer is the ultimate judge. There is no objective standard: People either like your art or they don’t.

Art goes nowhere without viewers and their reactions. Once art appeals to a certain person’s taste, he might become enthusiastic about it. If he is a bum, it won’t matter. A bum doesn’t have influential friends or money to buy paintings. But if he is a lawyer, doctor or philanthropist, the possibilities grow. Well-heeled bourgeois know other well-heeled bourgeois. They talk to one another. They spend money together. They go to art auctions. If a rich dentist sees a painting he considers “fantastic,” he might tell his securities broker friend about it. The friend may agree, then tell his father, a retired banker with disposable income. In this way, art becomes “popular” among people in a position to make it “famous.” Once art achieves some popularity, promoters get involved. They spread the word even more, leading undifferentiated viewers to look at the art. “Wow,” think these new viewers. “If this painting is so popular, it must be good.” More and more people buy prints. The prints become famous.

Popularity, then, is a prerequisite for “greatness.” What begins as the fickle taste judgment of an individual bourgeois becomes the kernel for “great art.” Artists themselves have no power over reactions to their work. They simply live at a particular moment in time, express their feelings in visual form, then present their works. They cannot control whether they become popular. If Jean-Michel Basquiat had lived during van Gogh’s time, his works may not have generated as much buzz as they did in New York in the 1980s. And if Picasso were born in 1981, his works may not have generated as much buzz in Paris as they did because he was born in 1881. Artists become popular because they are born into particular times and places. Certain tastes exist at those times and in those places. Their work appeals to those tastes. When enough “influential people” become enthusiastic about their work, artists become famous. And once artists are famous, people start using the word “great” to describe them. Enough people like them. Enough people find their work beautiful. Yet they did not intend these results. The artist just went about his business. Fate blessed him with admirers who happened to find his work beautiful. He had no power to influence whether people would like him. They just did.

Some great artists got lucky during their lifetimes. Others did not. No matter whether they achieved fame before or after death, they never orchestrated it. In fact, most artists start off poor, wretched and despised. Artists do not “fit in” because they do not find “traditional work.” In western society, that is a sure way to attract scorn, both from society at large and from one’s own family. Picasso lived in an unheated Parisian flat when he was 20. Van Gogh bumbled aimlessly around Holland and Belgium, earning virtually nothing. Basquiat illegally spray-painted New York City subway trains; he was a “vagrant.” These were not “successful men.” They were outcasts, men who did not belong. They did not find “traditional employment” because they had larger things on their minds. They did not follow the “traditional life program.” According to bourgeois mythology, they should have come to ruin. Yet in each case, they became wildly famous. Why? Because some well-placed people liked their art, bought it, promoted it and made it popular. Gertrude Stein patronized and promoted the young Picasso. Andy Warhol patronized and promoted the young Basquiat. And numerous local bourgeois patronized and promoted van Gogh, although his fame did not mature until after he died.

But what made these men so special? Surely there must have been other tramps with artistic ability who simply did not have the good fortune to run into Gertrude Stein or Andy Warhol. If artists become famous because their work appeals to “influential tastes,” then blind luck plays a role in their success. After all, it is a matter of pure chance whether an “influential person” encounters a future “great artist.” Perhaps there have been other Picassos throughout history, but no wealthy barons saw their paintings in time. This is a disheartening thought. Yet I cannot escape it because “great art” depends on discovery. If some “influential person” does not discover an artist, no one will ever know about his genius. He will just die; no one will remember him. In fact, no one ever learned about him in the first place. In this sense, merit and genius have less to do with “great art” than good fortune. Picasso, Basquiat and van Gogh had sufficient merit to appeal to influential people’s tastes. But they also were lucky enough to have been discovered by the right people. Bums did not discover them. Bankers, lawyers, aristocrats, princes and wealthy dentists did. That is why we hail them as “geniuses” today. And that is why their paintings cost millions each.

“Great artists” owe their fame to their handlers. Fame, notoriety and popularity do not depend on intrinsic merit. They depend on others’ judgments. A person is not famous because he is intrinsically “the most talented” or “the smartest.” He is famous because enough people know about him. It is about numbers. If enough people know about you, you are famous. If they know about you because you supposedly create “great art,” then you are a “famous artist.” That does not mean that you are “intrinsically talented.” It simply means that your work appeals to many people’s tastes. To achieve fame, it is all about knowing the right people. Picasso, Basquiat and van Gogh luckily encountered people who had the power to effectively spread the word about them. Their work happened to please the right people’s tastes, and these people, in turn, told their friends about the art. Like wildfire, their popularity took off. Did their talent have anything to do with it? Perhaps. But talent alone did not lead to fame. Influential people did, along with their influential social networks. Put simply, “artistic talent” (if such a thing exists in the abstract) without discovery is like gold buried beneath the ocean floor—it is worthless. Only a determined miner can realize its potential. And the miner is the handler, not the artist. Without a handler and a promoter, the artist—talented or not—lies buried.

For all these reasons, I am deeply suspicious about assertions that certain art is “great.” When I look at art, I engage in an individual inquiry. I let art affect my own tastes. My tastes are my own; no one else controls them. I don’t care what art critics or professors say. If it pleases my tastes, I like it. If it doesn’t, I don’t. In many cases, I like art that has been labeled “great.” But I don’t like it because someone else told me it was great. I like it because my own tastes happen to match the majority’s. In essence, I remember that art is about subjective taste, not objective merit. And I remember that most art in famous museums or at Sotheby’s is only there because some wealthy promoter happened to really like it a long time ago.

All these things should deeply bother an artist. If I were an artist, I know they would bother me. After all, artists express themselves, no matter what people expect from them. They live dangerous, risky, unconventional lives. Yet no matter how powerful or meaningful their expression, they have no control over their popularity. They must surrender their fate to the subjective tastes of bourgeois art collectors and patrons, who all lead lives categorically different from the artist’s rebellious existence. Artists do not decide whether a millionaire banker likes their brushstrokes or paint splashes. The banker likes what he likes; it is not for the artist to say. The banker may hate the painting and walk out. Or he may fall in love with it, tell his colleagues about it, make the artist rich and attract an art museum’s attention.

What did the artist have to do with these reactions? Nothing. His “artistic ability” merely provided an opportunity for an “influential person” to react. But the power to react resides in the “influential person.” And fame does not result without a precise chain of lucky events that begins with discovery. Merit does not trigger this chain of lucky events. Merit merely provides an opportunity to appeal to an influential person’s tastes. That is only the first step toward fame—and possible “greatness.”

For better or worse, “greatness” in any endeavor depends on fame. No man is great if no one knows about him. Fame, in turn, depends on many lucky events, including the identity of the person who makes the initial discovery. “Great art” is great because the right people liked it at the right time. It is “great” because enough people who liked it were enthusiastic enough to promote it to others. Did the artist influence these reactions? No. He just painted what he saw in his mind. He expressed himself. He did not “make himself great.” Others did that for him. And they only did it because he appealed to their tastes, not because he had some magical talent that entitled him to greatness. In this light, “artistic ability” is at best overrated and at worst irrelevant. Put simply, “artistic greatness” derives from historical accident and dominant taste judgment, not self-revealing abstractions.

If Picasso had not encountered Gertrude Stein, he would have struggled on, alone and unknown. And if van Gogh’s paintings did not appeal to some wealthy patrons in Amsterdam, no one would ever have known about him, either. Their talents would simply have evaporated into the vastness of time and human experience, like so many others we never discovered. In sum, when it comes to “artistic greatness,” promotion and luck beat natural talent any day.