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.

GENIUS EXISTS, EVEN IF IT IS NOT "SUPERNATURAL" : A RESPONSE TO DAVID BROOKS

AN ESSAY

New York Times columnist David Brooks is evolving into my philosophical foil. Almost every article he writes fundamentally contradicts my views on a particular issue. Two days ago, he wrote an editorial about genius and talent called “Genius—The Modern View.” See N.Y. Times, April 30, 2009. In essence, he echoes several modern studies that conclude: (1) “Talent is overrated” because genius depends not on some “otherworldly access to truth” or a “divine spark,” but rather the ability to “practice one’s craft” for many, many hours; and (2) Genius is not “mysterious,” but rather results from “the ability to develop a deliberate, strenuous and boring practice routine” that focuses on technique and weeds out “errors.” In Mr. Brooks’ estimation, anyone can be a genius. They just have to spend all their waking hours perfecting their art.

There is something wrong with this analysis. Hours alone cannot determine genius. There is something intangible about genius that even the most ambitious worker cannot fabricate through a “deliberate, strenuous and boring practice routine.” Obviously not everyone can be Einstein, Shakespeare or Mozart, no matter how much they practice or punish themselves. And there obviously have been millions who have aspired to the heights reached by geniuses. Incessant practice did not aid these forgotten, hard-working millions; we only remember the elite few who had “something more.” Under Mr. Brooks’ calculus, however, anyone can be a genius as long as they have the proper work ethic. Yet this cannot be true. There are millions of people who dedicate their entire waking lives to stockbroking, lawyering, banking, investing and real estate selling. They become unbelievably “good at their games,” yet they are not geniuses; they are average people who make money. There are even millions of people who put their heart and soul into acting, painting, writing, science and other “creative arts,” yet only a few distinguish themselves as “true geniuses.” Practice is essential, but it is not the determining factor. There must be something else at work. “Genius” implies something greater, something transcendent, something unique and something special. To think that any slob with ambition and a clear calendar can become Mozart is simply unjustifiable. Just remember Amadeus: Salieri spent his whole life practicing to be a great musical genius, yet Mozart brushed him aside with his innate, “special gifts.” Both men practiced incessantly. Both had ambition. But we hail only Mozart as the “genius” among the two.

Mr. Brooks’ essay aims to “debunk genius.” It aims to tear down the temples we build around men and women whom we regard with “reverential awe.” But I argue there is a reason we regard genius with “reverential awe:” It is unique and special. While genius may not be supernatural or reflect a “divine spark,” I believe it reflects that some individuals are more dynamic, more creative and more revolutionary than others. Geniuses tend to be rugged individuals who see things differently than the “average man.” Mr. Brooks, on the other hand, tends to think that anyone can “manufacture genius” merely by imitating and copying the techniques employed by others. While a genius always knows what precedes him, he is not content with imitation. Geniuses create and invent; they do not simply follow in others’ footsteps. Einstein mastered the “state of the art” in physics before developing his own unique, brilliant new theories. Shakespeare mastered the classical literary tradition before writing brilliant new works; he added to that tradition with his own unique voice. And Picasso intensely studied classical painting before breaking out to make his own, unique mark on the art world. All these geniuses had something more than the mere ability to practice boring routines. They were unique individuals with something special to offer the world. Combined with their work ethic, that “special something” made them unforgettable and important. I am not afraid to hold these geniuses in “reverential awe.” They had something I do not have. And no measure of practice or dedication will elevate me to their level.

Mr. Brooks’ argument perplexes me because it attempts to “democratize” genius. It also attempts to reconcile genius with the American notion that “hard work” can achieve any goal. Although this may sound elitist, I do not think that genius is “democratic.” One either has the capacity for brilliance or one does not. Anyone can wholly dedicate themselves to a “strenuous, deliberate and boring” practice routine in any life pursuit. In fact, millions of Americans do exactly that. Traditional employment demands huge numbers of waking hours, great endurance, forbearance, humility and discipline. Yet everyone who holds down a job is not a genius. On the other hand, perhaps the ability to focus intently on any sort of activity for “many, many hours” is a species of genius in itself. But it is not true genius; it is studied proto-genius. Salieri is the best example. He had the ambition, drive and time to develop a “strenuous, deliberate and boring” practice routine in music. He devoted his life to music. He hoped for brilliance. His work ethic found him employment, but not brilliance. He was not a true genius; he was a proto-genius. He merely worked hard at a boring practice routine and performed well according to that routine. His work lacked the “divine spark” that Mozart brought to his performances and compositions. It was technically apt, but not memorable. Applying this lesson, we can generalize: According to Mr. Brooks’ “long hours plus routine” formula, men may become “proto-geniuses,” but not “true geniuses.”

Americans do not like the idea that there may be “better people” in the world simply because they have unique talents. They cling to the notion that men are “equal” and have the capacity to become “great and successful” through fanatically hard work. Mr. Brooks’ approach to genius reflects this American discomfort with “innately brilliant individuals.” In his essay, Mr. Brooks downplays IQ as a “reliable predictor of future success.” By making that observation, Mr. Brooks rejects the idea that “innate talent” plays a substantial role in genius. Rather, he stakes his belief in hard work over talent. Taking things a step further, he stakes his belief in hard work and discipline over innate intelligence. In so doing, he conflates the American idea of “success” with genius. According to Mr. Brooks, “geniuses” are just “regular guys” who apply a “strenuous, deliberate and boring” practice routine for 16 hours a day or more. This lifestyle description also applies to the “successful American” who spends all his time working at a boring job. In the end, he makes money and becomes powerful. But geniuses are not always successful. In fact, many fail miserably in life, go insane and die penniless (Mozart, Nietzsche and Kafka come to mind). Why? If they worked hard, as Mr. Brooks prescribes, they should have made it. The reason lies in the fact that “true genius” is not accessible to everyone. Hard work alone does not create it. In fact, geniuses work hard at their own pace. They march to a different drummer than the rest. Put simply, they are more innately intelligent than the rest. And that makes Americans uncomfortable.

In sum, I do not believe that hard work and “boring practice routines” create true genius. Rather, I believe that Mr. Brooks’ essay presents a formula for “proto-genius” analogous to traditional American “success through employment.” In my view, true geniuses are world-changers. They dutifully study and understand the traditions that preceded them, but they are not content merely to master and repeat those traditions. They work extremely hard to perfect their crafts, but they have different motivations than most “average” people. They see things in different ways. If they did not, we would not remember them. True genius creates and revitalizes; proto-genius simply recapitulates and performs. Mozart was a true genius; Salieri was a proto-genius. A true genius spends his time thinking about new and revolutionary ideas; a proto-genius spends his time practicing, imitating and preparing for another technical performance. Proto-geniuses are consummate performers. Their technique is unparalleled. But they create nothing. Hard work and “boring practice routines” may result in masterful technique and performance. Yet without the “divine spark” inherent in true genius, they will make no lasting mark on history. They will be “merely successful” in their chosen field.

I am passionate about genius because I am passionate about individuality. In my view, American life constantly challenges individuality. On the one hand, we learn that we are all unique individuals with “something special” to offer the world. On the other hand, we learn that we must “conform to the success paradigm” in order to survive, and that means sacrificing our unique talents to “hard work, practice and discipline” for some employer. Truly great individuals break that paradigm with genuinely unique ideas and perspectives that we remember. They work hard, but they do not sacrifice their “special something” in the process. It is that “special something” in every individual that contains the “divine spark” to true genius. Hard work develops the craft. But only true genius makes it last beyond the generations. That is why individuality is important, despite all the impulsions to suppress it.

Mr. Brooks fails to comprehend that. In his view, mere work can replace the “special something” that propels true genius. I strongly disagree. Without the “special something,” there is only proto-genius, not true genius. When it comes to true genius, hard work is necessary, but not sufficient.