The Groove 222 - Can You Love The Art but Hate The Artist?
Welcome to the 222nd issue of The Groove.
I am Maria Brito, an art advisor, curator, and author based in New York City.
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CAN YOU LOVE THE ART BUT HATE THE ARTIST?
Can we admire a masterpiece knowing its creator behaved monstrously? This question has long troubled art lovers and institutions alike. Many iconic visual artists, both historical and contemporary, have personal lives marred by violence, abuse, or hateful views.
The dilemma of separating creative genius from moral failings has led to heated debates about whether we should judge art independently of its maker; or if doing so excuses and enables harmful behavior.
The Bad Boys of the Past
Caravaggio, Testa di Medusa, 1597, oil on canvas mounted on wood. Collection of the Uffizi Gallery, Florence, Italy.
This isn’t a new dilemma. Throughout history, we’ve celebrated artists whose personal lives were, to put it mildly, scandalous. Look at these bad boys of the past:
Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (1571-1610): Had Caravaggio been of this time, he probably would have belonged to a hip-hop gang. The master’s dramatic paintings made him one of the most celebrated artists of his era, even as he led a violent, lawless life. Caravaggio was frequently in brawls and court cases, and once even killed a man in a street fight and fled Rome as a fugitive. Considered the artist who took the technique of chiaroscuro to the next level (called tenebrism) and the greatest painter of the Baroque era, Caravaggio remains a towering figure in art history, coveted and protected by the handful of museums and private collectors that own his work.
Paul Gauguin (1848-1903): His bold colors and exotic scenes of Polynesian life have enchanted art lovers for generations, but behind those lush paintings lies an ethically troubling history. Gauguin left his family in France and moved to Tahiti, where he took very young Indigenous girls as “wives.” (One was as young as 14.) He fathered children with teenagers and has been criticized as a colonial exploiter. For a long time, exhibitions glossed over these predatory relationships. Only recently have curators begun to frankly address Gauguin’s misconduct in museum wall texts and catalogs. Viewers often grapple with mixed feelings: the post-Impressionist style is mesmerizing, but the knowledge of how he treated Tahitian women casts a heavy shadow. Gauguin's case epitomizes the “love the art, hate the artist” predicament.
Pablo Picasso (1881-1973): Often hailed as the greatest artist of the 20th century, Picasso’s personal behavior, especially toward women, was deeply troubling. He had numerous muses and lovers, some as young as teenage model Marie-Thérèse Walter, who was 17 when their relationship began. Picasso’s partners described him as abusive and tyrannical. Yet, Picasso remains the indisputable artist genius and a darling of the art market, whose historic estimate in auction sales (not counting private transactions) surpasses $10 billion. Multiple Picasso exhibitions continue opening year after year, all over the world. I have yet to meet a contemporary artist who hasn’t been inspired by Picasso. Or a serious collector who doesn’t own or hasn’t wanted one.
Case in point: whatever moral campaign has been waged to cancel these artists from the past, it hasn’t worked. They stand on the legacy of their creations and not on their personal shortcomings.
Collateral Damage: Shifting Perceptions and Market Dynamics
Tom Wesselmann, Bedroom Painting - 38, 1978, oil on canvas.
Beyond individual scandals, societal shifts can impact artists’ reputations and market values. Tom Wesselmann, a prominent figure in the Pop Art movement, was known for his bold and sensuous depictions of the female form.
While not personally implicated in any misconduct, his work has faced criticism for objectifying women, leading to a reevaluation of his contributions, especially post #MeToo. This reassessment has influenced the market dynamics surrounding his art, with some attributing fluctuations in his market performance to these changing perceptions.
Despite leaving an incredible body of work, possessing undeniable technical prowess, being represented by Gagosian and having spectacular museum shows, including a recent retrospective at the Fondation Louis Vuitton in Paris that opened this past fall, Wesselmann’s market has never attained the levels of other pop artists such as Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein.
Cancel Culture
Barack Obama by Kehinde Wiley, 2018, oil on canvas. Collection of the National Portrait Gallery, Washington DC.
The rise of “cancel culture” seeks to hold individuals accountable for their actions, but its implications for the art world are complex. Institutions grapple with whether to separate the art from the artist or to view them as inseparable.
Kehinde Wiley, celebrated for his vibrant figurative paintings, including the official portrait of President Barack Obama, has faced multiple accusations of sexual misconduct in 2024 that so far, haven’t been proven. Several art institutions, including the Minneapolis Institute of Art and the Pérez Art Museum Miami, canceled or postponed his exhibitions following these allegations.
While some argue that canceling an artist holds that “transgressor” accountable, others believe it can lead to disproportionate repercussions without due process. For instance, the National Coalition Against Censorship criticized the cancellation of Kehinde Wiley’s shows, suggesting that placing problematic artists in context is preferable to outright cancellation.
The Great Divide: Art vs. Artist
Can we separate the art from the artist? It’s a question with no easy answer. Some argue that a masterpiece should stand on its own merits, independent of its creator's character flaws.
After all, if we started purging galleries and museums of works by morally dubious artists, we’d be left with a lot of empty walls. On the flip side, others contend that by continuing to celebrate the works of problematic artists, we implicitly condone their behavior. It's a slippery slope that forces us to confront our own values and the messages we send as a society.
Perhaps the solution lies somewhere in between.
Acknowledging the flaws of artists doesn't mean we have to discard their work entirely. Instead, we can provide context, sparking conversations about the complexities of human nature and the often-messy intersection of genius and morality. Why does their work speak to us so, despite the horrors in their personal history?
Art isn’t meant to be comfortable; it’s meant to provoke, to challenge, to make us think and discuss. And if it forces us to confront the darker sides of its creators, perhaps that’s just another layer of its profound impact. In the end, loving the art while loathing the artist is a personal journey, fraught with contradictions and tough choices. But maybe that’s the point.