Shakespeare Humbled

I have been pen pals with Daniel Hintzsche, an American (or USAyan as he calls it) artist, for quite a while. He is a self-reflective writer who mainly focuses on religion and philosophy, and, to me, he is a hidden gem in literature, not particularly because of the topics he chooses or his viewpoints, but because of his writing style, which feels like an inner voice addressing you. In one of our emails, he asked me about Shakespeare: “Why does that happen so rarely? What is it most artists aren’t (or are) doing that keeps them from the sort of prominence and influence that he achieved and still, in our minds and spirits and psyches, inhabits?”

Now, I know that Daniel has a much more convincing answer to that question, and he is probably better equipped to handle it than I am as he particularly studied it at an academic level. And, being outside of Anglophone culture, I might just be the last person to be consulted about Shakespeare. But then again, who says you need to be inside to join the discussion? This wasn’t a request for my expertise anyway, it was just a conversation. So, I did write him a reply and would like to expand on my opinions a little bit in this post.

Circumstances

Brueghel, Caravaggio, Da Vinci, Holbein, Jan Steen, Van Dyck, Michelangelo, Bach, Telemann, Handel, Vivaldi, Purcell, Rabelais, Voltaire, Shakespeare…

We look back at those historic artists’ works, and we think: This is art.

We see them as better than the noise of today as they have stood the test of time and earned their universality. We perceive them as ideal artists as if they were driven by pure inspiration and passion, good intentions, a vision ahead of their time, emotional enlightenment, consistency in artistic vision, universal standards, elitist sensibilities, independence from commerce, commitment to uncompromising ideals, detachment from popular culture, and peerless originality.

But most of them, especially those from before the 17th century, did not reflect these traits in the way we idealize them today. The concept of art, in our modern sense, didn’t even exist. The idea of art and the artist, as we understand them now, was shaped by developments in the 17th and 18th centuries. Before that, craftsmanship, science, philosophy, religion, everything was mixed together. Artists (as we call them today) weren’t creating art in the way we think of it; they were solving problems, painting cathedrals, illustrating religious stories, composing music for church services, and pleasing patrons.

They were seen as craftsmen rather than the creative masterminds we regard them as today. Nobody called them geniuses by acknowledging their individuality; this is something we invented long after they died. Of course, their works are still valuable, and this does not taint their status as creators, but they lacked the artistic identities that many of us glorify today. So why and how did their works achieve such prominence and influence if they were not created by visionary, genius, and rare artists? And what about the rest, all the creators we categorized throughout history?

My first take is a bit lazy: Circumstances (I could also call it fate but without any divine or supernatural connotation).

Why do I make films? Circumstances. Perhaps my mother could have been a filmmaker too, even better than I am, perhaps a modern master. But that wasn’t even an option in her time, given where she lived and the opportunities available to her. Many factors needed to come together for her to break out of her shell, but they didn’t: Just circumstances.

So, in my understanding, what’s rare is not those artists themselves but the mix of circumstances that shapes them. Shakespeare was just mastering his craft, living in the moment, and doing the work. It wasn’t his genius or vision, it was his time, his place, his struggles, his luck. Good or bad, easy or hard, it all came together to create something that stood out. And sometimes, we don’t even notice it unless certain events occur and specific conditions align.

Everything is a Construct

Another thing is that we see those artists as rare simply because we choose to. We gave them that title. We have decided to see them that way. That’s fine. But it would also be fine if we did not. Today, anyone can declare what art is. And the art industry can spotlight whatever it wants. Almost anything can be considered art depending on the context and interpretation.

So, those artists are part of the culture we have built, and calling them universal is a construct largely shaped by dominant civilization actors. Over time, we have all accepted it as a norm. It guided how we see art and deceived us into thinking that it is something fixed. But, we appreciate things based on who made them, who discovered them, and who presented them to us as well.

You don’t often hear people discussing the subtlety of Turkish classical music lyrics as a universal phenomenon, right? But who knows how things will evolve in the future?

In short, my answer to Daniel’s question would be: Most artists don’t have the combination of factors to make themselves stand out. Shakespeare is still remembered and appreciated because he survived (along with his cultural image), while so many others got lost in history (coincidentally, I demonstrated how that would happen in one of my previous posts).

Our Little Struggles

Our struggle today is that we (naturally) are caught up in contemporary issues like identity, personal expression, activism, diversity, accessibility, and so on and forth. We often think that we can change circumstances by focusing on these concepts to open a way for new, rare artists. However, there is no formula for this. Everything, absolutely everything, might have both positive and negative impacts on it. You can set up the perfect conditions and give everyone equal opportunities to create, but that doesn’t guarantee anything. So, rarity is just there to appreciate; you can’t reach it, imitate it, analyze it, or create a formula for it. But not because it is so great or the result of genius, but rather, it is a complex mixture of circumstances, just like our personalities.

If you knew Shakespeare, you probably would not call him an artist at all. He was a populist and profit-driven figure who made his wealth from his plays, real estate, and even moneylending. His concern was not to create art for the sake of art, he just wanted to entertain his audience. Perhaps his neighbor was creating better work, but since he wasn’t as enterprising, he couldn’t perform his plays, and we wouldn’t even know his name. Shakespeare isn’t great, he’s not divine. But does that make his art any less valuable? Of course, not. Shakespeare had a good technique, remixed old folk stories into lyrical plays, and knew how to create situations around common themes that most of us can relate to. And this is something we can learn from, but it does not explain the path to his success (or rarity). It was just a phenomenon (an unfair advantage) specific to a particular time and place.

Feelings Are Overrated

Now, some might attribute Shakespeare’s rarity to his emotional depth, sensibilities, feelings, and the unique nature of his spirit. But, when working on his plays, he probably looked more like a carpenter than a deeply feeling artist. Even so, his words can still hit us emotionally. Our mistake is that we see the finished work and assume it was built purely from raw emotions or feelings. But artists don’t simply pour out their feelings into their works; they shape them, like wood into furniture, which is far different from just feeling it.

Kiarostami (one of my favorite filmmakers) also pointed out something important about this phenomenon when he received feedback for his short film Seagull Eggs, which depicts seagull eggs on a rock surviving relentless waves. He mentions that viewers felt like it was a pure documentary, raw and real, and found his capture of this moment to be authentic and captivating. They couldn’t help but wonder if the waves would take the eggs, wash them away, and end their chances of survival. Kiarostami, however, admitted that he had placed the eggs there himself. It wasn’t real. He deceived everyone. But what’s interesting is that this cold, calculated trickery can open the way to emotions and feelings within us. So, a well-executed lie without any related feelings can make us believe, feel, and care.

Now, think about art made by AI. Many of them could totally move you if you didn’t know they were made by a machine. AI might not feel anything, but it’s figured out how to make us feel. They are already doing it with music and visual arts. It’s only when we know it’s AI, then we second-guess it. I think this is the reason why people (and particularly artists) are scared of it because it does similar tasks as they do. It takes what already exists and remixes it.

Yes, we are all re-mixers. Artists always take from the past to create today, and they absorb the previous pieces to discover the new. And we must admit that AI has been learning this process very well. Day by day, the work we do as humans is looking less, and our piece of the pie keeps getting smaller. What is left for us? Our personalities, and our perspectives.

Okay, for now, we are safe, as AI hasn’t figured out how to be a person. And, we don’t call it a genius artist because we didn’t construct a culture that would present it that way. But when it can develop a personality, things might get more complicated, and perhaps that’s the kind of challenge we need, to push us into the next phase of human creativity.

Wait a Minute, Did You Hear That?

I, great Will, almighty Shakespeare, here I stand to warn thee.

You, petty Mirac, release my soul, and leave me be!

The honor is mine, and mine alone to claim.

In thee, I see the green, eyed fiend of envy.

From Denmark’s royal halls to London’s darkest streets,

None more jealous than thou, none more hungry.

Thy envy rivals Othello’s wrath,

Thy ambition darker than Macbeth’s cruel heart.

But hear me now: if thou dost not relent,

And cease to smear my name with vile deceit,

I will summon spirits from the hills of Turkey’s north,

Where whispers haunt the air and shadows loom.

Beware, for thy fate may be worse than Hamlet’s,

A tragic fall, without his noble grace.

Desist, I warn thee, or face thy doom!