This is a note to self, a journal of sorts. You might find it relevant too…
Over the last few weeks, I've been reading Supersense by Bruce Hood. Supersense is about the brain science of supernatural beliefs and it covers diverse phenomena like why we're prone to superstitious beliefs and why we fall for conspiracy theories. As I've read on, I've found myself more and more fascinated by the capricious, unpredictable, and fallible nature of human behaviour. Even more so, one particular insight struck me as I made it to the end of the book. It's one that's germane to the general theme of this blog series and has in fact inspired this week's post – the value of art.
Hood shared a story about how the London auction house, Sotheby's, sold a painting, Lady Seated at a Vestral, in 2005 after a protracted dispute over whether it was a Vermeer original or a forgery. The remarkable detail in this account is how the perceived value of the painting soared and ended up selling for £16 million after it was announced by the experts tasked with the investigation that it was undoubtedly an original. Nothing about the painting had changed in the 10 years of dispute leading up to the sale. The only thing that was different was that certain art experts had now confidently pronounced that it was in fact painted by the reputed Vermeer, and not the expert forger Han van Meegeren.
I find the accounts in the book fascinating for several reasons, as they shed light on how varied artistic mediums can be, how much money kicks around among art aficionados, and how much control certain institutions hold over everyday transactions in the art world. But the particular insight I'd like to dwell on, the one that stuck with me most, is that the value of a piece of art, at least as it pertains to the visual medium, lies not solely in its appearance and intrinsic qualities, but rather in the stories that are told and believed about its provenance and authenticity. This is a curious phenomenon, the idea that the price tag on a painting isn't determined by the cost of its constituent parts such as the oil paint, canvas, and other raw materials that went into it, or the number of hours that went into putting it together, or some other quantifiable measures of production subject to the laws of economics.
For everyday goods and services, there are economic considerations such as market forces, demand and supply, scarcity and availability, and specific use cases that dictate and determine value. For instance, if given the chance, almost everyone you pass by on the streets would rather receive a gift of pure diamonds than pure bottled water. Diamonds are scarce and luxurious, a combination of qualities that bestows on it its stratospheric value. Water, on the other hand, is commonplace and taken for granted. But if the situation was such that the choice wasn't offered on the high street but rather on a desert island, the scales would likely be tipped in favour of pure bottled water. Water is simply more valuable in that scenario, necessary to sustain life and stave off the certainty of a slow and painful death, while diamonds are simply a superfluous luxury at best, or excess baggage at worst in that scenario.
Regardless of such external factors that influence the value of everyday and luxury commodities, art seems to play by its own rules. Sometimes all it takes is for a stiff-lipped individual with a low-pitched voice, standing on a podium and clad in authoritative attire, to decree that something was made at a certain time, or that something was produced by a certain individual, and its value skyrockets or plummets accordingly. It seems of little consequence even if said individual's involvement poses a conflict of interest, for instance, if they represent an organisation that stands to benefit from the outcome of the announcement. Such is the case, one can argue, at most prominent art auction houses where the 'experts' engaged to authenticate a piece of art are employed by the organisations tasked with auctioning the art piece. This was certainly true of the Vermeer painting at Sotheby's. Is it any surprise that these 'experts' almost always rule in favour of the authenticity of the piece, kickstarting a chain of events that culminate in the auction houses taking in enormous revenue from the commission on the sales, a portion of which will no doubt make its way to these 'independent experts'? Talk about perverse incentives.
What does this mean for an independent creative like me? A general theme in recent posts has been on appreciating and savouring the journey rather than fixating on some arbitrary destination. Well, the aforementioned insight – that the value of art in the public sphere isn't necessarily determined by intrinsic qualities – lends credence to this idea all the more, that it is worth separating the intrinsic rewards of the artistic journey from the extrinsic, manifested value that the public places on art. In other words, it behoves artists in my position to focus on aspects within our control, and there's hardly a more quintessential execution of this practice than the act of savouring the creative journey itself.
I may have mentioned this once or twice before on this blog series, but for me, a relatively unknown creator, the magic happens when the art is birthed. That feeling of being on the cusp of a new song, when the idea or seed is planted but is yet to germinate, when I listen to my inner voice and devote my senses to the idea as it brews, when I avail myself and allow my body to be a vessel that brings the art into the world, that feeling is one of the best things on earth. The same is true for the process of writing these blog posts, and even my long-form pieces of storytelling. It is not an exaggeration to say that it is a privilege to experience this feeling over and over again with each new song, story, or blog post I bring into the world.
The question I ask myself now is, if that's all I ever get out of being an artist, will it be enough for me? I'm not sure what the answer is yet, but I know what the answer should be. The thing is, for all my gratitude for the gift of music and storytelling, I so dearly want to be able to make a comfortable living from the proceeds of my art. To paraphrase an expression popular on my local music scene (and I suspect amongst independent artists far and wide), exposure is nice and all, but it doesn't pay the rent.
Surely it is possible, desirable even, to savour the creative journey while reaping the benefits of the artistic seeds sown. The question becomes, are the public sands fertile enough to allow these seeds to germinate and yield fruit? A corollary that follows this, is that the status quo in terms of how art is valued in the public sphere has to change. But it begs the question, where does the onus lie for this change?
Infuriatingly, I don't have the answers to this question, but nonetheless, I'd like to leave you with yet another question: where does value lie for you? Write to me and let me know.
PS: Just a reminder that the lead single of the new record is out now, everywhere. You can listen to it on several platforms. Please share it with a friend, share it with your social networks, and consider subscribing to the newsletter (below), my YouTube channel, or wherever else you listen to music.