The social significance of "modern art"
May. 4th, 2008 07:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fpbI have long since come to the conclusion that the the term "modern art", as used for the kind of guff exhibited at Tate Modern or that receives government grants, is usurping. Bob Dyland is a modern artist; so is Alan Moore; so is JK Rowling. They are people who live in the modern age and who produce works of art - I would say, great art. What is normally called modern art, on the other hand, is not in the same category at all; the best way it could be defined is "gesture for its own sake". I rather suspect that it gets away with its usurpation of the term because, while there are well-established alternative dictionary terms for people who make a living as Dylan, Moore or Rowling do - musician, cartoonist, novelist - there is none for people who induce government bodies or rich individuals to disburse money to them for meaningless gestures. Art it is, then - in default of any other terms.
I know a thing or two about the great arts, I hope; and I have been lucky enough to meet or be in touch with a number of out-and-out geniuses and extraordinary artists. (kennahijja and haikujaguar, are you listening?) One of these was a lady called Denny Derbyshire, for whom I would use without any concern the word "genius". She is a craftswoman, painter and cartoonist who lives in Ulverston, Cumbria, and produces or used to produce works of sublime, dreamy simplicity largely for her small circle of friends and admirers. I have lost contact with her since I left comics, which I regret.
At any rate, before I lost touch, we exchanged a number of interesting letters. In one of them, she complained about the cult of ugliness that seemed to dominate the official artistic world. This set me to thinking, and what follows - with a few corrections - is what I answered:
It's not so much that "beautiful" is a dirty word in art circles, as you suspect; in my view, it is that it is meaningless. If you presumed to give a positive view of a work of art on the grounds that it is beautiful, the average art critic would look at you blankly, as though you'd praised it on the ground that it was triangular, or mint-flavoured. The very idea has been, in art-critical discourse, excised; I suspect that young students at Goldsmiths' (Note for non-Britons: Goldsmith's is the University of London's college of choice for aspiring artists) or such places never even hear the suggestion that art might be beautiful.
The art theory that gave us Hirst (and plenty of people before him) has a curious idea of the human mind as an anvil to be hammered everlastingly; or rather, of a walnut to be cracked eternally. Human understanding must be treated aggressively. Common perceptions are always to be overturned. Where all this overturning is to take us is not clear; one suspects that, in the theory, the nut is an enchanted nut, that repairs itself after each cracking (and wouldn't that image have delighted someone like Chesterton! The mind as an enchanted walnut; perhaps a silver one. Think about it. Uh-oh, I've got the feeling I may have given you a subject). At the very least, it would seem that the overturning is an end in itself.
The purpose of the artist, then, is not to communicate a truth, but to break down a resistance. It is assumed that any person's perceptions are inevitably in need of breaking down. Hence the emphasis on language, rather than on content; indeed, it may be doubted whether the likes of Hirst or Rachel Whitehead ever seriously believe they are expressing any content at all. They are raiders of language and artistic discipline, and their works - often destructible and intended to be consumed and thrown away - are not meant to have any lasting use beyond the assault. Having done their piratical raid on the outposts of bourgeois self-consciousness, they withdraw in their longships, leaving only smoking ruins behind; not even a temple of Thor. The assault is all.
Except that it may be doubted whether bourgeois self-consciousness is really so dented. There is a disturbingly smug and smooth tone to a lot of avant-garde theorizing (though I'm more familiar with contemporary music than art) that suggests more the academic apparatchik than the rebel. There is a sense that the modern artists have it all cut and dried; and though they talk an awful lot of rebellion, in fact the dominating institutions - academia, the State, the museums, the media - welcome them with open arms. Newspapers and TV programs dedicate to the Hirsts and their backers all the space they do not give to the likes of you.
Since the masters of our world, then, are quite happy, and indeed complicit, with all this artistic rebellion, who is it that it is really aimed at? Because the hostility, the aggressiveness, the raider mentality, are undeniable. There is something that "modern art" is really against.
The disturbing conclusion has to be that it is against the common people; or at least, the common perceptions. The meaning of academia promoting, the State financing, and the media publicizing, Turner Prize-type art, are to force upon the public the fact that Art denies their common perception.
It's not really as bad as I made it sound. The common public, tolerant and weary, does not really feel so crushed as all that; they look on in dumb amazement, put it all down to the strangeness of the world, and go away. The implicit aggression, the implicit condemnation, hardly reach them. And so we come to what seems to me the undeniable reality of what calls itself modern art - though in effect it excludes the very large majority of today's artistic endeavour. It is a matter of ego-reinforcement for those who practice it and those who support it. This elaborate and ongoing system of denouncing common or standard perception serves to separate the common herd, whose language and perceptions it exists to attack, from the social groups that share in it.
What is harmful about this system is that it enforces upon the common people the notion that art is something above their heads. Whatever else they misunderstand or ignore, they certainly do not misunderstand that. It doesn't matter how many efforts are made to popularize "modern art", as long as modern art is taken to be what it is it will separate the public from itself. Indeed, the very effort produces the reverse result, because it popularizes just those kinds of art which are, by their nature, more exclusive and aggressive.
The result is wretched for the likes of you: the majority of your potential audience will never even think of developing an interest in art; it is a "difficult" subject by definition. Elbowed out of the public gaze by the pushy Hirsts and Whiteheads, serious artists like you and this Andy Goldsworthy you mention (I never heard of him - doesn't it just show you?) have to live in the cracks and carry on for the love of it.
Opinions?
I know a thing or two about the great arts, I hope; and I have been lucky enough to meet or be in touch with a number of out-and-out geniuses and extraordinary artists. (
kennahijja and haikujaguar, are you listening?) One of these was a lady called Denny Derbyshire, for whom I would use without any concern the word "genius". She is a craftswoman, painter and cartoonist who lives in Ulverston, Cumbria, and produces or used to produce works of sublime, dreamy simplicity largely for her small circle of friends and admirers. I have lost contact with her since I left comics, which I regret.At any rate, before I lost touch, we exchanged a number of interesting letters. In one of them, she complained about the cult of ugliness that seemed to dominate the official artistic world. This set me to thinking, and what follows - with a few corrections - is what I answered:
It's not so much that "beautiful" is a dirty word in art circles, as you suspect; in my view, it is that it is meaningless. If you presumed to give a positive view of a work of art on the grounds that it is beautiful, the average art critic would look at you blankly, as though you'd praised it on the ground that it was triangular, or mint-flavoured. The very idea has been, in art-critical discourse, excised; I suspect that young students at Goldsmiths' (Note for non-Britons: Goldsmith's is the University of London's college of choice for aspiring artists) or such places never even hear the suggestion that art might be beautiful.
The art theory that gave us Hirst (and plenty of people before him) has a curious idea of the human mind as an anvil to be hammered everlastingly; or rather, of a walnut to be cracked eternally. Human understanding must be treated aggressively. Common perceptions are always to be overturned. Where all this overturning is to take us is not clear; one suspects that, in the theory, the nut is an enchanted nut, that repairs itself after each cracking (and wouldn't that image have delighted someone like Chesterton! The mind as an enchanted walnut; perhaps a silver one. Think about it. Uh-oh, I've got the feeling I may have given you a subject). At the very least, it would seem that the overturning is an end in itself.
The purpose of the artist, then, is not to communicate a truth, but to break down a resistance. It is assumed that any person's perceptions are inevitably in need of breaking down. Hence the emphasis on language, rather than on content; indeed, it may be doubted whether the likes of Hirst or Rachel Whitehead ever seriously believe they are expressing any content at all. They are raiders of language and artistic discipline, and their works - often destructible and intended to be consumed and thrown away - are not meant to have any lasting use beyond the assault. Having done their piratical raid on the outposts of bourgeois self-consciousness, they withdraw in their longships, leaving only smoking ruins behind; not even a temple of Thor. The assault is all.
Except that it may be doubted whether bourgeois self-consciousness is really so dented. There is a disturbingly smug and smooth tone to a lot of avant-garde theorizing (though I'm more familiar with contemporary music than art) that suggests more the academic apparatchik than the rebel. There is a sense that the modern artists have it all cut and dried; and though they talk an awful lot of rebellion, in fact the dominating institutions - academia, the State, the museums, the media - welcome them with open arms. Newspapers and TV programs dedicate to the Hirsts and their backers all the space they do not give to the likes of you.
Since the masters of our world, then, are quite happy, and indeed complicit, with all this artistic rebellion, who is it that it is really aimed at? Because the hostility, the aggressiveness, the raider mentality, are undeniable. There is something that "modern art" is really against.
The disturbing conclusion has to be that it is against the common people; or at least, the common perceptions. The meaning of academia promoting, the State financing, and the media publicizing, Turner Prize-type art, are to force upon the public the fact that Art denies their common perception.
It's not really as bad as I made it sound. The common public, tolerant and weary, does not really feel so crushed as all that; they look on in dumb amazement, put it all down to the strangeness of the world, and go away. The implicit aggression, the implicit condemnation, hardly reach them. And so we come to what seems to me the undeniable reality of what calls itself modern art - though in effect it excludes the very large majority of today's artistic endeavour. It is a matter of ego-reinforcement for those who practice it and those who support it. This elaborate and ongoing system of denouncing common or standard perception serves to separate the common herd, whose language and perceptions it exists to attack, from the social groups that share in it.
What is harmful about this system is that it enforces upon the common people the notion that art is something above their heads. Whatever else they misunderstand or ignore, they certainly do not misunderstand that. It doesn't matter how many efforts are made to popularize "modern art", as long as modern art is taken to be what it is it will separate the public from itself. Indeed, the very effort produces the reverse result, because it popularizes just those kinds of art which are, by their nature, more exclusive and aggressive.
The result is wretched for the likes of you: the majority of your potential audience will never even think of developing an interest in art; it is a "difficult" subject by definition. Elbowed out of the public gaze by the pushy Hirsts and Whiteheads, serious artists like you and this Andy Goldsworthy you mention (I never heard of him - doesn't it just show you?) have to live in the cracks and carry on for the love of it.
Opinions?
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no subject
Date: 2008-05-05 12:01 am (UTC)What is harmful about this system is that it enforces upon the common people the notion that art is something above their heads. Whatever else they misunderstand or ignore, they certainly do not misunderstand that.
This is perhaps my favorite bit. Now I will say there is art done that requires a certain amount of intelligent observation, but of course, that's the same as with Alan Moore.
However, large sections of the modern art world have, I feel, wrapped themselves in a blanket of smug superiority and want their art to be inaccessible so that they can continue to feel elite without actual being elite.
That is also I feel why noses turn up at the suggest such accessible to the masses people like Alan or JKR or Thomas kinkaid might actually be artists. THose people challenge their inflated sense of elitism.
I'd argue though, to the lady you responded to, that there is not a cult of ugly so much as there is a cult of depression - however that is often displayed in an ugly manner.
Again, wonderful response!
no subject
Date: 2008-05-05 05:29 am (UTC)Here is an important article on the issue, to do only with one artform, but applicable to all: http://www.city-journal.org/html/17_3_urbanities-regietheater.html. You will notice that the pestilence it describes does not seem to have spread to Italy: that is because opera is still a popular artform in Italy, and Italian audiences are ferocious and more than willing to let a director know when they think he has wasted their money.