have u seen american movie?
i want u to live, jamie lee curtis
The other day I watched American Movie for the first time. When, out of politeness, people ask me what the midwest is like, I think this is what I’ll point them to (i know ur not really interested its ok!!!!). The midwest is exactly this parochial and bleak,,, and its artists are this desperate.
American Movie is a 1999 documentary following a filmmaker, Mark Borchardt, attempt to make an indie horror movie in rural Wisconsin, besot by alcoholism, debt, a lack of resources, and hurdles during every step of the process. The work is a total failure. Mark is so utterly convicted and so totally talentless. This is someone who so badly wants to have vision and so badly wants to be recognized as an artist. When he is met with gentle criticism, he retreats into the idea that he is just horribly misunderstood.
His fuel, I think, is that he sees himself as a tortured artist.
After some frenzied calculus, Mark is emphatic that he just needs to sell 3,000 copies, that’s it, then he’ll have done something. In the commentary, we hear someone else say: “I’m not so sure what’s so special about Mark’s movie, why someone would pick it out of a bin of a hundred other horror movies, why they would buy it.”
Side —
The day after I saw this movie, it was announced that Mike Schank (lackey, ally and friend to Mark, loyal to a fault) died. This feels very strange, like some kind of Halloween curse. American Movie has sat on my “to watch” list for over a year and I picked it on a total whim. Almost as if it had called to me from the beyond. Like I was selected for some dark course of action beyond my understanding. Now, looking at the rest of my to-watch list, apprehensively, I wonder if I’ve been imbued with some horrible power: that every time I watch a movie, the next day, one of its stars will die. I am faced with a terrible choice. Do I want to watch 1978 classic Halloween, or do I want Jamie Lee Curtis to live?
When I watched American Movie, a part of me was terrified. I thought: oh god, is that me?? Am I this guy?? oh my god.
Every artist wonders, sometimes, if they’re this delusional. I think especially so if you did grow up in the midwest — or some other desolate strip — where little value is placed on culture and intellectualism. Because there’s some chance that, yes, you are just an outsider, you are just misunderstood.
But there is some probability that you’re not any good.
I don’t make movies but I paint paintings. I write poems. And the fear of being seen will sometimes stop me in my tracks, if I think about it too long. Overcoming this has sort of shaped my practice as of late. I realized that if you prioritize the need to be seen as a creative over *the actual desire to create* you are doomed. You are doomed! It forever corrupts the relationship you have to your art. That’s why the best art is probably made in a cave.
There are a few things I keep going back to:
From Ira Glass:
Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.
From David Bayles and Ted Orland:
The ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing the class into two groups. All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on its quality. His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the "quantity" group: fifty pound of pots rated an "A", forty pounds a "B", and so on. Those being graded on "quality", however, needed to produce only one pot -- albeit a perfect one -- to get an "A". Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity. It seems that while the "quantity" group was busily churning out piles of work - and learning from their mistakes -- the "quality" group had sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay.
And this.
Fear not, young artist heart, you can always work on your craft.
Even if that’s not true, and you are more likely to strike gold while raw, undone and hungry, I have to allow myself this thought. Or I’ll give up and be horribly depressed. Because here’s the thing — I am very, very sad when I am not reading books, writing poems, listening to artfully made music, painting paintings or writing silly essays.
There is not much I gain, conversely, from calling myself a creative. This is LA,,,,, everyone is a creative director. It’s simply not interesting, darling.
I am resigned to the idea, right now, of making ugly art. I am going out of my way to make bad art, even. I’ve given it a short hand: “Before I can make 1 good painting, I have to defeat 50-500 bad paintings.”
I think if you’re creating a high volume of work, it’s impossible to *not* improve. And it’s impossible to *not* stumble into something mystical strange and new, if you’re devotional, and if you’re giving it this much time. I’m not trying to be ambitious. Because art-making has little to with the lofty thoughts of what the art means. Art-making is more about opening your heart to possession. It’s also about doing dumb and stupid shit for the hell of it. WHy not!
Abolishing a deadline removes some pressure, necessarily. I’m delighted by the idea that I’ll be painting into my 70s. And it’s okay if I don’t sell another work because what I’m delighting in, right now, is the joy I get from the process. Whether I succeed or fail is none of my business.
You can watch American Movie, for free, here:
Addtl—
If you are somehow able to avoid Mark’s major sin (which is, believing it is easy to whip up something commercial that prints cash, if you have never done that before, and if you believe you can do that without working hard … ) I think you will be fine. Creativity actually does need limitations, rails on the bowling alley to prevent gutter balls until you’re better at bowling. When I am able to grasp what my limitations are - whether that is material, skill, or time - I am able to set measured expectations and make better work. I would be lost if someone told me to paint a mural today and that’s fine. When I doodle on paper for a few hours, I’m not expecting to rival the great artists - I’m expecting to maybe learn something about drawing shadows, how to deepen contrast, when to stop blending. It’s good to be ambitious in your education and stretch your boundaries. It’s good to be humble and earnest when you are creating something final to share with other people. If you feel entitled to admiration you will make yourself sick trying to get it, without realizing that desire is majorly blocking you to produce just regular, competent work.