The Relationship of Art, Artist, + Audience
by Emily Dzioba
The first show I ever directed was an abridged version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream as a junior in high school, circa 2012. I had seen the Classic Stage Company’s production with Bebe Neuwirth that spring in New York, and I was so excited to try my hand at calling the shots for once by directing. Why yes, you can read this article about it, which I definitely don’t still have bookmarked on my laptop. The level of 16-year-old pretentiousness keeps me humble. But I really love directing! I am good at it when I am lucky enough to do it! Clearly, that experience went well for me, because I’m still calling shots, just now with Talia instead of a rag-tag band of high school peers.
One of the things that perpetually excites me about Shakespeare is just how rich his material is. One wise artist in my life once shared the philosophy, “You know a work is masterfully good if you can repeatedly dive into it and never hit bottom.” I have a deep appreciation for well-crafted stories, even if they are not what one would consider high art. Shakespeare, whoever he is, while being one of central pillars upholding the current very-exclusive Western theatrical cannon, is undoubtedly a skilled writer. Once you get through all of his language for the first time, usually at the hands of a very enthusiastic teacher (and we LOVE No Fear Shakespeare over here, that’s okay too), odds are you have some kind of “Aha!” moment with the text. It clicks. It sticks. There’s something for everyone to latch on to. That’s depth!
The cool thing about Shakespeare is that it was meant to be performed, not read silently. Seeing the art in its honest form can engage a whole new set of minds. I have read Macbeth, my favorite of his plays, several times since first experiencing it in high school; reading the scene where Lady Macbeth is sleepwalking aloud in Mr. Julius Gottilla’s classroom was a highlight of my acting career. Still to this day, I discover questions about the relationships, themes, and motifs that make me want to revisit the story with keen eyes. There are endless interpretations you can find of any of the stories Willy has written- like this production I saw at the Globe. Edgy. ~Different~. I also really enjoyed their production of Taming of the Shrew. Shakespeare has uncountable stage productions every year, among *thousands* of media adaptations- and more fun stats you can read about here. There’s such depth to his work that after 400 years, we are still producing it. Is it tiring? Perhaps in some ways. But some things just can’t fade with time because they are *that* good and universally moving. Especially when the stories are fully produced, there’s something for everyone to enjoy. Everyone has an in. Art is nothing without an audience.
But still, that connection you had with Willy may very well be just a fleeting moment in junior English class and you never experience it again in your life, because you just “hate hate hate” Shakespeare, god Emily, it’s so boring... and that’s also okay. All art will not be for all people. You tip your metaphorical cowboy hat to it, and ride off into the sunset in pursuit of art that resonates more deeply. Yee haw.
When Mikaela and Talia spoke of intellectual property and artistic ownership in their episode, it really got me thinking about the kind of ownership we as an audience have over the art we consume. We live in a time of unprecedented access. If you have Internet and $7-15 a month to spare, you can tap into any streaming service of choice. You can binge an entire series in a week, if you have the time to spare. (And many of us now do.) And that streaming is not even including YouTube series, other movies on DVD, podcasts, audiobooks, TikTok, Twitter/ Facebook video content, Instagram TV… and then print media. And then musical albums. And then fine arts experiences.
Now, I’m no expert on media and the psychology of overconsumption and oversaturation, but with so much freakin’ art to cherry pick from, it’s very easy to get overwhelmed. The fatigue is real. Many people smarter than me have written on this. (You should click those links.) I would go so far to make the lofty claim that we’ve never had such accessibility in our art forms before. That’s not to say there aren’t many barriers unique to the 21st-century, but overall, everyone has engaged with *some* form of artistic content- theatre, live music, film, tv, all the rest I rattle off above.
I would non-scientifically hypothesize that when we find art we like, we fixate and form unparalleled intense connections with the pieces of media we really, truly click with. With greater access to art also comes greater access to the creators and the artists involved. We follow the cast and creators on Twitter and Instagram. We draw fan art. We have watch parties of the season premieres with our friends. We write and read fanfiction. We scroll through forums and piece together theories. We make cool things! As an artist, isn’t that all you can ask for? An audience who loves your work?
Perhaps not.
There are two well-known examples of how audiences (casually, fans) can have a huge impact on the legacy of art and the storytelling done by artists. I think any of us on social media will have at least witnessed, if not participated in, mourning the downfall of the Game of Thrones and Star Wars franchises. As a fan of both, trust me, 2019 was kinda rough. (And writing that, I can’t believe those things came out only last year.) I think there is much to learn from their demise: a double whammy of fan-involvement that places us as cause and victim.
Looking at film, it takes a whole village and thensome to get a successful piece of art out there. As much as we can criticize television and Hollywood, production is *tough*. Selling shows is *hard*. Very grueling on you physically, emotionally, and mentally. I work in the adjacent-esque music and theatre industries, and I don’t even want to work in film + tv because of the cutthroat nature of it! But then again… the hardest challenges often give the sweetest reward: aka, that cash money.
(SIDEBAR: Making money off your art is the best feeling. It is very underrated. I personally do not believe capitalism and art in its purest intentional functions can coexist, but it really feels good to be able to work at your craft and make a living. /Fin.)
All that considered, it can be very difficult to maintain artistic integrity when there is big money, tight budgets, producers’ demands, ratings, and stakes on the line. Numbers numbers numbers make the stuff go ‘round. Audience becomes secondary- even though an audience is why most of the work is made anyway! Franchises especially are nothing without loyal fans to consume: the life and death of an artistic product. Success lays at the subjective feet of those who are interested. But as an artist, getting your product out there? Unparalleled triumph! What a success! Quality is a separate issue… where fans can re-enter the chat.
So, what happens when this creative control is lost? Let’s look at GoT and Star Wars again. When creators try to surprise their audience with shock and “gotcha!” twists and awe, most usually in an effort to “stay ahead”, I would suspect it’s largely in part to stay in control. Subconsciously, or consciously, to one-up the audience, to deny them entitlement. Is this a way to reclaim ownership over characters and plots and stay relevant as the creators? Perhaps. Maybe it is a strategy, although one that’s perhaps idealistic, kind of manipulative, but oddly sympathetic.
It is important to note those two franchises I’ve mentioned were ultimately not solely controlled by their initial creators. George Lucas and George RR Martin were slowly squeezed out the respective Disney and HBO doors, their wealth of world-building and character knowledge no longer needed and replaced by the thoughts of showrunners and well-paid directors. Yet unquestionably, intent from the original storyteller matters. They are creating their cannon, and it should be respected-- respected even solely for the fact that their craftsmanship was enduring and quality enough to garner fans and a following to even put them on the map for film adaptations and legacy. I’m not saying we should totally trash D+D and JJ Abrams and Rian Johnson for having their own creative vision and liberty. Where does the *true* fault lie for subpar artistic products? Corporate TV execs with money calling the shots?
I personally think fully erasing and scorning the artist is dangerous. It removes nuance, conversation, and sets barriers for what is “right art” and what isn’t. Obviously, I think that some people are dumpster fire humans and should not have platforms. But that kind of rhetoric can easily grow to be dangerous, with malintention. Art should be for everyone to experiment with. It is a tool of creative expression, and to deny that to people is to deny an extension of human self. Even though in cases like the Twilight and Harry Potter franchises, perhaps “death of the author” and acknowledgement of their problematic creators is a smart move. Enjoy Harry Potter with the knowledge that its creator is a deeply flawed woman, and her worldview is peppered into those pages. Maybe take out the books from your local library instead of buying them and supporting her with cash.
A brief tangent that I do not have the bandwidth to fully delve into but is worth nothing, is the notion: what do we do when art supersedes the creator? When it becomes bigger than an individual? Can you ever fully separate the art from the artist, even if it blows up?
So we’ve talked about art. We’ve talked about artists. As an audience, our reception of that work is also something that matters. Like I said earlier, art is made for an audience! Think of how important your shows and movies and books and plays are to you. You’ve had that resonant click moment. Imagine waiting for a new episode on a Sunday night, a sequel film premiere, a book launch party. I’m sure we’ve all had at least one time where we’ve watched a trailer and got SUPER hyped for the content. (Or not, thinking of the CATS (2019) trailer). So what happens when it comes out, and it’s not all we’ve wanted it to be? When we feel like we have been betrayed by our media, we often react negatively. Think of a time where you were upset watching a show pan out...like, so upset you took to your group chat or Twitter to vent it out. #BrianneofTarthDeservedBetter #BenSoloIsMyBoy #NoSpoilersTho. Maybe tagging the creators, maybe commenting on a post of theirs. Think people mind their business? Look at Sonic the Hedgehog (2020) as proof to the contrary- creators went back to the literal drawing table after online ridicule over the character design from initial releases. Backlash from the audience drove that creative process to a halt.
Two days before you’re reading this blog, Star Wars actor John Boyega gave an interview with British GQ: the first since the release of The Rise of Skywalker at the end of 2019. Anyone who has followed the franchise undoubtedly saw the growing discomfort and disappointment of Boyega, co-star Kelly Marie Tran, and (to an extent) Oscar Issac, who received onslaughts of racially charged insults around their roles in the film and characters. (Apparently, made-up clone soldiers in space can’t be Black?) So furious was this hate that many speculate it correlates with the blatant discarding of their characters onscreen in Ep. 8 + 9. I’m not calling it fan service… but I am saying it was more than fishy that the first non-Jedi, lightsaber-wielding character in Ep. 7, a meaningful moment for thousands of Black fans everywhere, was reduced to a man running around, screaming the name of the white woman protagonist during the next two films. While John has been more active with denouncing his trolls and haters on Twitter, and now publicly disparaging Disney, this interview seals the proverbial deal. Whether at the hands of Disney execs, the various creators and their story writing, or the fans themselves, John was burned. He’s out, and not coming back. A true shame.
Audience input is even built into the fabric of critical analytics. Sure, movie critics matter to the extent we give their reviews weight, but think of the actual scoring systems built into our media experiences: IMDB scoring, Rotten Tomatoes scoring, local newspapers (perhaps now defunct…). Curious that they delineate critic’s scores and audience scores, no? Personally, I don’t always take critical words seriously. Many aspects of quality are subjective. Like, look at how they rated Mamma Mia! (2008)! That movie is fantastic! 6.4/10, please.
And yet, thinking of these various instances of fan backlash (not racist, sexist, or homophobic backlash, obviously)I wonder… is that level of emotion okay for us to feel? Cheated? Like we deserve better? Calling for corrective action? Entitled?
“But Emily, isn’t audience investment, involvement, ownership important? Shouldn’t we be satisfied with what we watch? Shouldn’t we feel cared for in our artist-audience relationship? I am owed good, quality work! I pay money for X! I am emotionally invested in this!”
To that, I ask, at what point does all of that become toxic?
When is it right for a creator to say, no, I’m sticking with what I’ve got because it’s my art?
When do we overstep the boundaries between artists as their role and artists as people?
What do we say to the audience members who are dissatisfied with the art, despite their strong connection with it? Do we let them rewrite the series, start petitions, bash the artists online? How far is too far?
Do we have a right to reject subpar artistic products?
What do we as artists owe to our audience, and what do we as an audience owe to artists?
On a level outside of the artist-audience relationship, as people, what do we owe each other? Is that social and artistic contract changing?
What came first, the storyteller telling their tale around a fire or a group that wanted to hear it? Chicken or egg?? Which is more important??
I have been a non-stop question asker since I was a kid. I overthink everything.
In all seriousness: as an audience, where do we find the ideal balance in appreciating and critiquing art, appreciating and critiquing the artist?
I am fascinated by this question, and I don’t think there will ever be an answer. I do know that we must be mindful that we are all humans, practicing an extension of our identity. We are not entitled to other people, so we should not feel entitled to their art and their artistry. It seems so self-evident, but I think it bears repeating.
(Super granola. I am *so* sorry.)
Art has such profound capabilities. A really good book will make you invested while the afternoon slips by and when it’s over, it will leave you thinking about it for days. Those favorite albums playing in your ear on long car trips can give you literal goosebumps. You can get lost for a long time looking at well-crafted art in an empty gallery somewhere. Plays and movies and tv can make you laugh, cry, think more about life and your place in the world for a few hours.
How can you feel entitled to own any of that which is not solely your emotional experience?
I was able to find my path in life because I had an enthusiastic connection to art, and I was able to explore my relationship to it in different ways. I was able to take respectful ownership over the narrative of Midsummer as both an audience member, and then as a director sharing my interpretation with an audience in return. Looking back, I think there was something more at play in this experience as an artist: perhaps an ability to love both the chicken and the egg- the art and the audience. An ability to know when I could call the shots. Knowing how and when to articulate myself. Knowing what I owe and what I am owed.
As you turn on your favorite show, your favorite movie, your favorite podcast (cough OnceUponATimeAStorytellingPodcast cough), I hope you enjoy it. I hope you feel cared for as an audience member. Savor your cherished experiences with the story! And appreciate that some human, somewhere, worked hard to share this work with you, so you could carry it with you wherever you need it most.
And it clicked.