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By Dot
DeLuitzo
I recently pissed off
one of my teachers. As I wrangled with how my personal principles
might influence my life as a fiction writer in an essay detailing
my past as an apolitical artist, I wrote, “White people
don’t read black authors. They read authors.”
She handed my paper
back with the snarky little note, “White people read black
authors, too,” next to the quote.
Though I’m not
sure she understood my statement, she offered an excellent point—do
white people read black authors? I know in an effort to not alienate
my audience, my characters somehow exist in this deracialized
haven where the social orders of modern-day America do not affect
anyone or their interactions. Until recently, I never considered
it to be compromising my principles as an artist. After all,
my art is my profession and my bills need to be paid.
Is it possible for
me to discuss race and sexuality in my stories without appearing
preachy or politically correct? I suppose what I’m really
uncertain about is the line between commercialization and artistic
integrity. Can I rake in the dough while using my writing as
a catalyst for social reformation? Or does my capitalist greed
immediately diminish my art as commodified leftism? (Because
being a fatcat right-winger is so passé!)
For most of my life,
I’ve had the dream of penning the “great American
novel” and launching myself into the canon of classics
alongside Twain, Hemingway and Steinbeck. But so many of these
stories are dated remnants of history with the occasional un-PC
darkie joke. Being the one student of color in my High School’s
AP Lit classes, I knew too well of the brush-off these issues
got: “People thought like that back then; things are different
now.” But there aren’t many stories that challenge
modern racist American practices from the other side, and although
I want to be in that number now, it took me a long time to come
to this conclusion.
According to Albert
Camus, politics are like spouses and can always be divorced.
In his original quote, he contended that the politics of the
artist should not influence the audience reaction; that each
artistic piece should stand on its own, devoid of any political
alignment. What Camus fails to take into consideration is that
regardless of the art’s political alignment, the artist
is still benefiting from that support, and marginalized peoples
cannot afford to support their oppressors. As a black queer female,
this is an issue I face constantly since I have an obligation
to be political all of the time. I always hesitate to support
artists whose work I enjoy for fear that I’ll ultimately
be helping someone whose politics are out of line. It hurts twice
as much when it comes from a person of color. How am I supposed
to shake my ass to my Mystikal 12” single Shake Ya
Ass when he’s currently serving a sentence for videotaping
and participating in the gang rape of his former hairdresser?
I love his music, but to me, the personal is political and I
cannot, with a clear conscience, support anti-black, anti-female,
anti-queer personal statements by sponsoring an artist who adheres
to these beliefs.
This brings me back
to my work: who is my target audience? Most of my stories are
short, intimate pieces where I have neither the time nor the
space to interrogate my world. This is most likely why they’re
appealing to a wide range of people. But lately I’m struggling
with the want to explore a more aggressive, socially-critical
style. I’m aware that I risk losing my current core audience
if my art becomes as politicized as my life. Is it worth it?
My mother says no. She’s convinced I’ll end up homeless
for the sake of my art someday, since it’s understood that
the most noble professions don’t get paid.
So if starving for
your art is noble, what is threatening the accessibility of your
art by infusing it with unpopular cultural criticism? The idea
both excites and frightens me. Progressive art is usually snuffed
out before it can inspire any sort of revolution, anyway; so
I imagine rejection is something I should prepare myself for.
How, then, do I go about making my efforts appealing and less
like preachy morality yarns? I imagine finding a balance is where
talent truly lies.
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