A few years ago, I was a reporter in Kansas City, and one of the first stories I covered was a highway accident. A city worker, father of two, was hit by a semi truck while installing street lights on the side of the road. He died at the scene.
I showed up shortly thereafter, a few minutes before the paramedics. I interviewed the cops. I interviewed bystanders. And, finally, I interviewed his good friend, who was on the scene. I put my arm around his shoulder, and he told me his friend was a good worker, and an even better person. The next morning, it published in the newspaper.
But when I turned on the TV, several news station used his quotes, probably thinking they missed the news conference at which he said those thing. What they didn’t realize was that a 21-year-old put him arm around a grieving man and asked him these heartbreaking questions, holding back tears, grieving with him. So when those words were taken from me, I felt violated.
While reading “The Ecstasy of Influence” and “The Molotov Man,” this is all I could think about. I agree with Oscar Wilde’s quote: “Good writers borrow, great writers steal.” But when art is personal — and, when something personal is stolen, it feels horrible.
I disagree with most laws that prohibit this “stealing,” because I think it’s a slippery slope, which eventually stifles creativity. And there are endless examples of artists taking someone else’s artwork and reinterpreting it, much like jazz musicians do with certain solo melodies. However, there are also times when people just flat-out steal, with no creative addition. And, in that case, it’s insulting; it devalues the art, in an artistic sense.
But, of course, money quantifies artistic value. And that’s why we often have these lawsuits. But even in these instances, I think the original artist feels a sense of personal violation when someone mimics their work — even when artistic value is added. Because, often, that artistic value is confused with financial value.
The naive solution would be to say that artists should have mutual respect for each other’s work. But that leaves a lot of room for interpretation — and, because humans are flawed, I don’t think these unwritten rules can govern the community. Instead, I think another step is needed: We need to educate young people that, while art may be personal, once it is shared, it is communal. It’s like giving away your grandma’s secret recipe — once it’s out, there shouldn’t be a law against iterating upon the recipe.
It’s been several years since that highway accident, and I still feel a sense of violation when I think back to that moment. I always think about why this is. And I always come to the same conclusion: I made myself emotionally vulnerable for this story, and no one acknowledged it. In the scheme of things, I guess that’s a bit selfish — especially knowing there is now a family without a dad.