Steven Johnson, Lawrence Lessig, & Shepard Fairey at the NY Public Library on Mashup & Remix

The myth of authorship and the rise of a new artistic culture

As I’ve pointed out previously, my colleague and friend Martha Woodmansee’s scholarship is fundamental to the reexamination of the historical bases of our present conceptions of “authorship”:

An “author” in the modern sense is the creator of unique literary, or artistic, “works” the originality of which warrants their protection under laws of intellectual property — Anglo American “copyright” and European “authors’ rights.”

Now Abram Sinnreich, in Mashed Up: Music, Technology, and the Rise of Configurable Culture, extends these insights into the quirks that have produced our notion of authorship and the ways the radical changes in the technological realities governing the creation and distribution of artistic works is undermines that notion. truthdig has posted a substantial excerpt, the entirety of which (like the book, no doubt) is well worth reading. Here’s just a taste, one that begins to develop the relationship between the current conventional wisdom of what an author is and its relationship to our social obsession with converting public goods into private property:

The biggest myth of all is the Romantic notion that artists somehow create their work uniquely and from scratch, that paintings and sculptures and songs emerge fully-formed from their fertile minds like Athena sprang from Zeus. Running a close second is the myth that only a handful of us possess the raw talent – or the genius – to be an artist. According to this myth, the vast majority of us may be able to appreciate art to some degree, but we will never have what it takes to make it. The third myth is that an artist’s success (posthumous though it may be) is proof positive of his worthiness, that the marketplace for art and music functions as some kind of aesthetic meritocracy.

Of course, these myths fly in the face of our everyday experience. We know rationally that Picasso’s cubism looks a lot like Braque’s, and that Michael Jackson sounds a lot like James Brown at 45 RPM. We doodle and sing and dance our way through our days, improvising and embellishing the mundane aspects of our existence with countless unheralded acts of creativity. And we all know that American Idol and its ilk are total B.S. (very entertaining B.S., of course!). Each of us can number among our acquaintance wonderful singers, dancers, painters or writers whose creations rival or outstrip those of their famous counterparts, just as each of us knows at least one beauty who puts the faces on the covers of glossy magazines to shame.

And yet, we believe the myths. How could we not? Who among us has the time, the energy, or even the motivation to buck the overwhelming support the myth of the Artist receives from the institutions that govern our society – to dispute our schools, our churches, even our laws? What is copyright, after all, but the legal assertion of an individual’s sole ownership over a unique artifact of creative expression? These laws, sometimes enforced at gunpoint, require us to believe the myths, or face the consequences.

Of course, there’s a reason the myths exist. Our economy runs on the privatization of hitherto public goods. Our legal system is premised on the individual as the locus of all rights, all liability, all blame. Our society’s profound inequalities are only acceptable because we believe ourselves to live in a meritocracy, a world where a person’s success is de facto proof of his or her inherent worthiness. In short, the myth of the Artist-with-a-capital-A allows us to believe in America-with-a-capital-A.

If you think lawyers lifting other lawyers’ language is proof lawyering is easy, you know nothing about true creativity.

There’s always the danger that when someone suggests that genuine creativity can and is built from earlier creative works that someone else will believe the implication is that creativity is no big deal. If I feel I can cut-and-paste from other lawyers’ works then lawyering must be nothing but a cut-and-paste job, right?

It’s not as if I’ve never dealt with these matters for real, as if I’m dealing with it from an academic perspective “unsullied” by the realities of practice. A client who retained me to draft a contract for him once said to me, after we’d spent a considerable amount of time discussing the details of his deal, “It’s all boilerplate, right?”

I responded, “I don’t do boilerplate. Every deal is different, and if you know the lawyer who’s done exactly your deal before and you’re confident the contract he wrote then is just fine for you, go hire him.”

Which isn’t to say I didn’t review a lot of other contracts or that I didn’t lift language from those other contracts. I did. I took a line or two from this one, a paragraph from that, another line from another, etc. And I put those things all together with my notes, shuffled things around, revised a lot of the language I’d lifted from other sources, wrote far more language necessary to express what was necessary to express this particular deal, worked and reworked, checked and rechecked, revised and revised, and at the end I had a document that set forth the client’s deal in all its precision, breadth, and ambiguity. It wasn’t boilerplate at all. But were there lines and even, perhaps, a paragraph lifted from other contracts? Of course.

I obsess about these matters in part because there is terrible confusion about what genuine creativity (in art, music, literature, the practice of law or a myriad of other endeavors) is. The confusion arises because, I believe, there is so much money at stake in the legal and rhetorical wars over copyright. So there are a lot of people who will look at Shepard Fairey’s Obama Hope poster and the photo Fairey used as the poster image’s source, and write things like the following:

Any director, writer or actor interested in making long-term money in the entertainment industry should be calling Fairey what he is: A plagiarist.

While I recognize the attitudes underlying these views — no one else is entitled to make a buck from my work! — the blindness to the creativity involved, even acknowledging the appropriation, is astounding. I’ve gone on at length about my view on this, but no one can deny that Fairey’s poster had a profound resonance and impact during the 2008 presidential campaign, and no one can suggest that the poster would have had any similar impact if the original photo had appeared on the poster rather than Fairey’s reworking. So how can anyone possibly suggest the level of creativity in the poster wasn’t profound?

The KLF “were one of the seminal bands of the British acid house movement during the late 1980s and early 1990s.” Their relevance here is that, “despite their protestations of 1988 about not wishing to be seen as crusaders for sampling, the [KLF] continue to be associated with the cultural movement which retrospectively bundles together those literary and artistic works that make use of ‘creative plagiarism’. 1987: What the Fuck Is Going On? is considered a landmark work in the early history of sampling music in the United Kingdom.” Their #1 British hit, “Doctorin’ the Tardis” “is predominantly a mash-up of the Doctor Who theme music, Gary Glitter’s ‘Rock and Roll (Part Two)’ with sections from ‘Blockbuster!’ by Sweet and ‘Let’s Get Together Tonite’ by Steve Walsh.”

Jimmy Cauty and Bill Drummond — who were the KLF — are also very smart fellows. Among a never-ending series of creative works in a wide range of media, they wrote The Manual: How to Have a Number One the Easy Way, which I’ve heard some describe as a cynical con job but that is far more intelligent and complicated than that. On the one hand, The Manual explains

Every Number One song ever written is only made up from bits from other songs. There is no lost chord. No changes untried. No extra notes to the scale or hidden beats to the bar. There is no point in searching for originality. In the past, most writers of songs spent months in their lonely rooms strumming their guitars or bands in rehearsals have ground their way through endless riffs before arriving at the song that takes them to the very top. Of course, most of them would be mortally upset to be told that all they were doing was leaving it to chance before they stumbled across the tried and tested. They have to believe it is through this sojourn they arrive at the grail; the great and original song that the world will be unable to resist.

But Drummond and Cauty are not accusing successful musical artists of being “mere plagiarists.” They recognize that even if a song can be broken down into bits and pieces of other songs, there is real genius in great pop music:

So why don’t all songs sound the same? Why are some artists great, write dozens of classics that move you to tears, say it like it’s never been said before, make you laugh, dance, blow your mind, fall in love, take to the streets and riot? Well, it’s because although the chords, notes, harmonies, beats and words have all been used before their own soul shines through; their personality demands attention. This doesn’t just come via the great vocalist or virtuoso instrumentalist. The Techno sound of Detroit, the most totally linear programmed music ever, lacking any human musicianship in its execution reeks of sweat, sex and desire. The creators of that music just press a few buttons and out comes – a million years of pain and lust.

Lewis Hyde makes a similar point in Common as Air, the new book that was the starting point for my exploration the other day of lawyerly “plagiarism”:

“Intellectual property” is the phrase now used to denote ownership of art and ideas, but what exactly does it mean? Does it make sense, to begin with, to say that “intellect” is the source of the “properties” in question? A novel like Ulysses, the know-how for making antiviral drugs, Martin Luther King, Jr’s “Dream” speech, the poems of Rimbaud, Andy Warhol screen prints, Mississippi Delta blues, the source code for electronic voting machines: who could name the range of human powers and historical conditions that attends such creations? All that we make and do is shaped by the communities and traditions that contain us, not to mention by money, power, politics, and luck. And even should the artist or scientist think she has extracted herself from the world to stand alone in the studio, a tremendous array of faculties and mind- states may well attend her creativity.

There is intellect, of course, but also imagination, intuition, sagacity, persistence, prudence, fantasy, lust, humor, sympathy, serendipity, will, prayer, grief, courage, visual acuity, ambition, guesswork, mother wit, memory, delight, vitality, venality, kindness, generosity, fortitude, fear, awe, compassion, surrender, sincerity, humility, and the ability to integrate diametrically opposed states of mind into harmonious wholes . . . We would need quite a few new categories to fully map this territory — “dream property,” “courage property,” “grief property” — and even if we had that list, only half the problem would have been addressed.

Do you want a great lawyer? You can have one even if he cuts-and-pastes the work of other lawyers into his work. But please — don’t believe for a second that means that lawyering can be reduced to cutting-and-pasting. Lawyering requires as much creativity as any endeavor on earth — if I didn’t believe that why would I write a blog devoted to law and creativity? And creativity is infinitely more complex a matter than tracking down the bits and pieces that make up the creative work. It requires the imagination necessary to find those bits and pieces, the vision to understand how to select and fit them together to due the present job, the skill borne of years of work to write in the stuff that can’t be found anywhere else and without which those bits and pieces would be just a bunch of crude boilerplate that doesn’t fit well into any specific situation at all, the passion and energy necessary to do the work to bring all this stuff together, the courage to stick to one’s vision even as one’s adversary is insisting you’re wrong, the delight without which the strength to do all of these difficult things would be impossible to muster, the generosity of spirit that can identify a client’s problems as your own, and a million other things.

So don’t you dare suggest that taking some language that is useful for doing the job that needs to be done from another lawyer is evidence lawyering is like putting together tinker toys.

Words and Ideas as Common Property: Lewis Hyde, Stanley Fish and lawyers as “plagiarists”

In yesterday’s New York Times, Robert Darnton reviewed Lewis Hyde’s newly published Common as Air: Revolution, Art, and Ownership, describing it as “an eloquent and erudite plea for protecting our cultural patrimony from appropriation by commercial interests.” As Darnton explains, “Hyde invokes the [founding fathers] in order to warn us against a new enclosure movement, one that would fence off large sectors of the public domain — in science, the arts, literature, and the entire world of knowledge — in order to exploit monopolies.” Acknowledging that Hyde’s historical approach might seem a “dubious” way of “defending the cultural commons” and that in other hands it could amount to nothing more than picking and choosing among “a stockpile of quotable chunks of wisdom,” Darnton finds the book compelling:

[Hyde] does not merely cull the works of the founding fathers for quotations. He pitches his argument at a level where historians and political philosophers have contributed most to our understanding of intellectual history. Instead of treating the ideas of the founders as self-contained units of meaning, he explores their interconnections and shows how they shared a common conceptual frame. Not that he pretends to have uncovered anything unknown to the authorities he cites, notably the historian J. G. A. Pocock, whose studies of civic republicanism reveal how early modern philosophers drew on a current of thought about the nature of citizenship that goes back to ancient Greece and Rome. Hyde builds his argument by telling stories, and he tells them well. His book brims with vignettes, which may be familiar but complement one other in ways that produce original insights.

It is one of the genuine highlights of my professional career that Hyde draws on an article I’ve written. Hyde’s scope is wide, and he explores in depth the practices of many different “communities” — including, among others, the world of scientific research and the programmers that collectively created the World Wide Web — to show that treating knowledge and invention as a commons is both widespread and productive. One such community is the legal profession, which might seem odd in that the widely held understanding that your intellectual product is as much your property as is your house is such a legalistic conception:

Many . . . communities of practice have common holdings made durable and lively through normative rather than legal stints.

One of these may be found, oddly enough, in the legal community itself, where, as in some scientific circles, collective tasks get done and “collective beings” come to life through the agreed-upon non-ownership of creative labors. The fact is that in legal circles when judges issue opinions they often “plagiarize” from the briefs presented by contending parties. To take but one example, in 1937 Supreme Court Justice Benjamin Cardozo lifted, without attribution, verbatim sections of the Roosevelt administration’s brief in his decision upholding the Social Security system. Of course, “plagiarism” is the wrong term here, for legal writing does not come from the kind of author to whom credit is due. Legal writing is mostly collaborative, for one thing, produced by writing communities. In addition, legal opinions are public documents, belonging to no one because they belong to all of us. Nobody has ever successfully claimed copyright infringement for the unauthorized use of someone else’s legal argument. In fact, legal writers want to have their work appropriated. Peter Friedman, a lawyer whose analysis I’m drawing on here, has written: “I knew I had written the best brief I possibly could on a motion when the court’s opinion announcing its decision was directly cut-and-pasted from my brief.”

If lawyers were the kind of authors who claimed a property in their work, they would potentially deprive both the work and themselves of their public roles. As with eighteenth-century pamphleteers, or with the creators of the World Wide Web, self-erasure attends a lawyer’s entry into the public sphere, not self-assertion. The law is collective; it belongs to all citizens, and consequently we ask that its practitioners present themselves as public persons with copyduties rather than copyrights. In this context, to sample someone else’s brief is a favor, not a theft; it helps a lawyer be a lawyer. Common ownership makes that species of public life possible. (Common as Air at 248-249.)

Interestingly enough, this passage has some bearing on an exchange I had recently with the incredibly accomplished lawyer and blogger Scott Greenfield. Greenfield wrote a blog post criticizing a piece Stanley Fish wrote in the New York Times that argued that plagiarism as an offense is not a moral wrong, but, rather, the product of particular rules against the use in particular contexts of others’ words and ideas without attribution. [Fish wrote a second piece on the topic, responding to critics of the first piece, here.] The necessary corollary of Fish’s point is that in other contexts the use of others’ words and ideas without attribution is perfectly acceptable. Greenfield’s disagreement with Fish focused on Fish’s assertion that “lawyers and judges in fact do [appropriate words and ideas without attribution] all the time without the benefit or hindrance of any metaphysical rap.” Greenfield wrote, “No, Stanley, I will not turn the other cheek, no matter how much I love the platitude about reinventing the wheel.”

I tried to explain in the comments to Greenfield’s post where I thought he had missed Fish’s point (which is very much related to Hyde’s). I will try to do so more clearly here inasmuch as he and I seemed to speak past one another in that particular exchange.

In law school, plagiarism is the use of the words or ideas of others without attribution. It is a grave offense that can lead to harsh discipline and even might threaten the student’s ability to someday be certified to practice law. Strict compliance with the need to attribute words and ideas drawn from others is deemed necessary because the point of the academic process is to teach the students to put together and convey ideas clearly and to assess their capacity to do so. Thus, using words or ideas of others without attribution is tantamount to fraud — the reader of those words and the ideas they convey is misled into believing they are the product of the student’s intellectual processes alone, and the reader conducts an activity central to the academic process — grading those words — in reliance on that belief. If I were to read Scott Greenfield’s words under the mistaken belief they were the words of a student whose paper I was grading, I would give him a much better grade than he would earn if I knew he were just quoting Greenfield.

In legal practice, however, it is only the quality of the words that matter. Whether contract language originated with the lawyer who drafted the contract or a paragraph in a brief explaining a line of authority relevant to the brief’s argument was cut-and-pasted from a brief the lawyer who submitted the brief found online doesn’t matter. What matters is the effect of the words themselves. And, in fact, lawyers almost always begin drafting contracts by cannibalizing other contracts and forms. Yet they never cite to or otherwise acknowledge those sources. There is no reason for them to do so. And, as the passage from Hyde above makes clear, judges cut-and-paste from lawyers’ briefs. In fact, the entire arena of legal writing in practice is rife with unacknowledged borrowing.

And of course it’s no sin. That’s the point. Which Greenfield acknowledges without realizing it’s the point when he writes that a judge who appropriates the words from a lawyer’s brief is accepting a “gift,” not engaging in plagiarism:

As for judges taking language out of my brief, that’s not plagiarizing, but the purpose of a legal brief, to provide the court with the language to use in his decision. That’s exactly what I’ve written it for, as my “gift” to the judge to use in deciding the case. Again, entirely different from plagiarizing.

But that precisely is Fish’s point. Appropriation without attribution isn’t the moral equivalent of the theft of private property. It’s wrong in some contexts and not in others. So in some contexts it is defined as plagiarism and in others to call it “plagiarism” is to misspeak.

Greenfield’s other retort to Fish also reflects his misunderstanding of the point. Greenfield states that lawyers do provide attribution to the words and ideas for others. That’s what the whole obsession with citation is about:

[W]e do not lift language without attribution. Indeed, that’s what all those silly case names and the “358 U.S. 973″ stuff is all about. It’s the lawyers’ way of attributing, Stanley. It’s called a citation, and it’s our regime. What you do not see at the end of a court decision is the copyright and command that it not be used without permission. Use of court decisions is not merely anticipated, but required in most circumstances. That’s the peculiar way law works.

But the attribution provided by citation in legal briefs and opinions does not serve the same purpose as does attribution to a student’s sources. Lawyer’s don’t provide citations to the authorities they quote and rely on because their failure to do so would result in prosecution for a moral offense. Instead, lawyers provide citations because the citations signal the identity of sources for words, actions, and ideas that have persuasive weight because of who those sources are.

In other words, if I lifted language verbatim from a court decision without quotation marks or citation in a brief I wrote to a court I would suffer no harm. You might object that this possibility is a mere hypothetical, but you would be wrong. If an argument — and even precise words — come from a court that has no controlling weight in the court to whom I am submitting the brief and I have no reason to believe the identity of the court would lend any genuine persuasive weight to the argument, I would be remiss if I did provide the citation. The citation itself would raise a question in the mind of the judge to whom I was submitting the brief — why should I care about this court’s words, ideas, or actions? — that would distract from the persuasive effect of the argument itself.

And, indeed, as a general matter as a lawyer there is little reason to cite to law review articles unless there is reason to believe the author of the article is someone who carries genuine persuasive weight. A judge’s reaction otherwise is likely to be along the lines of this: “A law review article can pretty much assert anything that can win the approval of a student editor. Why should I assume it has any authority merely because it’s published in a law review?”

Would the article’s author have any claim against a lawyer who lifted words or ideas from his article and used them in a brief without attribution? I cannot believe so, nor am I aware of any standard or rule the lawyer would be violating.

And in contract and instrument drafting, of course, lawyers don’t even provide citation for the sources of their words.

I think it is important in understanding what Fish was writing about to understand these different functions of citation. On the one hand, there’s citation to validate the relationship between the words and ideas and the author’s identity. On the other, there’s citation to signal that particular words and ideas come from a source that must be reckoned with by the reader. They are two entirely different functions, and in legal practice the latter is the one that matters. The former does not. And so you have never seen a lawyer suffer any adverse consequences for plagiarizing.

But if any of my legal writing students are reading this, be on guard! Students must provide attribution to the words and ideas they appropriate from others.

Blanch v. Koons, transformative appropriation art, and Fairey v. AP

It’s well worth revisiting the decision by the United States Court of Appeals for the 2d Circuit (the Circuit in which the court hearing Shepard Fairey’s lawsuit against AP and Manny Garcia is pending) in Blanch v. Koons, 467 F.3d 244 (2006). Andrea Blanch, “an accomplished professional fashion and portrait photographer,” unsuccessfully sued Jeff Koons for copyright infringement of a photograph she had shot entitled “‘Silk Sandals by Gucci’ (‘Silk Sandals’), [which] depicts a woman’s lower legs and feet, adorned with bronze nail polish and glittery Gucci sandals, resting on a man’s lap in what appears to be a first-class airplane cabin. The legs and feet are shot at close range and dominate the photograph. Allure published ‘Silk Sandals’as part of a six-page feature on metallic cosmetics entitled ‘Gilt Trip.’” The court explained how Koons appropriated and used ‘Silk Sandals’ as follows:

Koons scanned the image of “Silk Sandals” into his computer and incorporated a version of the scanned image into [his painting entitled] “Niagara.” He included in the painting [pictured at left] only the legs and feet from the photograph, discarding the background of the airplane cabin and the man’s lap on which the legs rest. Koons inverted the orientation of the legs so that they dangle vertically downward above the other elements of “Niagara” rather than slant upward at a 45-degree angle as they appear in the photograph. He added a heel to one of the feet and modified the photograph’s coloring. The legs from “Silk Sandals” are second from the left among the four pairs of legs that form the focal images of “Niagara.” Koons did not seek permission from Blanch or anyone else before using the image

Koons was paid $126,877 for “Niagra.” Allure had paid Blanch $750 for “Silk Sandals.” In addressing whether Koons’ appropriation of “Silk Sandals” was fair use or a copyright infringement, the court highlighted the fact that answering this question requires balancing the conflicting interests in protecting the “intellectual property” rights of creators and protecting the freedom of expression, including referencing the works of others in new works of creation:

Copyright law thus must address the inevitable tension between the property rights it establishes in creative works, which must be protected up to a point, and the ability of authors, artists, and the rest of us to express them — or ourselves by reference to the works of others, which must be protected up to a point. The fair-use doctrine mediates between the two sets of interests, determining where each set of interests ceases to control.

At the heart of the fair use analysis is the nature of the allegedly infringing work. As the 2d Circuit notes, it considers with respect to this factor whether the work is “transformative” — that is, whether it adds something new to the original work so that it stands on its own as an original work of creation. The court thus quoted the Supreme Court’s decision in Campbell v. Acuff Rose Music, 510 U.S. 569 (1994):

The central purpose of this investigation is to see, in Justice Story’s words, whether the new work merely “supersedes the objects” of the original creation, or instead adds something new, with a further purpose or different character, altering the first with new expression, meaning, or message …, in other words, whether and to what extent the new work is “transformative.” Although such transformative use is not absolutely necessary for a finding of fair use, the goal of copyright, to promote science and the arts, is generally furthered by the creation of transformative works. Such transformative works thus lie at the heart of the fair use doctrine’s guarantee of breathing space …. Campbell, 510 U.S. at 579, 114 S.Ct. 1164(citations omitted).

The court’s conclusion that “Niagra” is genuinely transformative in its use of “Silk Stockings” is worth quoting almost in its entirety (citations omitted) because it is the very heart of the decision to find in favor of Koons:

Koons asserts — and Blanch does not deny — that his purposes in using Blanch’s image are sharply different from Blanch’s goals in creating it. Compare Koons Aff. at ¶ 4 (“I want the viewer to think about his/her personal experience with these objects, products, and images and at the same time gain new insight into how these affect our lives.”) with Blanch Dep. at 112-113 (“I wanted to show some sort of erotic sense[;] … to get … more of a sexuality to the photographs.”). The sharply different objectives that Koons had in using, and Blanch had in creating, “Silk Sandals” confirms the transformative nature of the use. 

Koons is, by his own undisputed description, using Blanch’s image as fodder for his commentary on the social and aesthetic consequences of mass media. His stated objective is thus not to repackage Blanch’s “Silk Sandals,” but to employ it “`in the creation of new information, new aesthetics, new insights and understandings.’” When, as here, the copyrighted work is used as “raw material,” in the furtherance of distinct creative or communicative objectives, the use is transformative. 

The test for whether “Niagara’s” use of “Silk Sandals” is “transformative,” then, is whether it “merely supersedes the objects of the original creation, or instead adds something new, with a further purpose or different character, altering the first with new expression, meaning, or message.”The test almost perfectly describes Koons’s adaptation of “Silk Sandals”: the use of a fashion photograph created for publication in a glossy American “lifestyles” magazine — with changes of its colors, the background against which it is portrayed, the medium, the size of the objects pictured, the objects details and, crucially, their entirely different purpose and meaning — as part of a massive painting commissioned for exhibition in a German art-gallery space. We therefore conclude that the use in question was transformative.

The court also noted that in Campbell the Supreme Court had rejected the notion that a”the commercial nature of [a] use could by itself be a dispositive consideration. The Campbell opinion observes that ‘nearly all of the illustrative uses listed in the preamble paragraph of § 107 [setting forth the fair use test], including news reporting, comment, criticism, teaching, scholarship, and research … “are generally conducted for profit.”‘” Thus, the “‘more transformative the new work, the less will be the significance of other factors, like commercialism, that may weigh against a finding of fair use.’” (Quoting NXIVM Corp. v. Ross Inst., 364 F.3d 471 (2d Cir.2004)). Moreover, since “Niagra” is “’substantially transformative, the significance of other factors, [including] commercialism, are of [less significance],’ [w]e therefore ‘discount[] the secondary commercial nature of the use.’” (citations omitted.)

I by no means would suggest that Blanch is so obviously on point in all respects that it requires the court hearing the Fairey v. AP case to find in favor of Fairey. But it certainly is quite meaningful in that respect. If only because of the tremendous resonance the Obama Hope poster had in the course of the 2008 presidential, a resonance that would have been inconceivable had the poster substituted Garcia’s photo for Fairey’s reworking of that source material, it seems at the very least quite arguable that Fairey’s reworking of the photo meets the 2d Circuit’s test of a transformative work — one that “adds something new, with a further purpose or different character, altering the first with new expression, meaning, or message.”

Blanch also makes clear that it is of no moment that, Dan Heller’s assertions notwithstanding, Fairey’s work (1) was intended to convey a message, (2) was intended to “make a buck.”

It also makes plain that Heller is just plain misunderstanding the law when he states that “you cannot misappropriate someone’s likeness or their property without their consent.” (Emphasis in Heller’s original.) Koons neither sought nor received Blanch’s consent to use her photograph. Koons plainly made more than a buck in the transaction. And the fact that Koons’ message might have been a commentary on the world of “mass communication” does not seem any more worthy of fair use analysis even if we do assume, as does Heller, that Fairey’s poster was “merely” a piece of political advocacy. Finally, there is no applicable “right of publicity” that Fairey violated in appropriating Obama’s image (nor does the Associated Press or its photographer, Manny Garcia, have any right to assert any right of publicity Obama hypothetically could enjoy on his behalf).

ADDENDUM: J O’Shea on Shepard Fairey and the Art of Appropriation.

Andy Warhol was sued, but the cases were never decided.

After posting Campbell Soup’s letter to Andy Warhol expressing admiration for his Campbell Soup paintings 2 weeks ago, I’ve been asked by several people whether Warhol was ever sued for his appropriations of copyrighted photographs. He was indeed, though all of the cases settled out of court with Warhol “paying” by giving the plaintiffs pieces he had created. They therefore provide no guidance how courts would rule on those claims. Here’s the account from Patricia Search’s article, Electronic Art and the Law: Intellectual Property Rights in Cyberspace, Leonardo, Vol. 32, No. 3, 191, 193 (June 1999):

“Andy Warhol received legal complaints from photogra-phers Charles Moore, Fred Ward, and PatriciaCaulfield. Warhol used three of Charles Moore’s photographs of the Birmingham race riots in a 1964 painting called Race Riot. He also used a Life magazine cover photo of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, taken by Fred Ward after President Kennedy’s assassination, in several prints and paintings. Patricia Caulfield sued Warhol when she discovered that he had used one of her photographs in his1964 series of paintings and prints called Flowers.

“All of these cases were settled out of court. The photographers and their agents or attorneys received works of art from . . . Warhol . . . . Caulfield received a promise of royalties on future uses of her image by Warhol. Unfortunately, because these cases were settled out of court,no legal precedents were set concerning artistic appropriation of copyrighted material.”

California Gurls quotes California Girls. Can you imagine the nerve?

It’s sad when artists mistake the nature of their creations, when they somehow think they exist apart from culture as lone innovators. It’s especially pathetic when they believe their work is something like the real property they buy with whatever they’re lucky enough to earn from those works, something they can fence off from the rest of the world and keep trespassers off of. Techdirt points out an exceedingly outrageous instance of this:

[T]he Beach Boys are threatening to sue Katy Perry and/or her label if they’re not given songwriting credits for her song California Gurls. The Beach Boys, of course, did have a famous song back in 1965, called California Girls, with the classic line “I wish they all could be California Girls…” In the Katy Perry song, which is very different than the Beach Boys song, at the very, very, very end, Snoop Dogg says “I really wish you all could be California girls,” so the quote isn’t even a direct one.

I share techdirt’s hope that Katy Perry and her label stick to their guns. It’s tough to imagine a more obvious non-infringing use. Quite plainly, Perry was paying homage to the Beach Boys. Could you imagine requiring permission every time an artist riffs on an earlier work of art? We’d have no culture. Mike Love says, “I think [Perry's song] brings the Beach Boys’ 1965 classic to mind, that’s for sure.” You think? Would that mean the producers of the Dukes of Hazzard have their own claim?

Artists learn to cobble together successful careers.

QuestionCopyright.org describes an emerging new paradigm for artists in The Cobbler: A New Career Model for Artists and Entertainers:

“Filmmakers, musicians, and writers now have the opportunity to work in a more stable, less risky way — with an economic model like a corner shoe cobbler, with a skill and a loyal clientele. While it may not have the glamour of red carpets and stadium shows, it can be a life in which one’s vocation is sustainable, at a level that pays a living wage and allows one to be one’s own boss. One trades a small chance of making a lot of money quickly for a greatly improved chance of making some money steadily. For many artists, that’s a good trade-off.”

In short, artists are using the new means of production and distribution to control the creation, marketing, and sale of their work. It’s the inevitable outcome of what I described last January at Critical Mass regarding the future of books — the loss by the publishing, recording, and entertainment industries of control over the means of production and distribution of their products. As I wrote then, “[t]he entire publishing industry as we’ve known it is a walking corpse. You can almost imagine it as a zombie — composed of parts of Sarah Palin, Oprah, Dan Brown, and Tiger Woods — lumbering down Manhattan’s avenues.”

This new paradigm is no hypothetical. My sister, Amy Friedman, has written over 1000 stories over the past 20 years for Universal Press Syndicate (UPS) under the title Tell Me a Story. Since UPS was doing nothing to further develop the content, Amy managed to persuade them to sign back over to her the copyright for a handful of the stories. She, herself, put together musicians, actors, and recording engineers to produce three CD compilations of the stories. The first is 14th on Amazon’s list of audio books today. The third won a 2010 Audie Award, the equivalent of an Oscar in the world of audio books and spoken word entertainment. The second is pretty great too.

Amy is not alone. Matthew Rose is a dear friend, an artist who lives in Paris, and the inspiration that, through the resources of the online world has produced A Book About Death, a phenomenal exhibition that is ever evolving and ever-appearing in new incarnations in the physical world,

I could go on among just my acquaintances. The long and the short of it is this: don’t wait for the publisher, the recording company, the agent, the gallery, the production company.

Old School Mashup — Tape-beatles: “The Grand Delusion, Part 3″

Making creations property does not promote creation: fashion this time

It’s difficult in this era in which “property” is considered the source of liberty for people to get their heads around the idea that treating the products of creativity as part of a “cultural commons” is in fact more conducive to creativity and innovation than is strict copyright protection. Here’s some strong evidence of exactly that:

There is no copyright protection afforded to fashion designs. As a result copying is a matter of course in fashion design. You don’t exactly see a dearth of creativity and innovation in fashion design, do you?  In the video below, Johanna Blakely expands on this point. Of course, fashion designers are seeking federal legislation extending copyright protection to their designs. I hate it when ideology (here, that without the worship of “property” our way of life is doomed) trumps reality.

Property is not always the foundation of liberty: fashion and copyright.

It’s difficult in this era in which “property” is considered the source of liberty for people to get their heads around the idea that treating the products of creativity as part of a “cultural commons” is in fact more conducive to creativity and innovation than is strict copyright protection. Here’s some strong evidence of exactly that:

There is no copyright protection afforded to fashion designs. As a result copying is a matter of course in fashion design. You don’t exactly see a dearth of creativity and innovation in fashion design, do you?  Here, Johanna Blakely expands on this point:

And yet, of course, fashion designers are seeking federal legislation extending copyright protection to their designs. I hate it when ideology (here, that without the worship of “property” our way of life is doomed) trumps reality.

Fairey’s Obama Hope poster copied nothing from Garcia’s photo that could be copyrighted.

I’ve made clear my view that Shepard Fairey’s Obama Hope poster does not infringe the copyright in the photograph that Fairey used as the source of the image because it is so “transformative” of the image — imagine the impact a poster of the original photograph with the word “Hope” emblazoned on it might have had and then consider the question. Remember, too, that Manny Garcia, who took the photograph, did not recognize that his photo was the source of the poster’s image for months after the poster rose to prominence; in fact, someone else made the identification.

I’ve also, however, contended that the poster is not infringing because it did not appropriate elements of the photograph that can be considered sufficiently original to even be protected by copyright. And now I’ve come across a case that applies precisely this thinking to a very similar dispute.

In Reece v. Island Treasures Art Gallery, Inc., 468 F. Supp. 2d 1197 (D. Hawaii 2006), the court ruled that a stained glass artwork entitled Nohe did not infringe the copyright in a photograph entitled “Makanani” despite the fact both works depict, from the same angle, a woman kneeling on Oahu’s Kailua beach performing an ‘ike motion from the hula noho (sitting) position. The two images are pictured above.

The court recognized that some parts of the photograph could be copyrighted, but only those that are the result of the photographer’s creative decision-making:

“[T]he creative decisions involved in producing a photograph may render it sufficiently original to be copyrightable and [courts] have carefully delineated selection of subject, posture, background, lighting, and perhaps even perspective alone as protectible elements of a photographer’s work.” Los Angeles News Serv. v. Tullo, 973 F.2d 791, 794 (9th Cir.1992) (citation and quotation signals omitted). The court concludes, for the purposes of the instant motion, that [the] photograph is copyrightable, although elements derived from the public domain or otherwise unprotected by copyright cannot serve as the basis of [an infringement] claim.

Another way of putting it is that “[t]he protectable elements of a photograph generally include lighting, selection of film and camera, angle of photograph, and determination of the precise time when the photograph is to be taken.” (citation omitted). But the stained glass window of the dancer in the identical position did not appropriate a sufficient amount of the original elements of the photograph because the stained glass image has none of the detail of the person or of the background of the photographer and the sepia tone of the photograph is so very different than the “”vibrant colors” of the stained glass:

Although the position of the dancer in the ‘ike motion is common to both artworks and both are set on Kailua beach, they cannot be described as substantially or virtually identical. The appearance of the dancers is different; notably, the absence of detail in the stained glass. The dancer represented in [the stained glass image] has no facial features, hand details, or muscular differentiation, but simply shows the outline of the body. The mountains and ocean dominate the upper half of the stained glass, but not the photograph. The dancers’ hairstyles are notably different lengths and shapes. Finally, the sepia tone of the photograph is markedly contrasted by the vibrant colors of the stained glass.

One can easily see, I think, how this reasoning is applicable to the comparison between Garcia’s photograph and Fairey’s poster. While the position of Obama’s face is virtually identical in both, Fairey’s image has none of the detail the photograph shows from the face, Obama’s suit or the background shown in the photograph. In fact, the poster entirely changes these details by transforming them into a stylized combination of red, white, and blue. Moreover, it is plain the colors of the photograph are in marked contrast to the colors of the poster.

Plagiarizing about Plagiarism

You could write a column entitled “When it comes to songwriting, there’s a fine line between inspiration and plagiarism” any day of the week, and I believe I have, though I only stole the idea from the KLF (or Negativland or Bob Dylan, or Jim Jarmusch or Jonathan Lethem or David Shields or  David Markson or Shepard Fairey or . . . )

Cuckoo Kookabura Continues

The travesty continues — first, there was the court decision in Australia finding Men at Work liable for copyright infringement for appropriating a riff from the Australian chestnut Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree in their 1981 #1 hit Down Under. Now the judge has ordered the group to pay 5 percent of the royalties it earned from the song. I suppose it’s better than the 60% the publishing company that owns the copyright sought. Kookaburra, incidentally, was composed over 70 years ago, and its composer died 22 years ago. It doesn’t appear, in short, that the copyright here is serving to motivate creation; rather, it’s serving as a disincentive – Down Under stood on its own as an Australian anthem. As Wikipedia reports:

The song is a perennial favourite on Australian radio and television, and topped the charts in the U.S. and U.K. simultaneously in early 1983. It was later used as a theme song by the crew of Australia II in their successful bid to win the America’s Cup in 1983.[citation needed] Men at Work played this song in the closing ceremony of the 2000 Sydney Olympics, alongside other Australian artists. It was also often played after Australian athletes had received medals during competition, as they walked around the venue on a parade lap after the medal ceremony.

In May 2001, Australasian Performing Rights Association (APRA) celebrated its 75th anniversary by naming the Best Australian Songs of all time, as decided by a 100 strong industry panel, “Down Under” was ranked as the fourth song on the list.[5]

In October 2006, Triple M had the Essential 2006 Countdown of the most popular songs of all time, voted by the listeners. “Down Under” was the number 3 voted/ranked song.[citation needed]

The song was voted #96 on VH1’s 100 Greatest Songs of the 80s.[when?]

The song has been used as the entrance music for various professional Australian sportsmen, including darts player Simon Whitlock, cruiserweight boxer Danny Green (for his fight against Roy Jones, Jr. on 2 December 2009) and snooker player Neil Robertson.

The song was played extensively during the September 2009 One-Day International cricket series between England and Australia, which Australia took by six matches to one.

Moreover, as I’ve previously noted, the Sydney Morning Herald reported that “[t]he key, harmony, structure and rhythm of Down Under’s famous riff changed the sound of it so much that nobody – not the band, [the managing director of the company that owned the copyright to Kookaburra], or even five out of six [of the game show] panellists . . . noticed it until someone turned it into a quiz show question.”

And to the extent the riff is recognizable it is doing what a quotation does in a piece of art — using a culturally resonant symbol to sound that resonance.

At least Men at Work is going to appeal the decision.

Does Westlaw infringe a lawyer’s copyright in his legal document? This lawsuit won’t tell us.

The Lawyer’s Weekly reports that lawyer Lorne Waldman has filed a class action in Canada alleging that Westlaw infringes the copyrights held in the documents lawyers file in court and that Westlaw publishes through its online, for pay research service:

The Toronto lawyer contends that the defendants’ Westlaw Litigator service is infringing his copyright, and that of hundreds, if not thousands, of other lawyers by reproducing (in PDF, Microsoft Word and other downloadable formats), and making available on-line for a fee,  more than 50,000 pleadings, court motions and facta the defendants recently copied from civil court files across Canada.

The case raises interesting copyright questions, but I don’t think the court will ever decide those questions.

A class action is a lawsuit brought on behalf of a group of people who have identical legal claims against a defendant arising out of identical facts. Rules of court procedure allow cases to be aggregated promotes efficiency by, in the words of Wikipedia, “aggregat[ing] a large number of individualized claims into one representational lawsuit.” There is a strong incentive too for plaintiffs’ lawyers to  bring class actions — the lawyers for the plaintiff who represents the class by running the lawsuit (typically, though not necessarily, the plaintiff who brings the lawsuit) earn fees based on a percentage of the award given to the entire class. Allowing this bonanza is a better idea than it sounds in many cases — without the promise of the large payday at the end of the case, no one would sue a large corporation like Westlaw individually because the cost would be so great for a minuscule recovery. Thus, the class action device protects against corporate activity that would cheat individual consumers out of small amounts.

Before a case that has been filed as a class action, like Mr. Waldman’s, can proceed, however, the court must determine whether it should proceed as a class action. If the court determines the case should not be a class action, it will deny “certification” of a class of plaintiffs and the case, should it proceed, will have to proceed as an individual lawsuit. That, I contend, is what will likely happen to Mr. Waldman’s, and I’m not sure it’s worth his while to litigate against a behemoth like the owners of Westlaw for the relatively small recovery he’d win even should he prevail.

Why do i think the court likely will not find Waldman’s case suitable for class action treatment? Because determining whether a given document is even entitled to copyright protection in the first place requires close scrutiny of the individual document. A huge number (arguably the vast majority) of legal documents are pastiches of other documents; many are purely formulaic. The less original a document is, the less likely it will be deemed worthy of copyright protection.

In short, determining whether Westlaw infringes the copyright on a specific legal document requires inquiry into the nature of that specific document. Examination of every document created by lawyers and published by Westlaw is precisely the kind of individualized, exhaustive procedure the class action is designed to make unnecessary. If that individualized inquiry is necessary, the case will not be certified as a class action.

Accordingly, the only way Mr. Waldman is likely to prevail on his claims is if he’s willing to go it alone and establish both that his documents are entitled to copyright protection and that Westlaw’s activities are an infringement of those copyrights.

Stealing what you love

John Pareles wrote, in “Plagiarism in Dylan, or a Cultural Collage?,”that “[i]deas aren’t meant to be carved in stone and left inviolate; they’re meant to stimulate the next idea and the next.” Accordingly, in words apropos of a point I’ve made over and over and over on this blog, he explains:

The absolutely original artist is an extremely rare and possibly imaginary creature, living in some isolated habitat where no previous works or traditions have left any impression. Like virtually every artist, Mr. Dylan carries on a continuing conversation with the past. He’s reacting to all that culture and history offer, not pretending they don’t exist. Admiration and iconoclasm, argument and extension, emulation and mockery — that’s how individual artists and the arts themselves evolve. It’s a process that is neatly summed up in Mr. Dylan’s album title “Love and Theft, ” which itself is a quotation from a book on minstrelsy by Eric Lott. (hyperlinks added)

Another masterful artist, David Foster Wallace, wrote, “No one who is invested in any kind of art . . . can read [Lewis Hyde's book] The Gift and remain unchanged.” It is Hyde’s thesis not merely that all art builds on earlier art, but that it is precisely the artist’s recognition that his creations are gifts that sustains his creativity. In other words, the capacity to create is a gift given to the artist and is given only if the artist understands his own creations as gifts themselves that other artists can use themselves in their acts of creation:

It is the assumption of this book that a work of art is a gift, not a commodity. Or, to state the modern case with more precision, that works of art exist simultaneously in two “economics,” a market economy and a gift economy. Only one of these is essential, however: a work of art can survive without the market, but where there is no gift there is no art.

So it should be no surprise that Andreas Hykade entitled this brilliant video “Love & Theft“:

Woody Guthrie on copyright: we wrote it, that’s all we wanted to do.

Woody Guthrie’s view of copyright:

This song is Copyrighted in U.S., under Seal of Copyright # 154085, for a period of 28 years, and anybody caught singin it without our permission, will be mighty good friends of ourn, cause we don’t give a dern. Publish it. Write it. Sing it. Swing to it. Yodel it. We wrote it, that’s all we wanted to do.

It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.

From Jim Jarmusch’s Golden Rules, which are about film making but have an awful lot of relevance to the practice of law:

Rule #1: There are no rules. There are as many ways to make a film as there are potential filmmakers. . . . Therefore, disregard the “rules” you are presently reading, and instead consider them to be merely notes to myself. One should make one’s own “notes” because there is no one way to do anything. If anyone tells you there is only one way, their way, get as far away from them as possible, both physically and philosophically.

Rule #2: Don’t let the fuckers get ya. They can either help you, or not help you, but they can’t stop you. . . .

Rule #3: The production is there to serve the film. The film is not there to serve the production. . . .

Rule #4: Filmmaking is a collaborative process. You get the chance to work with others whose minds and ideas may be stronger than your own. . . . [T]reat all collaborators as equals and with respect. A production assistant who is holding back traffic so the crew can get a shot is no less important than the actors in the scene, the director of photography, the production designer or the director. Hierarchy is for those whose egos are inflated or out of control, or for people in the military. Those with whom you choose to collaborate, if you make good choices, can elevate the quality and content of your film to a much higher plane than any one mind could imagine on its own. If you don’t want to work with other people, go paint a painting or write a book. . . .

Rule #5: Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery—celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.”

Art builds on art, be it Shepard Fairey’s Obama Hope poster or the re-tellings of myths and legends.

I have made clear, at length, my view that Shepard Fairey’s Obama Hope poster is a legitimate, non-infringing fair use of the photo Fairey appropriated as its source material. But I think Fairey himself expresses well in this interview from The Knowledge the basis of that belief, that the very nature of a lot of art (and, I might argue, all art) is to build on and refer to pieces of the culture in which we live and that without the freedom to appropriate pieces of that culture in ways that don’t merely exploit the value the creators of those pieces themselves have built we will diminish our culture. Fairey explains:

“I do think that copyrights and intellectual property are important—it’s important to be able to keep people from making verbatim copies of a particular creation that could somehow hurt the creator. If I spend time conceiving and making a piece of art and somebody else sees that it has market value and replicates it in order to steal part of my market, then that’s not cool. But the way I make art—the way a lot of people make art—is as an extension of language and communication, where references are incredibly important. It’s about making a work that is inspired by something preexisting but changes it to have a new value and meaning that doesn’t in any way take away from the original—and, in fact, might provide the original with a second life or a new audience.”

He goes on to explain, in terms that are very personal to me, the implications of an alternative view, often referred to as a position in favor of “strong” copyright protection”:

“The problem with copyright enforcement is that when the parameters aren’t incredibly well defined, it means big corporations, who have deeper pockets and better lawyers, can bully people. I don’t want to start making enemies in the corporate world, but there are plenty of cases. For example, there is a tradition of certain fairy tales being reinterpreted, and now, all of a sudden, a big corporation that has a mouse on its logo decides it’s going to copyright these fairy tales, which ends the cycle of these things being reinterpreted. What happens with these big entertainment companies is that they start to get a monopoly on the creation of culture. But I think that the more people participate in the creation of culture, the richer the culture becomes. In the case of the Obama poster, I was just exercising my First Amendment rights—and my free speech is exercised visually. People who want to talk or write in order to share an opinion about Obama can do that, but when I want to say what I think about him, I need to make a portrait. And if I can’t make a picture based on a reference because all references are copyrighted, then my only options are to pay a licensing fee—and possibly be turned down because the person licensing the image doesn’t agree with my political viewpoint—or to try to get a personal sitting with Barack Obama to make a portrait of him, which presents its own obstacles. So I don’t think all this is good for free speech.”

This is a personal matter because my sister, Amy Friedman, writer and teacher extordinaire, has for twenty years written on a weekly basis versions of fairy tales, folk tales, and legends from around the world and throughout history, an enormous corpus of work that is syndicated by Universal Press Syndicates under the name Tell me a Story (entire archive available). Needless to say, copyright concerns throughout this decades long endeavor, only one of many in which she engages, have been foremost in her mind, but there has never been any doubt either that her stories, while based on pre-existing creations from as many cultures and as many times as are virtually conceivable, are legitimate art in their own right and, therefore, enjoy their own copyright protection.

Amy’s story is important in another way. Not only would the Disney’s of the world co-opt the subject matter she makes her own, but she also is an artist in the truest sense. She is not a best-selling author. No one I’ve ever known works harder, and working at making a living as a writer, as she always has, is as difficult a task as one would wish upon a sister. She doesn’t depend on her copyrights to make her living — she depends on delivering a product that consumers want, whether they be students or parents who want wonderful audio stories for their kids. People like Mark Halperin, rich best-selling author and conservative pundit, , who bitch about copyright protection don’t know what they’re talking about. They live in an age in which digital information can be remixed and distributed worldwide by anyone with a laptop and an internet connection, an age in which their views of authorship and artistic production are, in a word, outmoded. The real artists are people like Amy, who eke out a living (one whose comfort level she expresses no complaints about).

Why the music industry won’t sue certain samplers such as Girl Talk and the producers of Copyright Criminals.

I’ve discussed extensively in the past (most prominently, perhaps, here) my view regarding the music industry’s view that considers any unlicensed sample of a copyrighted recording, no matter how small and how transformed, a copyright infringement. In short, I think it likely the case law on which that view is based would be overturned if it is challenged in any case in which the sampling is used in a way sufficiently transformative that the sampling work stands on its own as a creative work. In short, that’s why I don’ t think Girl Talk has been sued.

Transformative uses of copyrighted work are permitted under the fair use doctrine, and so are critical uses. That’s why I don’t think Kembrew McLeod needs to worry about a lawsuit in connection with the documentary film he co-produced “titled Copyright Criminals, which examines the messy three-way collision between digital technology, musical collage, and intellectual property law.” So why does McLeod worry? Because he’s right in explaining the following:

The music industry believed that the law didn’t distinguish between copying one second or half a minute of a sound recording. Therefore, record companies now insist that every fragment of sound needs to be cleared, something that fundamentally altered the aural evolution of hip-hop music. The more complex you make your sound collage, the more impossible it is to share with the world. And in the course of documenting the legal and cultural history of this art form, Ben [McLeod's co-producer] and I are risking being sued.

But if McLeod is willing to fight a lawsuit — and I think he is — the recording industry won’t sue him. The existing precedents requiring licensing of every single recorded sample would be overturned, and the record industry would lost the appearance created by these precedents, an appearance that makes the vast, vast majority of samplers pay license fees for their samples. It’s better business for the industry to let the occasional brave and creative soul feel as if he’s getting away with something than to have the industry’s precious — and ill-founded — legal precedents put at genuine risk.