III. What does it mean to work in the dark?
For artists, consuming with reckless abandon creates abundance
JL —
We’ve spoken several times about this idea of “working in the dark.” I think it’s worth taking a moment to think through exactly what this means.
A few years back I got it in my head that I needed an “artist’s statement.” The truth is that what an artist needs mainly is a body of work. Most people don’t give two hairs about your feelings about what you’re up to, and shouldn’t.
Nonetheless, I wrote one, I put it on my website, and I have revisited it a handful of times since, mostly to shake my head at the logorrhea and the arrogance and to attempt another revision that is more concise (and a pinch more humble).
When we started talking about working in the dark, it struck me that I’d found that concise way of saying what I’ve been trying to say for years.
The artist’s statement had always been a bit of a junk drawer of pre-pubescent virtues, as well as an attempt at self-coaching: “Cut the distractions! Stop worrying about getting famous! Focus on the body of work, kid!”
Honing this statement and maturing its virtues wasn’t only a stall tactic or an exercise in self-indulgence. I was trying to give myself permission to do something. Something that Rick Rubin explains very neatly here:
For Rubin, the artist is the priority. The audience, your social media followers, the community, come dead last. Almost an afterthought.
This is working in the dark.
At the buffet of creativity, you eat your fill first. Forget the party you came with. Forget the other diners. Forget the servers and line cooks falling behind to keep up with your appetite.
Consume with reckless abandon. Eat your goddamn fill.
When you do, the result is strange and counterintuitive. Though you would think that only scraps remain, the opposite happens. You create abundance for others.
It’s a complete non sequitur. Irrational. Selfish.
And yet, I think it’s true.
Creation is a phenomenon. It’s some kind of magic or alchemy, and as such, it defies logic and law. I could write thousands of saccharine, navel-gazing words about that, but I will skip it. Not least because it would be an ill-fated attempt to rationalize the irrational (also out of respect for your time).
So I will only say that I am both constantly in awe of our organic ability to be creative, and ashamed that I so often take it for granted.
Consider this apparent paradox — there is no rationalizing this endeavor of creativity that we’re both committed to, but, we’re not only creative beings. We are also thinking beings. And so it stands to reason that we would want some ground rules or a framework to keep us accountable to this otherwise inexplicable pursuit (that’s what the artist‘s statement was an attempt to do).
But developing the statement first was a mistake.
First comes the path. Then, and only then, comes the plan for staying on it.
So, we’ve discovered and committed to the path of working in the dark, and we have an idea of what that means.
How do we stay on it?
Here is my latest iteration of an artist’s statement:
“Let it grow, let it go, and fade away.”
Letting it grow is everything we’ve talked about so far.
You eat your goddamn fill. Meaning, work for your own pleasure and satisfaction first.
If it’s not fun, don’t do it. No matter what else out there is telling you to do it.
That’s easy enough, right? But here’s the hard part:
Don’t speak for your work, nor try to explain it, and don’t feel compelled to defend it.
Why?
I’ve heard it said before that art is a dictatorship, not a democracy.
I think that’s right (to a point). If nothing else, I think it speaks to a boundary of sorts that too many artists and audiences in every medium and genre neglect. It’s part of why, as we’ve previously discussed, I feel so detached from our former community. There is no separation of church and state.
But there ought to be, and making it so is the second part: letting it go.
Another apparent paradox: Art is alive when it is shared. Whenever an artist tries to speak for their work, or explain it, or defend it, it is an attempt to take repossession. This is a thing that an artist has no right to do, because once the art has crossed over into the world, it belongs to everyone.
This is no shallow platitude. I take it with deadly seriousness as a principle. Allow me to suggest an extreme example to demonstrate.
I often tell people that they shouldn’t be afraid to enjoy music created by someone like R. Kelly.
R. Kelly is a convicted child molester, serial abuser, and unrepentant sex criminal. But the second “I Believe I Can Fly” touched daylight, it ceased to belong to him and began to belong to the world. If it was your high school graduation song, then it belongs to you now. If it still gives you pleasure, then you should let it continue to do its work of enriching your human experience. R. Kelly and his music are distinct living entities. If you like his music, you shouldn’t feel compelled to justify yourself. A defense of your tastes is not a defense of a criminal, and it is absurd to be confused about this. Your moral character can’t be determined by your playlist.
Neither do you need to perform a kind of chemotherapy on your past, your own story, to remove the song because of something you did not choose and of which you are not guilty. To ask you to do so is cruel.
Audiences would do well to remember this — once the artist has brought the work into the world, it’s yours to do with as you wish. Yours to enjoy, yours to criticize, yours to ignore.
Yours to destroy, even! Yours to alter in your own mind, and yours to further expand with your imagination. The audience’s power over the work is nothing short of godlike. Why does it feel so small, and why is it so often taken for granted?1
Artists feel possessive of their work. But the hard pill that they must swallow is that art is transactional. You create it, and then you need to let it go. You are allowed to be a dictator until the moment the work crosses out of the dark and touches daylight. If you wish to remain a tyrant, selfishly keep your work to yourself.
Letting go is no easy task. But it’s an essential discipline if you want to be an artist.
Which brings us to point three: fade away.
Is it any coincidence that artists obsessing over metrics, chasing ambulances trends, yearning for audience validation, and clawing to the top of the online community each day often feel spread thin, unfulfilled, and sapped of their creativity?
It is because they have wandered far from the buffet.
They are suffering because they are in the process of committing a crime against themselves. They are not letting themselves fade away.
I like to say “stay smaller than the work.”
This is why you should bite your tongue2 when tempted to take repossession of your work by speaking over it with your explanations of intent, or defenses of its flaws.
Another way to say it is this: make it easy to like you.
And the best way to be broadly likable is to stay smaller than your work.
I know this will be controversial. That many artists believe that they should use their positions of influence to talk about other topics, or take political stands. I know that many feel a powerful moral responsibility to do so. I know all the arguments, and I’m not thumbing my nose at anyone. I feel the temptation as well, and I’ve given in before.
But in principle, I aspire to take a different approach. I think I have to admit to myself that I am much more on the “Republicans buy sneakers, too” side of this question.
Both of us have noticed that when we chime in on political or other controversial issues, we do attract attention. But that it’s the wrong kind.
We’ve also noticed others who become drunk on this wrong kind of attention — how they have become larger than their work — to the point where neither of us can recall the last artistic project they worked on.
Or, any.
Let’s clarify here that I make a distinction between one’s public comportment and the creation of art that contains political themes. There is no X-Men without the initial Civil Rights allegory. It is, and always will be, a part of the DNA.
But just as there is a line between political allegory and propaganda, so too is there a subtle line between artist and activist. Many who swear to the importance of politics in art, and activism in public, often seem incautious of this line to their peril.
If you had to choose, which would it be? Artist or activist? You may say “both,” but this is not the Kobayashi Maru. The broader audience will make the choice for you. And they don’t choose “both.”
I see a lot of artists attempting to have both. They struggle to stay on the line (and in the good graces of their followers). They try to feed everyone at the same time.
And in the most offensive cases, I see artists disregard the line entirely. For them, art is nothing more than a pretext to push themselves to the front of the community as activists. Becoming larger than the work is the whole idea.3
That is an inversion, even a perversion, of the framework I’m suggesting. As Vonnegut reveals below, the creative process is a miracle to feed your soul, not your ego.
This is why I prefer the “make it easy to like you” approach. Stay small. Stay far away from that line — as far away as possible.
I’m sure that my values and my principles will come through in my work. But I say that those things exist separately from my politics4. The point is not to launder yourself out of your work, but to recognize that you are more than your policy opinions.
I characterized this step as an ideal. I won’t be perfect. But I will continue to develop this discipline over time. I think it’s important to strive for it both professionally and personally.
“Let it grow, let it go, and fade away.”
This is how I work in the dark.
All three components are required to stay on the path.
To abundance. 🍻
*rent
JL Johnson and Renton Hawkey are independent comic creators, and friends. They’ve decided to begin a letter-writing correspondence here on Substack. Nothing is off limits, and they will always tell the truth.
If you want to follow along, follow the TCTAE tab in the navigation on either of their Substack publications.
Jeffrey Johnson Jr. is the writer, creator, and letterer of Ennead: The Rule of Nine and the epic fantasy world of Amashik. Outside of writing, he enjoys time with his wife Jess, their daughter Olive, and their pets Ruthie, Quinn, and Sansa.
Renton Hawkey is a comic creator who publishes the chanbara western webcomic Ronin Digital Express. He also publishes his newsletter rent*space and the forthcoming OGN Fistful of Yen, all right here on Substack. Take a look, and consider subscribing.
Where audiences cross the line is in attempting to prevent others from exercising this right. Choosing on the behalf of others what they are allowed to experience, or enjoy. But that’s an essay for another time.
Indeed, unless art criticism has crossed a line into artist criticism (that is, criticism about your character, conduct, or person), you should just as soon keep your mouth shut.
I didn’t want to break up the flow there, but without engaging in too much armchair psychology, I do think there is a point at which activism becomes more about you than the cause, and while it may be difficult to see that transition in yourself, the broader audience is not so easily fooled.
I have a long-standing argument with a progressive friend over the use of the term “politics” in our contemporary culture, especially online and among activists. I find that “politics” is often used as a substitute for other concepts on the moral landscape. I see it invoked in place of values, principles, or ethics which would better describe the moral instincts or convictions being appealed to in a given moment. This is an error. When I use the term “politics,” I am using it by its strict definition, which concerns the activities of governance, or, more applicably to individuals, policy positions and the opinions thereof. Political opinions may be informed by values, principles, ethics, or other moral concepts (like religion), but they are a downstream product of moral beliefs. “Politics” should not be a “catch-all” term to describe one’s moral character. It’s possible to have no opinions whatsoever about contemporary political issues, and it would be absurd to say the lack thereof means someone has no morals.