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When someone says we ought to separate the art from the artist, they’re saying: Remove the stain. Let the work be unstained. But that’s not how stains work.
The old-fashioned critic, like the Pythons, can’t see that he’s part of a group, because he’s never been left out. He feels unbounded by his own biases; the critic doesn’t even understand he has biases.
Almost all the grown-up women I knew were mothers, and even then I balked at the selflessness that motherhood seemed to call for. Motherhood seemed to me a dead end, a death of the self.
art-making and parenthood act very efficiently as disincentives to one another, and people who say otherwise are deluded, or childless, or men.
