Art, Ego, and the Power of "Genius"
The Intersection of Creativity and Impact
Hope everyone is settling in and feeling productive. I find a lot of folks are feeling dual impulses: Inspired and getting lots done, but also a bit on edge. It starts to feel like we’re cruising towards the end of the year, with the swirl of urgency and ambivalence that comes with the passing of time.
These related feelings of inspiration and stress have me thinking about creativity, who gets to be creative, and how that relates to power.
Social Impact Insights: Aren’t We All Geniuses?
One of my biggest critiques of social change institutions is their constant search for and anointing of specific people as saviors of the movement or as visionary leaders—”geniuses”—who have the answer. We all know that social impact work takes thousands of leaders doing the work, playing different roles and bringing inter-disciplinary skills and ideas, in order to make change that creates any kind of impact. Data evaluations, common sense, and intuition all tell us that it’s the strategic leveraging of a wide range of stakeholders and strategies towards a shared vision that brings about change. But still there is this overarching need and cultural mindset that urges people in power to seek and follow that one brilliant person who can guide us all.
One thing that makes me feel like we can overcome this penchant is the reality that it’s not just the social justice sector that does this. It’s everywhere, in every field, this hunger we all have to find that one “genius” who can lead us all to higher ground. And of course the danger is, once a person is anointed with this title, a certain level of power gets handed to that person. And the more power handed to one person, the less we see of accountability for decisions they make. We see this dynamic in politics, in tech, in academia, and in the arts, and we all bear the burden.
I was reminded of this recently because my husband Jeff and I just listened to the podcast, Death of an Artist, about the Cuban-American artist Ana Mendieta, who focused on performance art and art embedded in the landscape, shaped with a feminist lens. She was married to a more established and well-connected artist, Carl Andre, who was a renowned “genius” in the art world for his work on minimalism. Mendieta died in 1985, allegedly at the hand of Andre, who was later acquitted in a bench trial and continued to have major exhibitions of his work.
Jeff and I have always felt a fascination with this case because, as much as we love art and go to museums and galleries, we had never heard of Mendieta or Andre’s alleged actions until we went to Dia Beacon in 2014, and saw an exhibit of Andre’s there. We didn’t know much about Andre at all and were asking lots of questions of the gallery docent, who was quite knowledgeable and happy to chat with us. I’ll never forget, as we kept talking, she said very casually, “Oh, and people think he killed his wife, she was also an artist.” We of course were stunned and made her repeat herself and asked all kinds of questions. I asked a few times why there wasn’t any notice or inclusion of this alleged fact in the materials, given that it is relevant to the story of the artist and therefore his art. She gave us a rundown of how powerful arts institutions and individuals lined up to protect Andre and his legacy as a “genius” over the years, despite the allegations, while groups of feminist artists and activists kept the flame of Mendieta’s work alive.
It came back to me a few years later when I was in Marfa, a West Texas art town that artist Donald Judd took over to create a temple to minimalism. During the tour of the Chinati Foundation, we encountered a permanent installation of Andre’s. I of course asked our guide if he knew that Andre had allegedly killed his artist wife, and was he/the tour guide planning to mention this, or was there any documentation or information on this for visitors. Of course the poor guy just seemed confused and I didn’t want to embarrass him, but I made sure to tell the rest of the group and the front desk what I knew. (Honestly, no one cared. I’m still kind of shocked, even though I shouldn’t be.)
Apparently the art world was quite divided about it all, but power and money and ego flow toward the path of least resistance. And in this case, Mendieta’s supporters also, understandably, don’t want her legacy to be about her final moments. But it’s kind of horrific that art institutions can’t be bothered to put up a placard near a piece of art sharing this kind of information, so we as the public can better understand the full scope of what an artist’s legacy and story have to say about the culture we live in and whose work we celebrate.
This is all fresh on my mind because I am also 48 hours out of seeing the movie Tár, about a fictional world-famous composer who abuses her power with hopeful young musicians, maintains power through the quiet acquiescence of those around her who don’t want to rock the boat and want whatever she can provide, and by tending closely to her own mythology. It’s a terrific movie which focuses not just on how she hoards and wields power, but also on the way everyone around her feeds off her power to accrue just a tiny bit of glow and access for themselves. Everyone around her is complicit in some way, as is often the case in real life. Tár on Tár indeed. (Go see the movie ASAP please, so we can talk about it.)
For me, this is all a reminder that, if we want to make change, we have to resist the charm of the chosen and often self-anointed few who make themselves available for powerful institutions to support. We have to do the hard work of naming a shared vision and strategizing together for the long haul. I see my work as ultimately being about the redistribution of power and resources, from the few to the many. In many ways, resisting the mythology of so-called “geniuses” is one small step all of us can take.
Surf Synthesis: Mermaid On Dry Land
Sadly, I’ve barely been surfing lately. It’s never good for my state of mind or my physical well-being. But, it’s been for a happy reason. I finally got my mermaid tattoo that I’ve been planning for the last few years. My tattoo artist, Anil of Inkline Studio, and his wife, Angie—good friends who have tattooed me and all my siblings—made me promise not to head back into the water until she was all healed. As much as I didn’t like it, she is very much worth it. Planning this tattoo kept me sane during some of the dark days of the pandemic, so my mermaid means a lot to me, as she kept me company mentally and creatively when I often felt isolated and alone. I’m hoping to paddle back out this week, knowing that I need to have extremely low expectations, given how out of shape/paddling form I will be. Wish me luck!
Tarot Inspiration: The King of Wands
This month’s card feels very obvious to me, the King of Wands. Wands are the suit of fire, that wild creative energy that supports bold vision and traditional ideas of leadership. It is in many ways the card of the established artist, visionary, or “genius.” I’m not particularly drawn to any of the Kings, and I find myself wary of the traditional leadership role they convey in the tarot. And yet, I do think all of the cards have something to teach us.
In talking with Jeff about my conundrum with the Kings, he has inspired me to see the King of Wands not as a representation of an all-powerful and commanding figure. Instead, I now see him more through the lens of all the people, traditions, and institutions that come together to create this power in a shared and creative way. The King of Wands is a shared burning vision that calls us together and asks each of us to bring our own skills and ideas to bear. So the King is all of us, and we are all the King.
More to come! Let me know what you want more of in these newsletters, subscribe, and please do share with others who you think will be interested.
Great writing . Looking forward to more insightful writings . Rita