Should an artist’s behavior change how we see his work? I have a hard time tolerating the work of Pablo Picasso, because I sense his misogyny shining through his work. Paul Gauguin, it has been argued, was merely following Polynesian culture in his sexual relationships with teenaged Tahitian girls. I think that’s a terribly abusive, colonialist mindset.
The question of art and morality came to mind this week with the passing of Pope Francis.
Fr. Marko Rupnik has evaded justice for six years for documented sexual abuse of nuns. The appointment of his canonical judges, ironically, coincided with the death of Francis, who some critics accused of protecting Rupnik. (Francis later lifted the statute of limitations so Rupnik could be tried, so it’s complicated.) Hopefully, the trial won’t be forgotten in the current crisis in the Holy See.
What does this have to do with art?
Besides being a priest, Marko Rupnik is an artist whose mosaics and other art grace many Catholic churches, chapels, and shrines around the world. They’re not my cup of tea; to me they look derivative and expensive. But someone must have liked them or they wouldn’t be everywhere. Given that the Vatican has already determined that Rupnik did, in fact, abuse these sisters, what are those sanctuaries going to do with those monstrously large mosaics?
That’s a timeless question, and it relates to that which we also have to answer any time we look at art by a disturbed or disturbing individual. It’s a question that sits at the intersection of art, ethics, and personal values.
The aesthetic autonomy argument
Some argue that once a work is created, it stands alone. The artist’s personal behavior, no matter how flawed, shouldn’t affect how we interpret or value the work. This view emphasizes the art itself—its technique, message, emotional impact—over the biography behind it.
That’s easier to do when more time has elapsed. Very few of us, for example, know anything about the personal life of, say, Benvenuto Cellini, but we can recite chapter and verse about Taylor Swift.
Context
We could argue that Caravaggio’s propensity for violence (after all, he killed a man in a brawl) is a lens through which we understand the gritty realism of his work. He was also systematically ripped off by his putative patrons, the Borgheses. Edgar Degas’ antisemitism, while reprehensible, was sadly in line with popular sentiment in late 19th century France. There are situations where context doesn’t excuse behavior, but it does make it more understandable.
Our own ethics as viewers
We make ethical choices every time we buy something, and art is no exception.
That is magnified in the case of Rupnik, whose art is in places of worship worldwide. I’m not Catholic but I like what Bishop Jean-Marc Micas of Tarbes and Lourdes, France, said about it:
“My role is to ensure that the Sanctuary welcomes everyone, and especially those who suffer, among them, victims of abuse and sexual assault, children and adults.
“In Lourdes the tried and wounded people who need consolation and reparation must hold first place.”
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I, too, have mixed emotions about artists and it is mostly, but not completely resolved. Would that it was only visual artists that cross my mind. Can I love and learn from their work even if I’d never have them as a friend? It is a dilemma.
Separating the art from the artist is a continual question.
There are artists whose work I can no longer enjoy. Comedian Bill Cosby comes to mind. His routines were extremely funny, but his crimes of drugging and abusing women are too deplorable for me to put aside. I enjoy the works of Paul Gaugin less now that I have more knowledge of his life and actions. I find myself looking at his paintings to see if that is reflected in the art. I can no longer read the work of HP Lovecraft, his racist attitudes, extreme even for his time, are too evident in his writing for me to get past.
With other artists I can put it aside. VanGogh was no angel but I still enjoy his paintings. Caravaggio seems to have been a terrible person but his work is still amazing. My daughter’s gifted me with tickets to see Kiss in concert. I am no fan of the attitudes and behavior of Gene Simmons, but the concert was still an enjoyable piece of theatrical spectacle.
Am I consistent in which artist I still enjoy knowing their flaws and which I put aside? Not at all. But it is a question worth looking at periodically.
Ignorance really is bliss.
Like you, my view of Gaugin’s and Picasso’s work is jaded by what I know of their personal lives. Same for other artists, musicians, actors, etc. But there are many artists whose personal lives, ethics, morality we know nothing about. As David pointed out: it’s complicated. I guess I can view their work for what it is; but when, like Gaugin, it’s a reflection of their morality — or lack thereof — it takes on a different meaning.
I don’t buy art by living artists who are in my humble opinion a-holes, moral or not. When I choose to support a living artist I know personally I cannot separate the work from the person except in a positive way. I actually have bought specifically because of the good character and ethics of the person who did it. Historic a-holes are another matter. In general I don’t judge a century ago by today’s code. And since I knew none of them personally, it doesn’t bother me.