Should We Still Celebrate Art Made by Awful People?
Sometimes we don’t reserve our love for the worthy; we give it to the captivating, though
imperfect and flawed.
My complex feelings about art and moral dilemmas, inspired by Claire Dededer’s biography, Monsters:
What Do We Do With Great Art By Bad People?
Calling any and every music or literature lover, cinephile, and art connoisseur: whether we admit
it or not, we’re all entangled, with a monster.
There’s almost always an artist whose actions, whether we are fully aware of them or not, are
disgraceful, even criminal. And still, we find ourselves drawn to their work — maybe openly, maybe in
secret, or maybe because we simply don’t know we shouldn’t be. This leaves us with an inner conflict
that’s hard to ignore.
Is it okay to watch Chinatown knowing what Roman Polanski has done?
Should I feel guilty for finding beauty in Pablo Picasso’s artwork?
Why on earth do I still listen to Kanye West?
Can we ever truly separate the art from the artist? And if not, can we somehow live in the space
between our fury and our admiration? These are the ethical questions author Claire Dederer proposes in
her biography, Monsters: What Do We Do With Great Art By Bad People? Dederer spills her thoughts on
this dilemma over 257 pages, examining 17 examples of infamous “monsters” in the creative world.
Dederer does not give her readers any clear-cut answers but writes with deep, honest
consideration of her own experiences. In fact, she concludes the book by reminding us that there is no
correct answer:
Disclaimer: This passage reflects Claire Dederer’s personal grappling with the complexities of
reconciling love for art with the flawed humanity of its creators. It is not an exhortation to disengage from
ethical responsibility or political accountability. Rather, it acknowledges the impossibility of finding a
definitive “right” answer, and encourages readers to accept their own contradictions and uncertainties in
this difficult terrain.
“You are not responsible for finding it… There is no authority and there should be no authority.
You are off the hook. You are inconsistent. You do not need to have a grand unified theory about what to
do about Michael Jackson.
”
In other words, it is not our fault that artists may “stain” their work.“Stain,
” in this context is a word Dederer uses to describe an artist’s scurrilous, dirty, deplorable
behavior that can ruin people’s perception of them, and/or, their work. The stained are those whose entire
identities have been reduced to the horrific act(s) they have committed. Now, whether we want to or not,
it is hard not to stumble upon all kinds of damning information about the artists we love. Dederer recalls
when she was younger and went through lengths to learn about an artist and their personal life.
Nowadays,
“we swim in biography; we are sick with biography” (Dederer). The internet grants us access
to endless information about our favorite artists, and sometimes, we find things that upset us — that is the
stain.
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There is an important distinction to be made between artists whose personal sins seem to have
irreparably damaged their creative legacies and those whose immense cultural influence leads many fans
to dismiss their wrongdoings.
For example, Bill Cosby is often seen as having destroyed his artistic legacy through his
gruesome actions. His crimes are so vial that the stain appears to completely overshadow his creative
projects. For many, separating the art from the artist in this case can feel impossible, and perhaps even
inappropriate.
On the other hand, Kanye West occupies a different space in our cultural fabric. West
revolutionized hip-hop production and influenced music and fashion trends for decades. Fans of Kanye
West can experience a complex mix of emotions toward his public identity. While some may feel
disappointment due to his controversial behavior and views, many still choose to support his music. This
highlights the ability to separate an artist’s personal actions from their creative output. Kanye’s
contributions to music have had a profound cultural impact, and fans can appreciate this artistry even if
they struggle with aspects of his identity. This dynamic reflects a broader cultural conversation about how
we engage with influential figures who are both talented and flawed.
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Why do we feel compelled to defend these artists? I think part of it may be the human desire to
protect what we love and to maintain the identities we’ve built around their art. Sometimes, it’s simply
that cultural icons become so embedded in our collective consciousness that acknowledging their faults
threatens not just their legacy but our own sense of self.
She reassures the reader that this feeling is normal; after all, art is supposed to evoke a feeling.
We become hurt by these stains because “we, the fans, perceive ourselves as allied with the artists”
(Dederer). We dedicate time, energy, and money to our artistic inspirations. We develop strong feelings
about people who don’t know we exist because, by some strange, imagined phenomenon, they make us
feel seen. Stains are not always easy to get out, haunting the artist and those around them. And in an ageof parasocial relationships, that ache seeps outward, to us, the fans, who feel too much and know more
than we should.
Creations I resonate with are mirrored in my identity. Whether I fall in love with a specific song,
film, novel, poem, or painting, a little part of me becomes defined by that piece of art. Thus, I am often
eager to learn about the artist’s lives, personalities, and the stories behind their creations. This is what
makes the actions of monsters so wounding: we become so closely tied to them, inform our identities
through their work, and end up disappointed when they pour a dark stain on our most treasured art.
When the stain starts spreading, should we ignore it?
The truth is, the more I care about a piece of art, the harder it is for me to ignore the flaws of the
people behind it. I resist turning a cold shoulder on the works of art I love. Like a real stain, the longer it’s
there, the harder it is to remove. Instead of grappling with these questions, I wonder if we need to let these
artists ruin our favorite pieces of art? This shift in perspective doesn't deny the creator’s flaws, it
questions the inevitability of their power over our relationship to the art. Maybe the better question is
whether we can live with both truths: the value of the art and the reality of its creator.
While reading this biography, I realized I do not have a method for separating the art from the
artist, but instead, a heavy-hearted acceptance of both the harm these monsters have caused and the
beauty they inspired. Beneath it all, the most powerful art carries the imprint of humanity, which comes at
the price of being created by flawed humans. We are imperfect, just like the monsters. Sometimes we
don’t reserve our love for the worthy; we give it to the captivating, though imperfect and flawed.
Like a stain bleeding slowly into fabric, the dark truth of an artist can seep into how we perceive
their work, sometimes blurring the edges of our admiration, sometimes threatening to cover it completely.
The stain is persistent; it refuses to be easily washed away or forgotten. And yet, unlike a simple stain on
a piece of clothing, this mark doesn't always ruin the art beneath. Sometimes, it changes the texture of
how we hold it, forces us to look closer, to grapple with discomfort and contradiction. The stain spreads
not to erase, but to remind us that beauty and darkness can often coexist.
Perhaps living with the stain means accepting that art is never pure or separate from the flawed
humanity of its creator. It means acknowledging the complexity of our feelings. Personally, I see the stain
as part of the story, a mark of both the damage done and the endurance of the art’s power to move us.
In the end, maybe we don't need to remove the stain completely. Maybe we just need to learn how
to live with it.