June 6, 2019--No Rules to Art

I've been reading Jan Morris's In My Mind's Eye, excerpts from her daily diary. It was written when she was 92 and still in full command of her mind and sensibility.

One entry stood out that I shared with my talented artist niece, Melissa Middleberg. You as well might find it to be of interest.

Day 69--

    I don't want to sound curmudgeonly, but I do not approve of literary prizes. It is true that I wouldn't mind winning one, instead of being a habitual runner-up, and I would not say no to being half a century or so younger than I am and thus qualified to win one of those prizes specifically reserved for younger writers. No, it is not just envy that animates me; it is the conviction that art, however elementary, cannot be competitive.

    How can anyone rate the merit of one book against another, or this talent with that--like comparing beauty itself, or goodness, or evil? Which would win the prize, Jane Eyre or Ulysses, Flaubert or Mark Twain? Only a god, an angel or perhaps a genius could judge, and not many are around to preside over the Man Booker or the Pulitzer. I suppose there are, though, writers extant around the world who really are competitive, who are out to be better than the others--not in the matter of sales or even reviews, but out of plain competitiveness, like sportsmen.

    The success of some athletes and chess players, it is true, is sometimes abetted by the elegance of their performances, but their true purpose is to beat someone else by the rules of their practice. 

    There are no rules to art, though, nobody is offside, and to my mind nobody should be judged a winner. 

    Not even me.

By Melissa Middleberg