Newness, that Newfangled Thing

Our topic today is newness. Or rather a certain obsession with the new and its supposed hierarchical superiority to the old. Well, at least in terms of artistic consumerism; i.e. reading books or comics, watching films, or listening to music. I would never suggest that the new in and of itself has a higher hierarchical position in, for instance, old-school academia. Although, it is worthwhile noticing the common critical (academic or otherwise) favouritism of originality, of which I've written before.

While I do not necessarily see the necessity for originality as a quality marker of storytelling, I can certainly understand the endeavour to go where no author, artist, film maker or songwriter has gone before (even though the likelihood of an actual success in that seems meagre and more illusory than real), what I want to discuss here and now is the notion held by more than a few people (and naturally fostered by the market place) that only the latest thing is good enough. This is not to say that whatever the latest thing is is original (or even claims to be), but the idea of defining newness in these fields as only the latest thing is foreign to me.

As a reader, viewer or listener, I utterly fail to see why I have to be obsessed with the latest thing.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying we cannot appreciate the latest thing to be published or produced for our reading, viewing or listening pleasures. But why be obsessed with it? When there are so many things in all temporal directions from us, yet to be discovered. Some of which we've surely not yet even heard.

Let me confess openly: I have not read every book or comic ever written or published, not seen every film film ever made nor heard every song ever recorded. In fact, I have not even read/seen/heard all the ones I know would like to. This is quite simply because the treasure chest of such material is nigh infinite (at least in comparison to my own time here on Earth), and everything that I've not (yet) read, seen or heard is something new... to me.

Obviously this is not a condition unique to me. I would dare say that there is no one out there who has literally read, seen or heard everything in any of the mentioned categories. Thus, we need to rethink what newness is, I would argue. We cannot allow our treasure chests of the imagination to be dominated by a simple market place insistence on the latest hype; that is to say, newness only as that newfangled thing which like a flash in the pan is here today and gone tomorrow. It is true that not all books, comics, films or music remain in the public consciousness (in fact, it is probably more true to say that few do). But even a passing fancy is something which somebody may pick up long after that moment is gone, and enjoy or not, in very much the same manner people could whenever the hype was on.

In fact, perhaps some of these things will find a better appeal when they are not over-marketed and only get to stand on their own two legs. I'm not saying that the fame will be eternal, but there may nevertheless be an appreciation of finding something new, as in previously unread, unseen or unheard (perhaps even unheard of).

Plagiarism, Imitation, Theft and Copyright

This past Saturday, I attended an interesting symposium on plagiarism hosted by ABF Göteborg, in the of wake of which I have been thinking a lot on this matter. Hence, I have decided to put down a few of those thoughts here.

Earlier this spring, I discussed the cult of originality and its role in art (whatever the art form). The ideas expressed in that post are components that are crucial to our current understanding of plagiarism, but they are certainly not the only ones. The concept of plagiarism requires a sense of originality, true, but it also requires the concept of copyright; and this is a legal concept. As such, while artistic ideas of originality must surely have been part of the context which could give birth to copyright, it would never have come to pass unless a lucrative market had not also arisen. The market is interested in keeping intellectual property intact because it generates revenue. Do not misunderstand me, this is not necessarily, in and of itself, an altogether bad thing (artists too need to earn their living); nor in fact is it in the end the only thing protected by copyright. Copyright secures the right of an artist to be given his/her due for work done (and while copyright mostly define this in financial terms, there are nevertheless other levels added as if by default).

Now, plagiarism can be many things; maybe not all of them bad. I doubt that many would argue with me about the wrongness of say, my taking a poem by Lord Byron and publishing it as my own (i.e. without referencing Byron and consequently making explicit or implicit claims of having "done the work" as it were). But what if I composed a new poem out of quotes from a longer poem by Byron, or perhaps several different ones? Copyright in literature implies that words can be the intellectual property of an individual, yet words are parts of language and have as such always been a mass of reiterations. The sentence "I love you" cannot be ascribed to a single individual, and while other sentences may (quite obviously) be sourced to specific people, there is nevertheless a possibility that these sentences too have been stolen from sources now lost to us (perhaps not even textual sources in the first place). There is even a possibility that the same words have been banded together in that very manner by somebody else without there even existing a connection between the two parties making this specific utterance (granted that this becomes less and less likely the longer a verbatim concordance runs).

Similarly, plot structure, character and many other narrative components have always been in circulation, and before copyright (and perhaps before a demand for originality), the art of imitation was often ranked highly, albeit, perhaps performed differently in different eras. There is, for instance, an interesting question as to how much of Shakespeare's work could have been written with our current copyright laws in effect.

As such, plagiarism per se needs not be an unproductive or inartistic approach. In fact, I would argue that it both can be and have been used very productively throughout history and still to this day. Returning briefly to my Byron example above, making a condensed new poem out of an old one or a collage poem out of several old ones would entail an artistic process. While such poems would certainly be made from stolen (or at the very least borrowed) goods, they would nevertheless constitute something new, if for nothing else than the fact that the combination of sentences on a higher text level also affects the content and meaning of those sentences on lower text levels. In short, any given passage does not necessarily mean the same thing in all contexts.

Still, on a moral note, there is something appealing in paying one's dues (if not financially, then at least ethically). Artists who work with these types of collages or borrowing often do not feel the need to hide it. In fact, the reverberation achieved by such allusions might be part of the effect these artists strive for. One way of paying one's dues in such cases might be an appended list of works used. Under current copyright laws, such a list may even be more or less prompted by law and require explicit permission from the copyright holder (often, in turn, requiring a fee for that permission; depending on the circumstances). The obvious counter-effect to this is that some artists may opt not to pay their dues explicitly in the hopes of circumventing the copyright machinery altogether.

It is also worth noting that a work may lose some of its impact if its potential sources are revealed too clearly and upfront; that is, that artistic or narrative effect may be sacrificed on the altar of copyright and intellectual property. Don't get me wrong here. I am not advocating that we do away with the concepts of copyright and intellectual property. As someone who writes, I think these are important advances in how we view such work, both in financial and ethical terms; but also I think it is important that we note that these rules are not always artistically or narratively productive; that there is something inherently counter-productive within those selfsame parameters.

At the end of the day (and returning to the ethical dimensions), there needs to be a middle-ground of sorts, where artists can borrow (and perhaps steal) to create something out of something else (as it were), but without stealing the claim of originality. Outside of legal and financial issues, this may well be the critical point to make. It may not be the borrowing or stealing itself that constitutes the ethical transgression, but rather the suggestion that such borrowing or stealing constitutes some sort of ex nihilo creation; in essence making the artist into an author-ity by deviously reciting someone else's, while simultaneously erasing that other in the process.

I Blame It on the Romantics: On the Cult of Originality

In a recent post on James Cameron's Avatar, I wrote that the criticism surrounding this film has very much reminded me of the fact that we live in a culture which (sometimes quite paradoxically) puts too much emphasis on originality, as if that in and of itself would grant a work artistic or narrative quality. I also promised that I would deal with the subject more closely, so here we are.

It is important to note that our concept of originality in art and our conception of the artist (as a form of author-ity) are both fairly new ones that in many ways can be traced back to the literary movement of the Romantics in the early 19th century. Whereas the preceding literary period during most of the 1700s had focused on the art of imitation – where the highest achievement was a form of (sometimes inventive) copying and plagiarism (at times, admittedly, of kinds that today's copyright laws wouldn't have looked kindly upon) – the Romantics introduced notions of artistic originality.

Whereas the 1700s had had a focus upon the art of the Romans (themselves copying the Greeks), the Romantics found the Greeks themselves a great source of inspiration (a concept which itself is very crucial to the Romantic ideal of the artist). Mostly because they understood the Greeks as original in their output. Whether or not the Greeks actually were is, of course, another matter. Can we truly talk about Homer's penning down the great epic poems of an existing oral tradition an act of originality? Or is it in fact the essence of artistic tradition as repetitive and imitating?

Still, Homer serves as a great example, because that oral tradition be damned – his is the name we have put down on those ancient texts and his is the name to which we attribute their greatness.

While the Romantic period ended, and many periods have come and gone since then, we nevertheless seem to be somewhat stuck with their conception of the artist and their concept of originality in art (in the same manner that the style of 19th century Realism can still be said to rule a lot of mainstream fiction). We, like they, sometimes seem to laud originality as a sign of artistic or narrative quality. In short, the Romantics have left us with a Cult of Originality.

But what is originality, really? And what is truly original?

Turning, as so often before, to our trusted friend Merriam-Webster, originality is defined as:

1 : the quality or state of being original
2 : freshness of aspect, design, or style
3 : the power of independent thought or constructive imagination

Original, on the other hand, is defined as:

1 archaic : the source or cause from which something arises; specifically : ORIGINATOR
2 a : that from which a copy, reproduction, or translation is made b : a work composed firsthand
3 a : a person of fresh initiative or inventive capacity b : a unique or eccentric person

In a way, neither of the two words are very controversial in their meanings, but looking at the usage and application of them in connection to art (whatever the art form) shows the notion of the original or originality to be less than unproblematic.

The prime notion of the words is, of course, that whatever they are applied to should represent something new, something fresh – basically an origin of a kind. Yet the old adage, there is nothing new under the sun, seems to hold true far more often than the Romantics would probably have appreciated. For instance, many of the works we have tended to label original (fresh, inventive, etc) are actually not the starting point of a new trend. Rather, there is often a forgotten text, painting, piece of music or film (or more) somewhere, which for one reason or another didn't make an imprint on the public consciousness. What I am trying to say here is that we have tended not to merit actual originality as much as what we have perceived as original (for whatever reasons).

Don't get me wrong. I am not suggesting that these forgotten pieces are the masterpieces we should have been lauding instead of the "false idols" we have raised. Far from it. The reason they were forgotten (in at least many cases if not all) was probably because that which is first is actually not always the greatest example of a thing. Just consider this: regardless of how well you paint or draw, would you say that the pictures you made as a kid are vastly superior to the ones you could make now? Unless I'm mistaken, you just answered in the negative and the same is true for artistic styles and the like. The first attempts would rarely have been the best examples, and more often than not, their true originality would not really have captured the audience's undying appreciation, which perhaps the more polished third or fourth attempt would have. And that is fine. The question, however, is if we should laud that artistic effort as original? Or if we should rather just label it as good (or even great) art or storytelling, or whatever?

There is nothing wrong with being original. It is by no means a sin. That is not what I am trying to say. What I am trying to say is that it is not the originality that shows us whether a work is qualitative or not. That we see in whether the painting is well done, the music pleasing or the storytelling excellently crafted. Old stories can be good stories. Repetition and imitation can produce great art as well as great entertainment. And as long as we rely on a flawed concept of originality, a concept which seemingly only applies to something "original" to our own perceptions (rather than actually original in a historical "this was the first time ever" sense), it seems haphazard for it to be the deciding factor of quality. Because anything new seems original the first time we encounter it, regardless of whether or not it was the first time it happened or was done. In short, we are tainted (as so often) by our subjective perspectives (or the subjective perspective of a preceding authority).

Thus, do not come dragging the Cult of Originality into an artistic debate to vouch for quality. And if you choose to call something original, you'd better make sure that it was the first of its kind.