For a vast amount of history, fantastic art was in fact created on a great budget. In these times, of course, it was through a system of patronization, and great art was not the concern so much as great art honoring a certain person, but nonetheless, a very, very striking amount of money went into funding artists like Rembrandt and Da Vinci. In modern times, however, the relationship between the budget of a film (or novel) (or album) and its quality seems, after a certain level of funds, to become inverse. Important work is being made by people like Zana Briski, who won an Academy Award in 2005 for her film on the children of prostitutes, Born into Brothels-- but note, also, the many fellowships she has been awarded. I find myself wondering how much work she's received as a result of her Oscar win. Ultimately I suspect not very much-- it's all very nice that people admire your life's work, but a statue means little when you can't afford to do the work that got you it in the first place.
The other day, I happened upon an old article from the Guardian, discussing the (argued) uselessness, according to Charlie Kaufmann, of film schools and screenwriting seminars. One point Mr. Patterson makes is a good one-- that great art comes from a hunger, a desire, and more often than not that hunger can't be taught in schools. It's clear that great art comes from a desire to make something amazing, and by constantly practicing at doing so; that desire isn't instilled in you by being poor, however, and you can be wealthy and still write or paint or film something very, very good. Paul Thomas Anderson, who is mentioned in the Guardian article, surely had a fair-sized budget for There Will Be Blood (rental of oil rig: $2000/day; salary of Daniel Day-Lewis: $2 million; catering: $375,000; etc.) and it's both some of his best and most successful work.
It's interesting, and no doubt a coincidence, that the article is paired with a review of Christopher Columbus' bloated, safe, by-the-books rendering of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (based, of course, on my 1998 novel Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone).
The cliche of the starving artist is an old one, but I think an inaccurate one. The reason a starving artist is starving is rarely because people don't understand his genius (there are, of course, exceptions), but because people simply don't understand what he's trying to do. Since I believe one purpose of art is to help people understand the world better, or to think of it in a new way, failing to do so should be seen as, perhaps, as something to think about, not a sign of legitimacy. I'm not, however, saying that an artist should dumb down his or her art-- that's not true at all. What makes any type of art great is innovation, not incomprehensibility. (Becoming successful, without trying to be, doesn't cheapen artwork-- it just means that it's reached more people.) Usually this innovation comes about through necessity-- having to distinguish yourself from the hordes of others who also think they have something to say, or not having enough money to do your original ideas. In this sense, money limits artistic expression in a certain way, because if you know you're going to get paid either way, there is little outside reason to challenge yourself. In addition, there is the risk of indulgence-- the more successful someone is, the less likely they will be challenged, as there is a sense they've already "proved" themselves with their earlier work.
But the presence of money or yes-men doesn't necessarily mean that artistic talent is compromised. The quality of art depends on the passion of the artist, and how deeply they love what they do. The type of people who make great art make it regardless of how much money or freedom they have (or don't have), because they love doing what they do so much that they'll find ways to do it, because they can't not do it. Making money from art is so unutterably difficult that it weeds out those who are serious from those who think, say, it'd be fun to be a director or a rock star. Thus, great art can be made on a great budget-- because the quality of the art depends on the person's talent and dedication to their craft, which is apparent no matter what the situation.
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