Last week I wrote about con artists in Thunder Bay. Within
two days of the article’s printing I received five emails, two from
legitimately concerned citizens and three from likely con artists who were, A)
fishing for information as to whether I was talking about them or not, B) if I
was, they were warning me that they were capable of hurting me – legally or
damaging my reputation, C) attempting to assure me that they were legitimate.
It was weird, and required a lot of reading between the lines,
but it followed a pattern, revealing how psychologically messed up con artists really
are. I’m glad I’m not an authority, but a victim. I wrote about my experience
with two con artists in Vancouver in a short story called Case 5323. I also had
dealings with a con artist in Victoria, and two local con artists. Fortunately,
by that time, I had learned a few lessons.
These responses dredged up another subject that is controversial
in the art world, which is appropriation. Appropriation is a world of grey, and
although all of us writers, painters, sculptors, musicians, etc. do it in varying
degrees, we are conscious of those who do it a little too much. There is no
fine line in the art world as to what is truly inspiration or when we emulate those
we admire to the point that we are absolutely ripping off another artist.
In our times of mass reproduction, visually and sonically,
sampling occurs regularly where everyone is inspired by someone else,
consciously and subconsciously to the point where nothing seems entirely
original, and claims of originality cause a raising of the eyebrows.
But at what point does inspiration from another artist
become stealing? It should be obvious that if the person doing the
appropriating feels some sense of guilt or has to look hard for justification
for doing so, then they are probably getting a little too inspired. Yet, if an
artist doesn’t have, or listen to, a little alarm bell system in their head,
then who will call them out? Their mother?
At its extreme, there are people who steal directly from
other artists, possibly because it’s profitable and certainly because it’s
easy. And still some even claim to be the great defenders of the people they
steal from. It’s a bit like the woman who appeared years ago on an American
news program, as light entertainment, who said she LOVES butterflies. So much so
that she had a collection of thousands of them. The TV cameras panned the walls
of her home. From floor to ceiling of her huge house she had covered her walls
with little dead butterflies.
An artist in Victoria, Ron Stacy, a white guy, took a break
from painting for several years, returning to it using a new style, because he
took seriously the criticism he was getting, mostly from non-natives, for using
native imagery in his art. Even though Stacy’s knowledge of First Nations
culture was extensive and he treated the culture with great respect, he felt it
necessary to do some reflecting. It shows in his change of style, which is more
original. He can be commended for his ability to reflect on the situation. And
he’s a good artist.
Although no one person can claim to own a style, collectors
and admirers of art have expectations that when purchasing work that looks
distinctly like First Nations art, that the artist is native person, metis, or
at least someone who has some kind of close heritage. When
a totally white guy does it, it begs a few questions.
It’s certainly the case when artists apply for grants.
Jurors routinely deal with having to question the authenticity and legitimate
aims of the person applying. The attempt to win the hearts of jurors by aiming
to help/save/comment on/celebrate/ask questions/expose, etc. any aspect of
another culture is met with serious debate. Without authority on the subject
and without the necessary research a jury can quickly vote “no” on the
application. This happens especially fast when a member of the community that
the application intends to deal with, is on the jury.
And then appropriation gets even more complicated and enters
a realm where I have no experience and can only ask questions. As it is obvious
when a white guy inappropriately appropriates, what’s the dynamic when first
nation artists appropriate other first nations artist’s styles and subject
matter? To what degree is it okay? Is there any kind of self-policing on who
gets to use a style? And to what degree is native, native? How Metis is Metis?
Does blood and history and tribe matter, or is the knowledge of the subject and
culture more important? It’s somewhat confusing, but also very interesting.
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