i can’t stan you any longer
Dear Artist,
I write to you in good faith, so forgive my bluntness, but there is a limit to how much of your behaviour I can justify to myself before it becomes untenable. I wish to make it known that I do not seek out your art for the glorification of immoral causes. I do not endorse that kind of life.
Does that make me intolerant? Yes, when you are intolerable.
Does that make me unforgiving? Yes. God forgives. I am a consumer; I judge.
But can we judge yesterday’s artists by today’s standards? We can, and we do, if they are good, ahead of their time, boundary-breaking, genre-defying, or some other superlative.
So here comes the rough: if I buy into the authenticity of your art, then I reserve the right to reject it when it becomes a vessel for espousing objectionable opinions and/or actions.
My conscience will grant you the benefit of the doubt, unless the ethics behind your art are too repugnant to excuse. If you cross that line, then you will be out of bounds. It is the difference between listening to The Smiths (acceptable) and Morrissey (less so). It is why Francisco Goya’s Black Paintings can confront me with their grotesqueness, but many of Picasso’s portraits of women can go hang elsewhere. It is why Lars von Trier can defend the indefensible in cinema, but Last Tango in Paris is a step too far, no matter how Bernardo Bertolucci tries to sell it.
And it is why I have never knowingly heard any XXXTentacion, although he had a point, re: Spotify — surely I have a right to know all the ingredients of your craft, as a potential customer — perhaps your most contentious work could come with a content warning?
But equally, no one’s product is indispensable. So what if you never made your art? What do I care? In an alternate universe, I would never miss what I didn’t know I wanted! That’s the beauty of counterfactuals; my propensity for deciding what moves me can be infinite and fleeting, sincere and fickle, yet ultimately all in my gift.
You are no fool; you know the difference between right and wrong. So, again, I say this in good faith: fix up, or you’re cancelled! And if you insist I judge you for what you do rather than who you are, I will do so, on one condition: I will only separate the art from the artist when you do too.
Truly Yours,
Your Biggest [Conditional] Fan.