Fame changes everything. Or so I hypothesize. After all, I don’t have any actual firsthand experience upon which to base this assumption. But obscurity? Now there’s a topic with which I have practical knowledge.
In spite of its woeful reputation, I believe obscurity is a valuable and rewarding state of existence. Consider all those artists whose first album was their best. Or first book. Or first movie. The reason, of course, is that debut works are all created in obscurity — a feat that can rarely be replicated once fame arrives.
Back when I designed electronic music products, I most enjoyed the development phase. That time between the inception of an idea and the actual release of the product was filled with unbridled creativity and boundless enthusiasm. During this cycle, the product was truly mine. But at the moment of its release, it no longer belonged to me — it belonged to the world. The product became a slave to the whims and demands of the paying public, and I became its servant.
Naturally, the dismay I felt each time I “lost” a product was counter to the emotions of accountants, investors, and most everyone else in the company — all of whom were delighted to finally see my lengthy toils in seclusion turn to cash. And that’s the problem. Because as wonderful as obscurity can be, it’s not a currency the bank can convert. Which is an issue if you’re the type of human who benefits from the consumption of food. Compromise inevitably becomes necessary. And compromise is the enemy of pure creation.
In the early 1970’s, San Francisco’s legendarily anonymous avant-garde “rock” group, The Residents, formulated the “Theory of Obscurity.” It postulates that pure, unadulterated art can be created only in the absence of the expectations and influences of the outside world. In other words, obscurity is the only path to true art.
But even The Residents, while not achieving Adele-like levels of fame, have managed to carve out a 45+ year career in the fickle, fad-happy, micro-niche world of the avant-garde — a task, I would argue, that’s far more difficult than achieving superstar status in the pop world. Ultimately, because of their success, they could no longer uphold the standards of their own theory.
Fortunately, I’ve managed to maintain abundant levels of genuine obscurity throughout my life — and in doing so, I’ve discovered a flaw in my personal interpretation of the Theory of Obscurity. Originally, I assumed it meant that if one remained unknown, then one remained obscure. Obviously, the outside world expects nothing from an artist it knows nothing about. Therefore, I surmised, it cannot force its influence upon the artist. Obscurity = Invisibility. Or so I thought.
But over time I realized that invisibility does nothing to prevent an artist from placing expectations upon oneself. It does not prevent them from exploring the world and absorbing its influence. In reality, Obscurity > Invisibility.
All those photography monographs that I buy and analyze; all that music I dissect; all those articles I read — all have a cumulative and colouring effect on my own photos, music, and essays. All are indicative that the outside world has, indeed, encroached into my inner world and is exerting its influence — in spite of my invisibility.
So, every now and then, I’ll simply flip a switch and shut down a block or two of external sensory receptors. I’ve recently unsubscribed from every blog on the internet; abstained from buying any monographs; and ceased searching for photography that interests me. I’ve even stopped actively listening to music of any kind (though one can’t avoid absorbing it osmotically). I don’t want current fashion or even classical techniques to influence what I photograph, think, or compose. I want to give whatever is within a chance to escape without the weight of my own expectation.
Most believe that such willful ignorance is a tool of the closed-minded — a way to sequester oneself from the need to admit culpability or own-up to being wrong. Curiously, I view it as just the opposite — a way to open the mind and free oneself from the tyranny of predictability and convention.
Granted, the wholesale rejection of knowledge is not something you want to adopt for your entire life. And it’s certainly not something that coincides with my natural hunger for greater understanding. My take on willful ignorance is that it’s merely the second half of a symbiotic whole — a 2-step procedure, like breathing. The consumption of knowledge is analogous to breathing in; the rejection of knowledge is like breathing out. One must naturally follow the other.
So obscurity is not the catalyst that keeps the outside world at bay. Discipline is. Obscurity is not a cause; it’s an effect. And it’s a precious thing. Because any work I create in a state of obscurity will forever define me in my fame — should such an unfortunate fate one day befall me.
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©2017 grEGORy simpson
ABOUT THE PHOTOS & MUSIC:
“The Fork” was photographed with a Ricoh GR. “Morning” was shot with a Leica M6TTL and a 35mm Summicron lens (v4) on Tri-X at ISO 400, and developed in HC-110 (H). Whether anyone thinks it’s a lousy photo or not is immaterial — that’s because it’s not a photo at all; it’s a metaphor.
“Even Mater Suspiriorum Was Once An Ingénue” is this article’s musical accompaniment. Is the title perhaps a bit too long? Probably. Do you have to be familiar with the films of Dario Argento in order for it (and some of the sound design) to make sense? Probably. Will this prevent you from enjoying the music? Probably not — but there are plenty of other things about this song that might. This song is, in many ways, truly indicative of what happens when outside influence is allowed to seep into our subconscious — even if that influence is, itself, something the average person would consider to be obscure.
REMINDER: If you find these photos enjoyable or the articles beneficial, please consider making a DONATION to this site’s continuing evolution. As you’ve likely realized, ULTRAsomething is not an aggregator site — serious time and effort go into developing the original content contained within these virtual walls.
And what about other invisible guys? OK, let’s assume you effectively remove yourself from being under influence of others (or remove others from your path), make hundreds of photograph, apparently iconic (but non-iconic) ones. And then realize that on a half of them some invisible nerd is simply devastating your idea.
Wojtek: That’s a valid question, albeit an unlikely occurrence. My response is basically “I don’t care.” But that sounds flippant, so let’s look at the various scenarios surrounding said “nerd’s” “devastation” of my ideas.
1. I’m assuming, when you say “devastating,” that you mean “stealing?” If so, I’ll address those scenarios next. In the event that you meant the nerd was “criticizing and publicly condemning” my ideas, then I would actually consider that a “success.” Vicious criticism goes hand-in-hand with work created out of the mainstream.
2. Now, let’s assume you used “devastating” to mean “stealing.” If said nerd is indeed invisible, then so what? They’re not getting any more recognition than I am. And chances are, the recognition they’re getting is from people who would never have discovered my work in the first place. Where I have an obsessive need to create, the nerd has an obsessive need to steal. Nothing anyone says or does could make me want to stop creating. So nothing I said or did would stop the nerd from stealing. Sure, I might loathe the nerd’s character, but it’s not something I have the capability of changing and, ultimately, it has no effect on me or what I’m creating.
3. Let’s assume the invisible nerd actually becomes well known. Ultimately, given what I create, being “well known” probably isn’t going to result in much (if any) financial gain. So basically, becoming “well known” means only that the nerd receives a bunch of fawning accolades and a healthy dose of ego massaging. I’m lucky — my own ego requires no actual external stimulation. My ego is stroked solely by self-satisfaction. If I’ve created something I feel is good, then I feel good (whether anyone else thinks this or not). If I create something I feel is bad, then I feel bad — and no amount of external validation will change this. So if someone steals my ideas and gets accolades, it might tick me off a little, but it ultimately doesn’t have any effect on me.
4. Now let’s look at the final scenario: the nerd steals my ideas/style and achieves substantial financial gain because of it. Here’s the thing — if the nerd is able to turn what I do into cash, then the nerd possess some pretty mad sales and/or social media skills — skills that I would never possess in a dozen lifetimes. So it’s not like the nerd “stole my success,” because I would never have had it anyway. Idea theft happens all the time. There’s nothing much I can do about it — it’s not like what I do is patentable (and copyrights are squishy at best). So as long as the nerd is stealing my “style” and “ideas”, and not my actual creations, then that’s really just the way of the world. It’s why “trends” exist. Now, if said nerd is actually profiting from the outright theft of a song/article/photo, then I’m reasonably sure one of my eagle-eyed readers would knock on the shell of my cocoon and let me know about it, thus sending a swarm of lawyers to the nerd’s domicile.
Ultimately, I can’t and don’t worry about what other people do. It’s the fundamental tenet of obscurity. Besides, there are 7.5 billion “other people” and only 1 of me. So, given the limits of time and energy, which “group” am I more likely going to be able to manage?
Ha, so basically you don’t care (was it some kind of ice water bucket on your interlocutor challenge?)
And what about an acolyte-nerd? A guy who follows you (at least mentally) and makes you his or her hero – say, some kind of Banksy. Is this against the whole idea of obscurity (and even if you don’t care it makes the idea an obsolete one from the very begining) or is it a thing you can’t avoid and have to accept (so you don’t care)?
Hi Wojtek:
Regarding your first statement: Yeah, it was exactly that. After posting a new article, I always reserve some time to respond to comments. However, my obscurity plan is working out so well, that yours was the article’s only comment — so I had to do something to fill all that comment reply time.
And, regarding the acolyte-nerd: Said Egor in the Book of Ultra Chapter 175, Comment 2: “An acolyte that’s silent can exert no influence, and hence does not exist.” Trite? Yeah. But what entry in the Book of Ultra isn’t? Besides, the day I get an acolyte is the day the apocalypse begins.