377 Days - Blog #71 to be or not to be popular

I’ve always had an aversion to things that are popular.  I think some of that comes from being a kid for whom it was popular to tease or ignore.  And maybe even that came as a result of the fact I’ve always been my own person, content to amuse and entertain myself with my own reality and proclivities.  Whatever came first, it certainly created a distrust of the mob mentality of ‘like.’ 

I think that is a large reason why I don’t like sports.  I do admire athleticism and the discipline of training… and maybe, sometimes, the suspense of a well-played game.  But the bandwagon on which everyone jumps… and often quite meanly towards anyone who has a different interest… really makes me sad.  It also makes me sad when that mob spirit is used as a justification to sell cheap shit ten times beyond its worth and exploit the purer enthusiasm towards one’s passion.

That perception often takes the brightness out of things in which I find interest like music or a restaurant or a television show.  I was the definition of fanatic of Dr. Who until I started noticing the discussion of the cheap plastic shit was more prevalent than the plot or the attempts to use science fiction to make a statement about today and its politics.

All that said, there are times when I really enjoy being part of the crowd.  I remember… I guess it must be about eight years ago now… going to a midnight showing of the fourth Harry Potter film in downtown Boston.    I remember the moment the lights went down and everyone went silent.  I’m sure almost everyone in that audience read the book, so it wasn’t as though none of us knew what was going to happen.  It was the fact we did know and we were all excited to be there to see it play out.  It was a large, collective intake of anticipation.  It was the most amazing moment of hope.  No matter how it played out to our liking or disappointment.

In a similar vein, I’ve been in shows that are sellouts.  Where the audience applauds and laughs and stands at the end.  I know those reactions are influenced by the company of other people in the room, but to know you are the instigator of such collective reactions – well, that is awesome.

It’s not bad to be popular.  It’s not bad to resonant with someone who sees a performance – or more importantly to me, reads something I write.  The few times I’ve had someone share a post fills me with such pride… and fills in a little bit of that hole dug into my heart when I was seven and isolated from my peers.

I can’t deny those last two things have been on my mind a lot lately.  How to make theater or my writing popular.  The emotional return is part of it.  But, these days I am tuning into this with the interest of a financial return.

I found some journal entries from my late teens/early twenties the other day.  That was when I was a ‘pure’ artist.  Or – even in the moment of writing then – I acknowledged that I was a snob.  Above caring how well something sold.  Because, on that liberal hippie level of thinking, I didn’t want to be motivated by money.

I still don’t.  I am not a greedy person.  I am certainly not a materialistic person.  But (and maybe this is the consequence of too many years of living or the influence of the great evil of the universe) I do appreciate having the responsibility to pay for rent, utilities, life… and being sustainable.  Great art is fabulous.  But what does it matter if no one sees it?  

And if I really start to think about it… if no one wants to pay to see it, how great is it?

Last week I kept seeing this article pop up in my Facebook feed.  I refrained from commenting on it, because I didn’t feel like bashing that hornet’s nest or taking the energy to respond to anyone’s disagreements about whether or not museums should be made kid friendly.  Maybe I only noticed it because I seem to be attracted to quite a few of these conversations/ comment tirades of late.  The notion of selling out quality or the superiority of art having to kowtow  to the popular/youthful/ ill-informed masses. 

Is it really a crime against art to be popular?  Is it a better demonstration of intelligence and appreciation to be obscure and elitist?

Reading those journal entries of my younger self made me roll my eyes.  I had a recent conversation with a younger artist whose absolutism dumbfounded me.  I was startled by the hard line of the opinion and the lack of an open mind to a different way of looking at things.  I mean… isn’t youth about having an open mind?  Then I read my own thoughts and realized… yeah, not so much.

I think one reason I settled into the arts over sports (I tried basketball – it was a requirement considering I’ve been 5’8” since I was 11) is because it was a place where I felt welcome to be… me.  Different.  Not persecuted by those peers for being unlike them.  I could shine on the stage when I was terrified to raise my hand in class.  I could be the director of a play when I felt like my life and world was spinning out of control.  It was a community that embraced me, that folded me in its protective arms.  Only, what I soon learned is those arms have spikes.  And yes, it is welcoming to like-minded folks… but there is a retaliation towards those who think outside of the mainstream of that microcosm of culture.  A snobbery.  No wonder I had such high and ridiculous ideals in my 20’s.  

None of this is accusatory.  I find this stuff as fascinating… as, okay, a little bit depressing.  I think it is curious how we seek out something like art – be it writing or painting or theater or music as a way to fit in when we are too round for a square or too squiggly for the straight line.  But once there, we get defensive of the definition and reject, humiliate, and insult the difference.  Because thinking creatively is only so good as long as it caters to the defined interpretation or rules.  Like the fact a museum gallery is a quiet, sterile place to look at a canvas.  Children if seen at all, must not be heard.  Because curiosity and engagement at such a different level is bad.

And I get it.  That little seven year old in me winces at the thought that the popular crowd could take away something in which I find comfort.  It is easy to resent – as I often did when the popular kid who would audition for a play on a lark would get the part and I got one line.  It sucks.  And yet… maybe taking it (and myself) so seriously is probably what put me in the scenery role.  Because, really, how fun is someone when she is so serious about her art she can’t see straight?

So what is my conclusion here?  I don’t have one.  I think whatever my opinion is today at this early hour of the evening is going to change with the next book I write or the next play I produce.  It’s all an opportunity to learn and see things differently.  But the point is, I get to learn and see things differently.  So who am I to say that someone else can’t?  Be they a child or a sports fan or a scholar?  None of us is completely right.  And no one is wrong.