Hey, Look At Me! Why Artists Do What They Do

It is commonly believed that Emily Dickinson could not come out of her room to greet houseguests because she suffered from agoraphobia. I rather believe it was because she found some of her poems in the community compost, along with her wilted flowers, and said, “Fuck all you people!”

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Artists are salesmen, by nature! We’re always looking to be compensated for our efforts, with attention or money or both. Of the two, attention is more important.
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Make ‘em Pay

Many years ago, when I was a budding composer, I wrote arrangements for friends of mine who played in a band. This was way back before Finale software came on the scene. My manuscripts were meticulously notated by hand. When I attended one of their rehearsals, I found my pages scattered on the floor, further defiled by dusty shoe prints. It was a good lesson. I stopped giving away my work, especially to friends.

Artists typically feel entitled to some attention, and resent being ignored. Approval is always welcome; but disapproval is better than no-proval. No attention is tantamount to the guest-of-honor never showing up at a surprise party. Even if that person hates the party, it’s still a success. But if he or she never shows, then everyone else is left wondering, “What was all this for?”

Consequently, when artists don’t get enough attention from their work, they sometimes feel compelled to rub their ids in people’s faces. When Lucie Dupin couldn’t get published because she was a woman, she wore men’s clothing, smoked cigars and changed her name to George Sand. Oscar Wilde satirized Victorian hypocrisy and refused to deny being gay; he wound up in prison.

Me? Like Emily, I sometimes loath stepping out of my solitude. Like Lucie and Oscar, I enjoy blatantly defiling taboos — to remind people how arbitrary they are — for which I am predictably punished; an easy task. All anyone has to do, to beat me to within an inch of my life, is to ignore me. At least Oscar had his day in court.