I think that was brilliantly put, alive (although I don’t entirely share your optimism).
I remember in Aesthetics classes, talking about various theories - the historical context, the narrative context, personal expression, art-for-art’s sake, etc. A lot of writers acknowledged a substantial difference between art that appeals to us based on who we are now, and art that reaches beyond our ego and sense of self and hits us at the core, without relying on any of those other details. Anything approaching “sentimentality” was considered suspect, an appeal to a lesser emotion, and not a true “aesthetic” (transcendent, other-worldly, eternal) experience.
Perhaps one could argue that text which attempts to direct your experience of a work of art automatically eliminates a true aesthetic experience, because the text is going to eliminate some possibilities. Context is always specific.
But, I dunno. It may depend on the skill of the artist.
Now, whether or not an aesthetic experience is necessarily the point of all artwork (or even should be) is open to debate - I was quoting from an aesthetics class.
I don’t see where I said I feared or worried about any work of art. Looking back, the response I described was more akin to pity. And I also feel I’ve tried to make it clear that other people may prefer to experience art in different ways then I do and I didn’t feel their choices are inferior to my own nor did I imply that my preference is only suitable for more intelligent people. You might try to display a similar respect for opinions that differ from your own.
This boggles me. First of all, “without bias”? Your own biases are very clear.
Why is it something to disdain if a work of art somehow is connected, or connects you, to the world around it, or another time, or includes more dimensions of ideas and experience?
You are intentionally, and bewilderingly, limiting your experience of art to the merely decorative, to the smallest, shallowest possible experience of a work; to the moment of surface; and willfully refusin any further depth or experience.
You do realize, don’t you, that the only person who loses in this scenario is you?
Oh ptooey, listener – the “knower/known” dichotomy (or, the lack thereof) is a recognizable phenomenon.
If Little Nemo is willing to stand naked before a work of art, stripped of everything that validates him, and view the art with an open mind, how is that “less seeing” than someone who’s listening to one of those curator tapes, telling them what’s there? I’ve taken docent tours. Sometimes they increase my appreciation, sometimes they distract.
We spend days, weeks, months at the SDMB trying to convince each other of the validity of our personal truths, trying to construct arguments that stand on their own two legs. Looking for that quality in art doesn’t render a person “shallow.” Too harsh.
I like this. I think it’s a valid way to approach art, stripped of context. There are many “great” paintings / artistic works that I find utterly uninspiring. The Mona Lisa comes to mind for me. When I saw it, I was interested in it. Why? Because it’s super expensive, because it’s super-famous, because the eyes follow you, and because it’s the size of a postage stamp. But without those external stimuli, honestly, I would have probably just glanced at her and moved on. (Not to degrade anyone that thinks that the Mona Lisa is the pinnacle of art - that’s the nature of art, to each his own).
That said, I think there is also value in weighing external considerations when “evaluating” art. For example, not to hijack, but I’m a big fan of Piet Mondrian. You know, the guy who painted those stupid little boxes, where he would color one in or the other? Those little squares that any five-year-old could do?
Well take a look at this. It’s a series of paintings he did, in chronological order. To me, it’s a fascinating look at the evolution of an artist. I don’t think you can properly evaluate the artistic merit of a Mondrian composition without seeing where it evolved from. I think that Mondrian’s art is a concept. And looking at one of his compositions and disregarding the rest seems to me to be missing the picture.
I see a similarity with evaluating a writer’s (or a musician’s) works. Sometimes if you look at one creation standing alone, it might not stand up to your critique. But if you can say, “Oh! This is where she started using this technique!” or “he’s really trying to find his voice in this piece,” it’s endlessly fascinating and a better way to experience the work rather than evaluating it standing alone.
Re: Frylock and the Mona Lisa postage stamp-gate. Thanks for clearing that up, Miller. I’ll try to dial back the hyperbole next time. Frylock - FYI - many (if not most) people are surprised to find that the Mona Lisa is much smaller in person than they imagined it to be. Here’s an article that touches on that very subject. From that article:
Others have made really interesting comments about this work, and I agree with many, but I think you summed up yourself how I feel about this and other works like it:
To me, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Perhaps it is a little misleading to place it in a gallery with paintings that are ‘about’ something beyond their own creation (and therefore understandable like a poem in French would be once you learn the language), but it is obviously linked through its form to the larger context of “painting” in our culture. I haven’t seen the work in question, but from your description, it really strikes me as a heartbreaking communication of an artist facing death, not as an unknown future event but as a daily companion. One could say that we’re all just digging and filling in the same ditch over and over again in the process of living our lives, though hopefully it’s a rewarding and enjoyable ditch.
As I said, I haven’t seen the work, and I sort of feel that I don’t need to. Certainly being in the same room with the physical evidence of the maker’s labor might be an experience unto itself, but the story is a (and perhaps THE) work of art in this case. Another work of art that I haven’t seen, also dealing with AIDS that I dearly love is Felix Gonzale-Torres’ Untitled (Perfect Lovers). As it was first explained to me, the work consists of two battery-operated clocks, set side by side and synchronized. Left alone, they will go along together, but eventually, they will run slow and stop. In all likelyhood, this will happen to one before the other, making the clocks both out of step and dead at some incalculable point in the relatively near future. I was in a studio class freshman year when my teacher told us about this, and after she mentioned that the batteries will wear out, there was an audible intake of breath from the class- though we didn’t know at the time that the work was related to Gonzalez-Torres’ partner’s struggle with AIDS*, we all were touched by the inevitability of separation and loss that even the most perfectly matched pair will face. Here is a PDF that shows you how to make your own version of the work for your home. I haven’t done it, but I think it illustrates the very distinct difference between this very conceptual (yet grippingly emotional) work from the very physical “you have to be there with it” quality of a Pollock. Attempting to unite the two under a single way of understanding is, to my mind, folly, just as it would be folly to try to read Finnegans Wake and Romeo and Juliet, both ‘classics’ of literature in (arguably) the English language with the same goals and criteria in mind.
As far as the idea that the meaning resides in the plaque, to me that is a strength more than a weakness. That work can’t be destroyed- even if the museum burned to the ground, or some asshole art thief’s mother dumped the canvas in the river, the work remains in the descriptions and accounts that have been published, and which you in your skepticism and pity have passed on to us here. To me that is beautiful, and is at least a small way that that crummy yellow slab beats out the Mona Lisa- which would live on in reproductions, but not it its meaningful self if it were destroyed.
*It’s not that the teacher was purposefully avoiding talking about AIDS, we were discussing time-based work, and she presented it as such. I think that a lot of the power of Gonzalez-Torres’ work comes from the fact that it isn’t so tied to its direct subject matter that it loses meaning over time. I think that his work will resonate strongly in the future, even if/when a cure for AIDS is found and it becomes an abstract rather than current and vital issue.
This post reminded me of an idea for a website I’ve love to do if I had the computer skills. It would essentially be the same as Jeff Russell’s Starship Dimensions website except for comparing works of art instead of starships. Most people only see famous artworks in photographs which give no real idea of their actual size. People just sort of assume paintings are all approximately the same size because that’s the way they usually see them.
Here’s Guernica and the Mona Lisa. And here’s an approximation of what they’d look like displayed next to each other:
