Can you truly separate art from the artist?

Ye has consistently made headlines for his antisemitism. (Photo courtesy of AP News)

Ye, formerly known as Kanye West, was my favorite artist of all time. Graduation (2007) was the first full-length album that I listened to in its entirety when I purchased my first streaming service subscription. In 2016, I joined Jay-Z’s fringe-mainstream streaming service Tidal to get an early listen to Ye’s The Life of Pablo (2016). I have also always supported Ye’s merchandising efforts; which included his Adidas x Yeezy line, tour merch and most recently, his collaboration with Balenciaga and Gap (prior to both Balenciaga and Ye’s respective controversies). It’s the end of 2022 and I have not listened to a song from the rapper since his Tweet in early October that claimed he was going to go “def con 3 On JEWISH PEOPLE” (the capital letters were his creative choice). I’m a dedicated fan to the genre of hip-hop, as well as a mass consumer of general media, but I’m also Jewish first and foremost. Dealing with the conundrum of whether to continue to support the work of my favorite artist, despite their malicious actions towards a group of people that I am a part of, has confronted me with an unfortunate truth: it is impossible for me to truly separate an artist from their work.

The excuses many of Ye’s relentless defenders use when justifying their continued support for the rapper is one that shares a newfound sense of satirical black comedy that both admits Ye’s wrongdoings, but seemingly neglects any form of accountability. “But he made Graduation!”, it’s ironic that the album that grew my love for Ye is the one that is being used as a detractor for the incessant antisemitism and bigotry the man has exhibited. Memes like this are harmless on the surface, but suggest a contradiction within the argument of separating art from the artists that many Ye fans use to disregard his bigotry. The use of an artist’s output, even if done in jest, to rationalize their abhorrent behavior is ignorant of its own logic. This defense is a double-edged sword; if you claim that you can indulge in an artist’s products because they are not a representation of the creator themselves, how can you then use it to vindicate the personality behind it. More than this though, art is inherently an intimate experience that is supposed to capture the emotions or thoughts behind the creator in the process of its execution. To continue to advocate for someone’s work as separate from who they are as an individual legitimizes the causes that they are personally contributors to because it establishes that their income and status will not falter, regardless of any controversy that follows them. By perpetuating this notion and the highlights of Ye’s career that we all look back on fondly is to be in denial of reality, as well as it innately rejects any form of critical thinking that consumers should always consider in diverting the monetary fruits of their own labor into someone else’s.

The paradoxical notion of separating art from its artist is certainly not bound to musicians, although controversies of Ye’s kind seem to become more prevalent within his line of work because of the overtly immediate relationship to their product that musicians do have. The medium of film has also been composed of many perpetrators of illicit, and downright egregious, behavior that has clouded their perception in the eyes of the public, but clearly not enough to their peers.

Woody Allen has received sexual abuse allegations that have spanned decades. (Photo courtesy of HuffPost)

Woody Allen is a premier example of how one’s celebrity status can seemingly outweigh personal shortcomings. It’s been about 30 years now since Allen’s then 7-year-old adopted daughter, Dylan Farrow, accused the director of sexually molesting her. Following this monumental allegation towards one of the most critically acclaimed filmmakers of all time was the fact that Allen had cheated on former wife Mia Farrow with another one of his adopted daughters, Soon-Yi Previn, who then married Allen in 1997. Allen had directed and starred in seminal films like Annie Hall (1977) and Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989). Diane Keaton, an actress who had dated Allen and was his co-star in Annie Hall came to the director’s defense; other actors like Kate Winslet and Cate Blanchett have been noncommittal in judgment of the situation by claiming to place more faith in legal due process rather than what they perceive as hearsay. The only true consequence Allen has faced from these allegations was the loss of custody of his three children with Mia Farrow, although the judge assigned to the case explicitly rejected the sexual allegations, while still deeming Allen’s behavior as “grossly inappropriate”.

The #MeToo movement expedited the investigation of allegations towards Hollywood juggernauts for exploiting their positions of power to coerce subordinate women into sexually abusive scenarios, so why has someone like Allen escaped similar persecution? It seems as though some celebrities pick and choose their battles based on the convenience of the social climate that leave employers like Allen untouched. Allen is known for commonly boosting the career trajectories of those who work with him in regard to Oscar nominations, or general acclaim, so it is simply easier for those in the film industry to justify his transgressions for the sake of what benefits his art brings for those surrounding it. Regardless, even for the strictest cinephiles, rewatching films like Manhattan (1979) and Husbands and Wives (1992) becomes a cringe worthy endeavor when Allen, who has full creative control over the writing and direction of these films, consistently poises himself as the dominant force in romantic dynamics with women whose ages pale in comparison to his own. At what point does the work of creatives like Ye and Allen start to reflect their personalities as a whole, rather than just the aspects of their lives that consumers, and co-workers, feel comfortable to acknowledge?