That New Sound You're Looking For
In this issue of "Because We Can", I talk about keeping that creative spark alive when met with silence, ridicule, dislike, or lack of appreciation.
In the digital age, we're used to instantaneous solutions. One-click purchases. Search results in three seconds or less. Instant downloads. Reactions, engagement, shares, and feedback while we sleep.
But sometimes art needs to percolate. Sometimes work is misunderstood or underappreciated, and it needs to wade through time, adrift until the right audience finds it. This is how cult classics come to be. This is why many famous painters, writers, etc., aren't recognized until after death. This is sometimes why artistic projects float in limbo until an agent or producer finally decides to take a chance on them.
Recently, I had the opportunity to interview writer and producer Alan Burnett, one of the creative minds behind a plethora of animated works, including Batman: The Animated Series and its subsequent film, Mask of the Phantasm. I bring this up because, for comic book fans and Batman devotees, Mask of the Phantasm is often cited as arguably one of the most faithful and greatest comic book films ever made. Though they did not review it until long after its theatrical run, critics Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel marveled at the masterful, complex, and emotionally moving story Mask of the Phantasm managed to tell in an exceptionally lean 76 minutes.
Upon its release, the film was critically panned, occasionally trashed as a strange film that would come and go at the theaters relatively quickly (it only ran for two weeks). In our interview, I broached this subject with Burnett, and he related the disappointment at putting so much time, effort, love, and creative juices into something only for it to not turn out.
But that's what it is to create. We pour so much of ourselves into a project, and sometimes that project goes by ignored, judged, or forgotten. It can float through time for years before finding an audience. Cult classics like John Carpenter's The Thing are horror institutions this time of year, and it's inconceivable to think any Halloween or horror movie fan would dislike that movie. But in 1982? Critics, on the whole, tended to hate it. Ebert even referred to The Thing as a "great barf-bag movie."
Even worse, sometimes entire careers are seen as an example of what not to do, as was the case with infamous scifi/horror movie director Edward D. Wood Jr. His low-budget films existed for years as the butt of a joke until 1994, when director Tim Burton recontextualized Ed Wood’s legacy, conveying a character of exuberant personality and wild ideas. Burton, obviously, was inspired by Wood’s filmography — so much so that he followed up this biopic with Mars Attacks!, a retro scifi love letter to creators like Ed Wood.
My point is, as creators, when we don't see an equal or forgiving return on that massive investment of our time, energy, and creativity, it's easy to fall into a pit of anguish and self-loathing. Our confidence and determination wanes, and we find ourselves questioning our talents or who we are as people. We might even succumb to being the butt of someone else’s joke, losing that drive and motivation that pushed us so hard to create in the first place.
If you’ve been reading this newsletter for a while, you may recognize that I speak on this issue a lot. It’s the core of what I believe is our greatest strength as creators, and when the going gets tough, that's when it's most important to circle the wagons and keep that creative spark alive. Because what you're doing, it has value. You have value. The act of creation is the greatest gift we could offer ourselves and those around us. It’s something so uniquely ours, representing the total parts of our multitudes, including our light and dark sides. To give it up — to let it wither and die — is akin to losing a piece of ourselves, of our souls.
I just want to say: you know that new sound you're working on? You never know who's paying attention. Your work could exist for years, floating in limbo, until one day it takes root and inspires a whole generation of creators.
I’m not saying it’s easy to wait, but when it gets tough to cope with the deafening silence or lack of interest? Reach out to other creators. Find your tribe. Commiserate in defeat, but relish in a shared passion to make this world a more beautiful place.
Because eventually you will.