Artist envy

A note about occasionally feeling envious of other artists. Not of those whose work might be of similar intention, as for example Salieri’s no-doubt-exaggerated relationship to Mozart — I mean here, envy of practitioners working in different media. This is about practical differences.

First, envy of visual artists who always have something to draw or paint. David Hockney has made this point a few times: he can get up in the morning, look around, and see something to draw, wherever he happens to be. As a writer, I’m completely unable to get up and just write about whatever happens to be there, or what comes into my head. Against that, I note that when my sight goes, I should still be able to create texts, whereas a visual artist is going to struggle rather more.

Secondly, envy of musicians, especially composers, for being able to get away with repetition or duplication. It’s totally excusable (although sometimes abused, in my view) because performed music only exists in irreversible time. With the written word you usually have the option to go back. I’m also envious that music is a medium in which improvisation can be an art form itself, because it’s a performance art.

There’s much to be said for reflecting on these differences and constraints, exploring them and seeking to learn from them. In a couple of pieces I’ve experimented with what I would call varied perspectives (think cubist writing) and in others with the use of repetition. And when I find myself in a certain temperament, I will always allow the impulse to improvise (in the privacy of my own desk, of course, and the results have then to be honed, sensitively).