By james art Should a dead man’s art be released to the public? Is it possible to own something longer than a lifetime? What about personal letters?
Well, it’s complicated. Emily Dickinson wrote over 1,700 poems. This figure is probably even higher because she gave some away as gifts and it is not clear if they still exist. Of this massive collection, only ten were published by her. Despite a certain reclusiveness in her later life, she was a very social person, writing letters of correspondence to friends and family. Of all her letters, the ones with Susan Gilbert seemed special. There is debate as to whether or not they were romantic, but it seems very likely. It’s impossible to know for sure, not only because they lived in a Puritan town in Massachusetts in the 1800s, but Gilbert was also Emily’s sister-in-law. Gilbert lived another 29 years after Dickinson’s death. And what if publishing these letters would be hurtful or potentially even dangerous to a person who is still alive? This is probably why she made her younger sister promise to burn all her letters after she died.
Dickinson often mixed poetry with plain writing, and Gilbert was also a poet. So if all art should be in the public domain, then what about situations like this where the line is blurred? The letters are beautiful and important, but also deeply personal. Reading them feels almost invasive. Especially knowing that if it was up to Dickinson, we’d never know they existed. But they are an integral part of her story, and perhaps part of LGBTQ history.
In 1886 Lavina Dickinson, the poet’s sister, kept her promise. She destroyed thousands of personal letters, many of which contained poetry. The only reason her sister’s correspondence with Susan Gilbert was preserved was because Gilbert wanted to save them. It seems like releasing a dead person’s art against their will is wrong, but on the contrary, there is a strong, borderline religious argument that art should always be preserved – no matter what. Art is sacred. Every human culture creates art, and an untold number of hours are dedicated to just preserving or restoring it. Nothing else seems to have such a universally positive effect on us. After all, it outlives us and has the potential to be greater than a person.
Imagine some great work that you’re personally connected to—an album, a movie, a book, whatever—that’s never been available to the public. These works undoubtedly improve our lives. Although we cannot know what we are missing, what stories have crumbled on old paper or been used for kindling, we must save all that we have. Not a renewable resource, it should be considered less valuable than the living, but more valuable than the dead. I’m not sure what Dickinson would have thought of that, but I’m sure our culture is better off with her poetry.
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