As my hometown of Los Angeles continues to combat historic fires, my thoughts have once again been drawn to the age-old question posed by artists throughout time: What is the role of artists in times of strife?
First things first, I should state that I am incredibly fortunate. At the time of this writing, my own home is not positioned in any of the evacuation zones. I’ve opened my home to friends who have lost their own, and I’ve had to postpone projects. But, aside from keeping the car packed and a to-go bag ready just in case, the decisions I’ve had to make have paled in comparison to those around me.
Instead, my thoughts have gone to how to best support those who have been affected. What is the best way to be a human being in times like this? Because I’m an artist, my thoughts go to how I can and should interact with my art at the moment. Should I even be making art? Or should I be setting down my camera in solidarity with friends who have lost theirs due to the fires? Is it okay to announce new projects, or is that like rubbing salt in others’ wounds? What do I have to offer as an artist that can help people through troubled times? How can I relate their story to the outside world to help give a better understanding of what’s happening?
For example, a professional photographer friend of mine went along with some of the firefighters trying to put out the flames in his area and shot a photo essay, which he posted to Instagram. A beautiful set of images that will no doubt help people outside the fire zone better understand the heroic efforts the firefighters are going through to protect those on the ground. An honorable cause. But I, on the other hand, haven’t even considered driving out to the danger zone with my camera in hand—less due to the fear of physical danger, more due to wondering whether I could be more helpful in other ways. I’m not a photojournalist. So, on some level, it feels as though taking the pictures would be more for me than for the victims, and my presence would get in the way rather than aid the work of firefighters. After all, I make my living producing slick commercial images of athletes and writing and directing fictional romantic comedies. If I suddenly showed up in a war zone to snap shots of victims, one would understandably question my motivation for being there. That’s not to say, by the way, that the friend I mentioned earlier was doing it for the wrong reasons. He very much has a background in photojournalism and knocked it out of the park. But me? I’m not so sure I could justify that as a completely selfless act.
I realize that sounds strange, so let me give you an example. A few years ago, there was a great deal of unrest in my city. During that time, my Instagram feed filled up with photos from my fellow advertising photographers who had left their strobes at home and shifted their attention to creating naturalistic images of the unrest. It was beautiful. There was also, at that time, a great appetite among clients for images of unrest. Clients are always looking for artists who are tapped into culture, and that was front and center of mind at the time. It was a moment that deserved to be documented. But it also served as a springboard to many a photographer’s career. Unsurprisingly, I was then asked by friends and clients where my feed of unrest images was. I did support the protests. I did take pictures at a handful of events I attended. But I didn’t post them or try to shop them because it felt as though I might, on some deeper level, just be doing so out of a callous career decision rather than because the world really needed to hear what I personally had to say on the topic. I, as an art photographer dabbling in photojournalism, would be making others’ pain into a commodity for me to monetize rather than actually helping the situation.
Again, I am making a clear distinction between myself and others whose artistic voice does really lend itself to such documentary work. I’m not disparaging photojournalism, just questioning my own role in it. My gift has always been to help share light with others, not the darker aspect of life. It’s not that I didn’t care, but I just didn’t feel as though I, personally, was the appropriate messenger. It felt like if I was to suddenly start producing art vastly different from what I’d spent my life producing, it might be more because I was trying to stay relevant professionally and less because it was how I genuinely wanted to express myself. In other words, for photographers who spend their lives trying to raise awareness of these issues and/or documenting real life in real ways, it makes total sense that they should use their art to further that cause, especially when those issues are front and center in society. For me, whose work doesn’t deal with social issues at all, it’s hard to accurately judge where the line is between me wanting to help others and me helping myself.
So, not wanting to either suddenly shift the focus of my art or present work that was at odds with the tone of the moment, I ended up not posting much at all. Aside from one or two well-considered posts, I largely went silent. Not because I didn’t have anything to say. Rather because I was trying to make room for others whose work was more beneficial to the conversation.
Which leads to a more fundamental question about the artist’s responsibility in times of strife. I do believe that, as human beings, we should do what we can to help one another. So, if you’re like my friend and you are an amazing photojournalist, you should go take photos of the firefighters because that’s the gift you have to offer to society.
In my case, while I may have lightheartedly disparaged my own artistic output as trivial compared to the work of photojournalists, that doesn’t mean that it can’t be equally important to those suffering. To better explain what I mean, I will do what all cinephiles do and refer to one of the masterpieces of American cinema: Preston Sturges’ 1941 film, Sullivan’s Travels. For those of you who haven’t seen it, well, first, you really should see it. It’s hilarious. But it also has a greater point that applies to what we are discussing today.
In the film, Joel McCrea plays a Hollywood director who is unsatisfied with his life. He’s incredibly successful—one of the richest directors in Hollywood. But he has made his fortune making “meaningless” light comedies that only make audiences laugh, not think. McCrea’s character feels he has wasted his life because he’s never made a serious movie. He’s never made anything with gravitas. He’s never made anything that matters. So, he hatches a plan to make an epic drama of suffering called “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” Yes, this is where the Coen Brothers got the name for their film.
The only problem is that McCrea has lived such a pampered life that he doesn’t feel he has any clue what it really means to suffer. So, he decides to go undercover as a “tramp” so he can experience poverty and struggle firsthand. Now, this is a Preston Sturges movie, one of the most genius comic writers of all time, so, predictably, hijinks ensue once he hits the road. And, let’s be honest, spending any amount of time with Veronica Lake can never be considered anything but a win, even if much of it is spent sneaking rides in boxcars.
Now, quick spoiler alert: if you haven’t seen Sullivan’s Travels and plan on watching it (you really should), you should skip this paragraph. But, for those who have seen it, you’ll know that what he discovers on his long journey to learn about how to make a real tragic drama is that sometimes what the struggling man at the bottom wants most is a simple laugh (the film was made on the heels of the Great Depression). It’s not that making art that reflects our troubles isn’t necessary and valuable. But it can be equally valuable to create art that gifts people 90 minutes to not have to think about those troubles at all. The people going through the struggles already know how bad life can get. Sometimes their lives are much more improved by a Three Stooges sketch than by seeing another in-depth examination of the tragedy they are already well aware of.
I always think about this film whenever the dark side of life rears its ugly head. Especially in the age of post-now-post-often social media, it can feel like you are being vapid if you don’t post ten times an hour about whatever is the topic of the day. It’s not enough to feel empathy. We sometimes feel the need to perform empathy publicly so as not to be accused of callousness. It’s not enough to volunteer your time to help others. Social media puts an emphasis on making sure everyone knows that you are volunteering. It tempts us to make even virtuous acts about ourselves and not about those we are trying to help in the first place. It’s the old adage: if a tree falls in the woods but no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Job One—and really Job Only—should be to roll up your sleeves and help in whatever way you can, whether that be documenting situations to help the outside world understand, making counter-entertainment to take people’s minds off their troubles (even if only for a moment), or volunteering at a clothing drive to help others in need, whether you choose to post about it on Instagram or not.
It can be hard to fully know how to best utilize your specific set of skills as an artist to help others in times of need. But perhaps it’s not a question of what we should do as much as it is a question of how much we can do. Whether it’s lending an ear or simply a well-timed joke, it is our duty to do whatever it takes to put a smile on someone’s face.
