Issue No. 6: Fame
You've already heard the story: a regular-guy-slash-amatuer historian walks into a blind auction hoping to score some historical photos of Chicago and bids on a box of film negatives. He takes them home, has a look and knows instantly that he's made one of the art world's biggest discoveries of the year, possibly the decade. He tracks down the rest of the boxes and starts sharing his findings and boom - seemingly overnight, Vivian Maier, now considered to be one of the world's best street photographers is “discovered". She is feverishly celebrated worldwide, shrouded in mystery and controversy, the rest of the world racing to catch up to the 30 years worth of forgotten work and life.…all just two years before she died.
Vivian Maier was never seeking fame. She lived most of her life as a nanny. She described herself as “sort of a spy". She was aggressively private bordering on reclusive, she changed her name often, moved just as much and shared her work little - and only with close friends and family. Those that knew her speculate that she never shared her work because she would not have enjoyed fame. One could even say that she worked hard to cultivate unknowability. It seems counterintuitive - to create so much excellent work and keep it cloistered away from the eyes of people who could have changed her life. Knowing full well she was churning out powerful, iconic images, some of which are thought to be some of the best historical documentation of Chicago from the 50s-70s, and refusing to share them. But…maybe it was the not sharing them that made them so powerful. In an increasingly easy-access, no-holds-barred culture what is the benefit of anonymity?
These days there is a very very excruciatingly claustrophobic definition of success and it can be summed up in one word - fame. The goal of everything these days seems to be fame. Whether we admit it to ourselves or not, we crave recognition. We want to see our work celebrated. We want to watch the faces of people who have done us wrong to twist in envy. We want confetti from the raucous celebration of us to hit them in the eye and scratch their cornea. We want to feel that we've made it. And the thing is - it's never felt more possible than today, right? I mean - people have never been more accessible to each other...that's probably why there's such a unique pain that comes with the lack of instant and intense admiration and recognition for sharing your work. Especially when it seems that so much other, simpler, seemingly less deserving content based on clichés and cheap thrills gets all the shine, brand partnerships and endless praise. (I'm talking about butts).
On the far opposite end of the end of the spectrum opposite Vivian Maier there is Andy Warhol - a man shamelessly hooked on fame and adoration who infamously used and discarded people to climb to his gilded spot at the top and notably said “in the future, everybody will be famous for fifteen minutes.” Even to this day, the world still wonders what his fame was really based on and if Andy scammed us. Peter Scjeldahl of the New Yorker once said of Mr. Warhol's work that “he could get away with practically anything because practically nobody believed in his sincerity”.
And here we are. Is the hunger for fame dictating your sincerity? Are you becoming more interested in making what you like, or what the algorithm likes? Do you find yourself resenting work that you loved because it's not getting enough likes? Trust me, I'm not asking this to be sanctimonious - I too struggle with this. This advice is autobiographical. When I first met Peter Turnley he told me it was a good thing that I have a full time job outside of photography. Easy for you to say, I thought, you've made it. Your work has been on the cover of Newsweek 43 times. You're a Leica Ambassador. The world knows your name. But who am I? Someone shouting into the void. Now, after a few years, I finally understand what he meant. Because I don't rely on photography to pay my bills I am never in a position where I have to compromise my creative vision in pursuit of commercial gain. I do not live by the praise or criticism of those around me. My work has no masters. Even though I have to admit that I still crave some sort of recognition - I will not go to my grave without having at least one Gallery show and putting out one book - I try to consciously not let a lack of attention talk me out of loving my work.
When I'm feeling most creatively insecure I often go back to the same one- minute clip from an interview with David Bowie to remind myself of this simple but profound truth: “It’s terribly dangerous for an artist to fulfill other people’s expectations - I think they generally produce their worst work when they do that.”
Look at your creative endeavors. Ask yourself why you started. Was it because you wanted recognition? Or was it because you were passionately curious, because you had something to say, because it helped you make sense of the world, because you needed somewhere to put your joy and your pain, because it soothed you, because it made you feel something, because you loved it, or because this was the only way you could say what you needed to say? Fame can be, probably is at times pretty great. But if the cost of it is compromising your integrity then it may be time to reevaluate. Maybe it's time to be okay with the fact that you don't need a “big break” to validate the importance and impact of your work. And maybe once you give up the need to please strangers on the internet with what you do you will allow yourself the space to experiment more and create a more meaningful dialogue with the world around you. Maybe.