Why is it that some artists (all creatives are artists in my book) act like they have a royal bug up their ass? You know the kind–the Artiste with a cap. A and an -e who wouldn’t laugh on a shoot even if Charlie Chaplin appeared doing the dancing bread bit or John Cleese silly-walked onto the set.
What is the friggin’ point? Will laughter somehow reduce the artistry of your art? If that’s so, then your confidence in your art must be of the same strength as a 90 year old man has about his non-medically-enhanced erection.
Art should be able to withstand laughter, and derision, and ridicule. It should also be immune to praise and fawning and worship. It should exist outside of all these interpretations, in spite of them, and/or with a humility that rivals that of Gandhi and the Dalai Lama.
It, in other words, simply is, regardless of what anyone else thinks of it.
So why not express joy and happiness about it rather than acting like your poop doesn’t smell? Women giving birth put themselves through incredible physical and emotional stresses in the process, and most of them laugh and cry with joy when they first hold the results of their creation–the baby.
Why not be the same about your creation–your art? You are, after all, giving birth to your own creation in making art, so why not stop acting as if you’ve been diagnosed with a tumor?