Amongst all
the other weird and wonderful things that have been going on recently, I’ve
been thinking about two things that I keep coming back around to. The first
thing on my mind has been the role of an artist, the impact they have on the
world around them and the impact that the world has on them. The second thing is
Iain Banks, or more specifically, the recent passing of Iain Banks. The latter
is something that I’ve mostly put to the back of my mind, because, quite
frankly, the thought of it makes me feel sad. I didn’t know the man, I was once
lucky enough to meet him, but it was a moment just like thousands of others for
him and on no level do I claim the right of grief that people who actually did
know him will be experiencing. But I can’t escape the fact that Iain Banks was,
is, one of my literary heroes. If you have ever read my blog before you will
know this well enough. So, because I don’t see it as a personal loss or upset that
I have to bear, I’ve just opted not to think about it. I thought this was the
best way to deal with it, or not deal with it as the case may be.
But then
this happened. I noticed that I’ve been actively avoiding mentioning his name
recently, or when I’ve been reminded of one of his stories, I’ve got a bit
annoyed by it and made a point of thinking about something else. After a while
I realised that I recognised this pattern of behaviour, mild though it may be,
it is avoidance, it is denial, it is an aspect of the grief that I have
experienced when I have lost a loved one. But I have no right to grief, do I?
That’s what I thought. This man could have been a total dick for all I know!
Although I will say that the level of respect and admiration expressed by his
peers in recent weeks does imply that this was far from likely. But still, why
should I feel sad for the loss of a connection that I never had? It was only in
thinking about the first thing, what it means to be an artist and share your
passions and talents with the world, that I kept coming back to Mr. Banks and my
unanticipated reaction to his passing.
The truth of
the matter is that it is a loss. I’ve
lost one of my heroes. I’ve lost a voice that I admired, empathised with, whose
words influenced the person I am and gave me moments of connection that will
stay with me for the rest of my life. Even though the connection was only one
way, it is a loss, it has affected me emotionally, and I can now see that I was
naïve to think that it would be anything other.
In coming
back around to the role of the artist, I genuinely feel that to be an artist is
one of the hardest professions there is, even though it might seem like one of
the most glamorous and sometimes, effortless professions, from a distance. But
what you do, as a creative person, is put the products of that creation out for
the world at large to judge, whether it be a film, books, television, or
physical pieces of art. And what you are asking from everybody is investment,
investment in an idea, a feeling, not something tangible or necessary to
existence. People do not perceive art as an essential part of living, although
I strongly believe it is. It’s the honey on the porridge, the sugar in the
coffee, and lots of other food type metaphors, it’s the bit that makes the necessary
parts of life more bearable and worthwhile. But ultimately, artists aren’t
building houses, they’re not fixing boilers, where is the tangible, applicable
worth of the item they are providing? What artists are asking you to buy into
is a connection, a reaction, a point where your perception of what is beautiful
or moving, meets theirs. This is hard on many levels. Not only are artists
trying to produce something they love, but they are trying to make as many
individuals as possible to fall in love with it too. Furthermore sometimes
artists have to deal with an understandable and natural response from others,
jealously. Or at least a sense of, why in the Hell should you be able to earn a
dollar from doing this, when I have to do the 9 to 5? It is fair? It may only
be a vague feeling, and it’s not always relevant, but I myself have felt that
jealously towards artists at points. It has only been through recognising that
it is just an impulse reaction, and that when I lay it bare, I am happy that
people are out there, creating these awesome things, that I have been able to
move past it.
We all need
an outlet, creative or otherwise, a sphere through which we can express the
part of us that is truly ours. The part that is not defined through our
relationships or our jobs, it’s not a label we are given, but a part of
ourselves that we have personally carved out. Having a hobby really helps with
that because it allows you to focus on your own passions and not to feel
jealous of others that are talented in various other beautiful and amazing
ways.
The artists
that I know always invest in their work. They express themselves in as honest a
way as possible and they put part of themselves into it. Which is why they find
it hard when people don’t make that connection with their work, it is perceived
as a rejection of them. This is when I realised that Iain Banks, just like all
artists, is a part of the relationship I had with him, that the connection was
not just one way. Because he was doing what we all do in real relationships, he
made himself vulnerable. Not just to one person, but to the world at large. He
opened himself up to all the criticism and the praise, all the ego knocking ups
and downs of the waxing and waning of other people’s feelings towards him. He
shared his world view, and asked you to love his characters. Whether an artist’s
audience is 5 or 500,000, this is very hard and inevitably personal thing to
do.
I, for one,
am very appreciative that Mr. Banks did this, because I loved his characters
and I loved his voice. I love the way his books challenged me and changed me,
and in me, just as with so many others, he found his audience. When you think
of it that way, all fans and their heroes have a reciprocal relationship. Hero
worship can be a blind and dangerous thing, but just as with all relationships,
you may begin by putting these people on a pedestal, but as you grow, when you
accept the flaws and failings of the other person, the relationship becomes
deeper, it becomes established. You make a choice as to whether this artist,
this person, this voice, is one that you are willing to invest in and support
in the future. I did this with Iain Banks. I made a connection, I fell in love.
But falling
in love is the easy bit. That can happen to any of us at any point. Investing
in the connection and growing it until it becomes a part of you is the harder
bit. That's where you have to be honest with yourself, and the other party,
that’s the part where you take a risk. The relationship between a writer and
the reader is vulnerable on both sides. The writer opens their crazy mind up to
you and asks you for sympathy, commonality, understanding, and you, as the
reader, the fan, you open your heart; you dare to love those characters. Which
makes it a form of mutual relationship- they invest and you invest, and the
Internet has made that relationship far more mutual. Forums and Twitter and the
likes allow the voice of Fanboys and readers to reach the artists more easily,
and often they respond to what people want or need from their beloved
characters. This can be a double edged sword but isn't every relationship? Always
filled with the risk of hurt feelings and judgement, filled with the risk of
failure?
That's why
writing fiction is so flipping hard I've found. I'm not writing to please the
reader per se, more to please me as the reader I suppose. The characters are
doing certain things and have certain failings and quirks because I put them
there and parts of me have filtered into them. That's the surprising and amazing
bit, no matter how much planning goes into it; your mind takes these characters
to places you had never planned. Because once you give them life, they have a
sort of free will. Their choices have to be realistic and understandable, even
if they are bad ones, so the logic part of it dictates the story to a certain
extent. To get them from A to C you have to go through B, and B is usually the
part you didn't even think about. You can't predict B until you're in it,
writing it.
I wish I
could share some of what I am writing now with you, but that point is a long
way off. Lots, lots and lots more writing needs to happen. Then I need to edit
the shit out of it, take the info dump and turn it into a story. This will take
a long while because I work full time, and I have family and friends and other
obligations. The double edged sword in this case being that these things take
me away from my writing but they also give me the experience and understanding
to write.
So there
you go. We fall in love because it's in our nature to do so, we are looking for
validation and community and reassurance that we are not the only one who
thinks the way we do, feels the way we do, believes what we believe. We also
fall in love with people's flaws because on some level or another we can see
similar flaws within ourselves. But staying in love, ah there's the rub.
I still
love the work of Iain Banks, even the stuff that's a bit samey or not a patch
on him at his best, because I loved his voice. I want to read his last book.
But the thought of it feels quite emotional. It feels as though it would be a
goodbye. On one level I think this is absurd, this man was not my friend, I
didn't know him. And yet, a part of me fell in love with him, the writer part
of him, the part he chose to share with the world. When I think of it that way,
it doesn't feel absurd, it feels right. He made connections with people through
his art, it is presumably what he was aiming for, so I'm not going to apologise
for saying that I'll miss that connection, I'll miss him. Thinking of him also
makes me want to write as much as I can, because none of us know what the
future holds and I don't want regrets. I'm not saying that I want success or
whatever else; I just want to enjoy doing this. It's nice to feel that you have
made a connection. It makes the truest part of me feel linked to the world.
We're different people in different contexts, and it is right that it is so, but
writing, creating art, whatever your form of expression is, is the most honest
you can be.
I hope that
the artists that I know in my life do succeed in their ambitions, they are
talented and they deserve to do so. I will support them in any way I can to
achieve their goals, especially those that I am closest to because I’m invested
in them. For the rest of us, that chose other, equally hard paths in life, I
hope we can find our niches, our modes of expression, and take comfort in them and
confidence from them. I feel that through writing I have found a hobby that
gives me much joy, and I would implore all of you to go out and find that thing
that only you can do, and do it, because all that matters is that you enjoy it
and take something from it. I would never, ever discourage anyone from
following their dreams or finding their passions in life, the people that do it
make my life a little brighter every day, and nobody can ever tell you that
your expression of self is wrong, because it’s you and nobody can express themselves like you because there can be
only one! (Sorry, if I can reference Highlander
at any point for even the most tenuous reason, you know I will!)
Thinking of
films...I don’t suppose any of you have seen Pacific Rim perchance?... I... Wait, no, this is another story
entirely. I suggest in the meantime that you definitely go and see it, and I’ll get back to you on that ;o)
*Quote from Eat Raw Meat = Blood Drool by The Editors
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