Disruption, Discovery, and the Future of Art
I’ve been immersed in the art world, both as writer, advocate, and non-profit director (as well as a teacher, critic, and—above all—ardent fan) for the last several decades. I’ve seen a lot of things unfold, in real time, and as such, have opinions.
Everything, of course, is evolving and changing, at speed, all the time. Technology, in the 21st Century, has super-sized and intensified these trends, and more and more, we’ve grown accustomed to all the things we used to understand clearly being in flux. It’s the new normal. Naturally, this applies to media (in general) and the publishing industries (in particular). Only more so.
It’s interesting to read, in recent weeks, Washington Post books critic—and 1455 Storyteller of the Year, 2022—Ron Charles (on the disappearance of book reviews and outlets that will formally provide them), Bob Lefsetz (on Spotify as hero or villain or both or neither--and what digital streaming says--and does not explain--about the state of the music industry), and this interview with the immortal John Fogerty, who has turned 80 (!), talking, again, about his truly unbelievable experiences with his label and how, after being one of the most prolific and successful rock stars of the late ‘60s, he was essentially broke for two decades.
What these stories, taken together, signify is something I’ve witnessed these past decades: they exemplify, in no particular order, how difficult it is to be a creative and pursue any kind of artistic path, how crucial it is to identify and nurture some type of audience, how we must acknowledge the various arts industries are being at once democratized and corporatized (itself an ostensibly impossible formula that is, as ever, both good and awful for storytellers), while also concluding that the 20th C, for all its myriad shortcomings and the iniquities it perpetuated, was a golden age of sorts (for the more successful authors and musicians, anyway) and that system—and its network of support and promotion—is never, ever coming back.
And now we have AI in the mix. Add that to the chorus of folks who decry Amazon and Spotify as the worst things to ever happen to artists. My take? The digital tsunami came, and if we can’t put toothpaste back in the tube, visualize putting an entire ocean back into a baby bottle. Not happening, not possible. So even if debate should rage about the pros and cons of a new frontier where traditional media is crumbling and streamed content thrives, the reality is what it is. Horse-drawn carriages aren’t coming back, neither are word processors or encyclopedias, and certainly, the days of $15.99 compact discs are buried in the landfill (good riddance). And on balance, I welcome the disruption of blogs, consumer reviews, algorithm recommendations, and self-publishing.
Why? Because while these technological and cultural shifts have undeniably removed bulwarks of stability and support, only the elite would argue that the old system wasn’t super inclusive, immoral and, yes, very elitist. If you were good or lucky enough to create a breakthrough title, you might make a very nice living as a novelist or songwriter. But how many thousands (millions?) of great books, albums, articles, and works of art languished in drawers or hard drives because they didn’t connect with the (very insular, very NYC, very white) editors and agents who held the keys to the kingdom? Also, only a self-interested snob would deny that these agents and editors are motivated primarily by the profit motive; it’s understandable—everyone has to pay bills—but to position these old school gatekeepers as benevolent protectors of culture is both hysterical and disingenuous.
Is it welcome news that nonprofits are losing funding, universities are scrapping programs, established authors have less support and need to learn entirely new skill sets (becoming, if not proficient, at least passingly familiar with things like websites, mail-lists, marketing, and PR)? Not necessarily. But within this horrifying, complicated, unpredictable, exciting vortex exists the possibility of a leveled playing field (the old playing field having been itself leveled by the one-two punch of sociopolitical reality and late-stage capitalism which, you’ll notice, last year’s NYT bestsellers and book chains never decried when they were positioned, comfortably, at the trough).
If we look to Amazon or Spotify, these expanding platforms are unwieldy, almost impossible to navigate, but the possibility of discovery is unprecedented. Speaking personally as a music obsessive, on a weekly basis the (dreaded?) algorithms serve up artists I’ve never heard of (and, safe to say, never would have heard of before streaming services, in part because outside of streaming they would have been impossible to find but also, and sadly, they likely would never have had the possibility of putting their music into the world: just like books had to be literally made and sold, so too did albums and CDs).
Nostalgia is enticing, addictive, irresistible, free. But it is a feeling, and feelings can’t resurrect outdated, irrelevant, and, in some instances, immoral systems. Recognize things can—and should—be better, more equitable, more inclusive, and do something besides whine (subscribe to a Substack, buy an independent musician’s new vinyl—or pay for a digital download—cut a check to a non-profit offering up free content). Ultimately, we should celebrate digital content and print/create on demand: these options are more environmentally friendly (look up what pulp as a verb means and how it epitomizes the incompetence, inefficiency, and iniquity of the old publishing model), and most crucially, they put the power in the hands of the creators, where it should be.
For our annual Storytelling Open Edition, we are thrilled, as always, to welcome new writers, and once more feature some familiar friends. Special gratitude to Kim Triedman—1455’s 2022 Storyfest Featured Artist—for the blessing to use her remarkable art for this issue.
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