Art of the Millennial Generation: Showcasing Technological Influence

The 2009 Master of Fine Arts Thesis Exhibition at Washington State University showcases five artists whose works all reflect the growing fragmented confusion of life in the twenty first century. Most of the artists utilize mixed media, a possible manifestation of their experiences growing up in the globalized digital culture. Their works are the logical continuation of the path the art world has taken towards digitized, non-linear, abstract pieces. Viewers of the exhibit who are not as aware of current art trends may find themselves confused and without a focal point to connect the varied art pieces, the influence of virtual and digital technology can be discovered with minimal effort, and elucidates the underlying themes of this exhibit.

Lauren McCleary’s large installation piece is one of the first artworks viewers to the exhibit encounter. While McCleary’s work inhabits one specific area without any defined boundaries, three pieces are actually combined seamlessly: Elephant Splat, Between Being, and Walk Wonder appear to be one overall piece. Viewers can essentially walk into the artwork, as it extends out from the walls and hangs down from the ceiling, but few do because of the respectful distance people are ingrained to leave between themselves and art. If viewers do choose to break the norm and walk into the art, they can look more closely and actually find the three blue elephants which reside in completely different areas; one lays on the floor, one is framed on the wall, and one is on a Styrofoam plaque hanging from the ceiling. The distinct separation of these three elephants reinforces the notion that the three art works are all interwoven together and cannot be separated. McCleary could be commenting on the way that modern life is a conglomeration of many disparate elements, and how with new technologies like iPhones and Twitter, parts of life that used to be compartmentalized are now blended together inseparably. McCleary’s piece is effective when considered in a cultural scope, despite the inherent confusion she creates for her viewers.

Other artists at the exhibit who create confusion are not as successful because their purpose is never explicated, and viewers are left entirely up to guesswork. Tobias Walther’s Sailor is one such piece. Sailor consists of two side-by-side television screens showing black-and-white images of the Palouse hills and various other scenes around Pullman. Random images are flashed in an almost subliminal way, combined with periodic flashes from a concealed camera. The heavy breathing of the unseen cameraman as he runs up and down the hills is the only narration. This confusing mix of elements combined with the seemingly non-sequitur title, gives viewers nothing in which to ground their understanding of this piece. As Sailor is Walther’s only piece at the exhibit, viewers cannot examine his other works to attempt to draw comparisons. Walther’s piece again showcases the impact the digital and technological advances of the past decades are having on the art world, though no other meaning can be derived.

Brad Dinsmore and Dustin Price also both utilize mixed media, creating abstract pieces which can be very confusing but reflect the growing anxiety and digitized culture of modern America. These two artists present the most varied types of work, showcasing broad experimentation on many levels. The fifth artist, Heather Losey McGeachy, has the most traditional looking art, which seems to fit in the least with the other artists’ work in the exhibit. However, McGeachy’s artist statement shows that she, too, was influenced by technology. She says she felt “compelled… to seek out the difference and similarities between virtual and physical worlds” as “the boundaries between physical and digital life [continue] to blur.” Obviously all of these artists’ works, while exploring various mediums and messages, reflect the great influence technology has had on their lives.

To top off this thorough connection to the digital world, a “Second Life” of the Master of Fine Arts Thesis Exhibition itself was displayed near the entrance to the exhibit. “Second Life” is a virtual world within a website similar to “The Sims,” which allows people to experience an altered reality through the internet. This is almost a meta-commentary on the exhibit’s purpose: a virtual world depicts the exhibit which reflects the growing influence of the virtual world on the artists showcased in the exhibit. Plato would be greatly disturbed by this trend in art, as artists are actually embracing imitation of the virtual digital world and using it to construct pieces which speak back to their technological origins. If this exhibit can be seen as a microcosm of the current state of the art world at large, works into the second decade of the century will continue to reflect digital culture, mosaic thought, mixed media, confusion, and buried messages as the Millennial generation grows up and brings its contributions forward.

D) None of the above

I think this week’s blog prompt is a trick question. Freud and Foucault in my mind have such opposing theories of art criticism that they cannot both be perfectly applied to any of these three options.

In considering a Freudian analysis, I thought I would pick Spiderman. Not only does the character seem to be an expression of Stan Lee’s own daydreams, but Peter Parker openly shares with the audience his own daydreams concerning Mary Jane, at least before his transformation and following success in “getting the girl.” For the audience, this is a satisfying storyline because Peter Parker never had his own mother, just his aunt, and he now can capture the idyllic family life he has yearned for his whole life, and he can do so with the beautiful girl next door he has always loved from afar.

In addition to these elements, Spiderman also fits Freud’s description of the hero which the audience can vicariously live through: “The feeling of security with which I follow the hero through his dangerous adventures is the same as that with which a real hero throws himself into the water to save a drowning man, or exposes himself to the fire of the enemy while storming a battery… this insignificant mark of invulnerability very clearly betrays—His Majesty the Ego, the hero of all day dreams and all novels” (504). Spiderman’s many adventures, his rises and falls, satisfy repressed desires the audience may have towards their childhood dreams of growing up to be someone important and brave. And the comic, television show, and recent movies allow audiences many avenues by which they “can enjoy [their] own daydreams without reproach or shame” (506).

But then an attempt to look at Spiderman for a Foucaultian analysis brought me up short. I do not think there is a deep meaning which Stan Lee meant to dominate the aesthetic quality, especially considering the painstaking care Lee took with the detailed comic books. I do not think Spiderman reveals anything about individual representation, or challenging power structures (unless you consider his battles with corrupt company CEOs to be challenging the status quo). I do not think Spiderman is capable of deconstructing any traditional notions. And for that matter, I do not think Madonna is any more capable than Spiderman. Which leads me to believe that only Jackson Pollock could be read in a Foucaultian analysis, because he did challenge the prevailing notion of what constituted art, and left behind many possible interpretations of his work. And a Freudian reading could be imposed on him, if I knew more about Pollock’s childhood and possible daydreams. But since I do not, I stand on the 5th and declare this a trick question.

Pro-Female but Anti-Feminism

While this may not make sense, I guess I kind of consider myself pro-female, but not pro-feminism. I think that feminism as a movement is too demanding and unforgiving on women who may want to be mothers, who may feel more fulfilled as a stay-at-home mom than as a chief executive of some company, or who show vulnerability through emotion. I think that equal rights and equal pay should be given to women, but that women should still be allowed to act like women. It is just a matter of fact that men and women have different genetic makeup and therefore have different needs and desires during their lives.

I think that Heidi exemplifies a woman who might understand my bizarre ideology concerning this issue: she never seems to fully embrace the feminist movement itself, but she does act out strongly at the Chicago Art Institute, demanding more female artists. She allows herself to be in a relationship with a womanizing man because of the way he might make her feel, and at the end she does decide to become a mother. Yet she doesn’t believe that her child has to be “her 10” as Scoop says, referring to his work being his 10. The audience can tell that Scoop and Heidi may actually place the same level of importance on their children, as evidenced by Scoop’s discussion of what he has to show his children to prove that he is worthy of being their father.

I think that this play shows that there has historically been an unfair representation of female artists, but that we are now at a point in our social advancement that females should become included as great artists. Whether they are added via the “add and stir the pot” method Freeland describes, or simply added hereafter, does not seem as important as the fact that they simply be added. Heidi does discuss great female artists from the past who were overlooked, and how their work has a ethereal feminine quality to them which separates them from masculine works. I do not necessarily agree with Heidi on this, but in looking at the two versions of “Judith Beheading Holofernes” I think it is clear that the female artist has a better understanding of what females are truly capable of than the male artist, who depicts Judith as timid and unsure of herself. Females as drawn by men can never be as true to life as females drawn by females, who understand their true natures and complexities.

Jackson Pollock: A True Dionysian

I will admit that initially, I thought Pollock’s art was not anything spectacular. Now I think some of them are actually enjoyable, but I still prefer less cluttered ones. A number of things contributed to this change of opinion. One of them was seeing other works Pollock did before he came up with his drip method, because these works show that he did think about what he was putting on canvas, and did have a background in art. If Paul from Faking It! had stumbled upon this same method of art and utilized it, I do not think the paintings would have the same level of validation. Also, viewing Who the #$&& is Jackson Pollock? made me realize that his works are actually similar and not random blobs of paint. Personally, I think that Teri’s painting is a real Pollock, but is one that he threw out or gave away because he was not happy with the final result. There is no way that he could have become such an amazing artist, and so perfect with this new technique, without going through multiple bad drafts. For the art critics to claim that every Pollock is known is complete rubbish.

I would actually say that Pollock’s art fits very well with Nietzsche’s concept of the Dionysian, whereby the conservative Apollonian gives way to impulse and chaos, creating true art that is in tune with something greater than humanity. Nietzsche saw this is a letting go of the self, and letting the art dominate the artist. From what we saw of Pollock’s work environment, he certainly let it take over his life. He was an alcoholic but a visionary, and he needed an outlet to express his overwhelming emotions: that outlet became his canvas. While some order is present in his work, the sense of controlled chaos strikes a balance between the Apollonian and Dionysian that I think is essential in making art transcend both worlds. If a piece is created entirely with Dionysian concerns, it could never be appreciated by the controlled individual ascribing to Apollonian art theories. Pollock easily flitted between these two systems, bringing a Dionysian work to the Apollonian world.

Nietzsche and Tolstoy: Letting Art Consume the Artist

While Nietzsche and Tolstoy take very different approaches to explaining their art theories (and I don’t think anyone needs me to tell them which approach is easier to understand and therefore preferable), I think they are both getting at the same concept at the core. I did not realize this until I went back and reviewed the principium individuationis and the infection because I had been more focused on the larger picture, but these two terms seem essentially the same to me.

Nietzsche is saying that people are usually cautious in their dreams/art, but when they let the impulsive Dionysian aspect of their personalities take over, they achieve “the blissful ecstasy that wells from the innermost depths of man, indeed of nature” (164). To me, that sounds suspiciously similar to when “a man is infected by the author’s condition of soul, if he feels this emotion and this union with others” (179) as described by Tolstoy.

So if we step back from the philosophy itself, both of these men are essentially saying that an artist has to let their work take over in order to produce something that will be valued by outsiders. Whether one views this “taking over” as a chaotic breakdown of order and harmony, or as an infection that is potentially contagious to viewers, does not really matter because both of these definitions explain the same concept. I am glad that I see this now, because when I first read these tracts I saw absolutely no overlapping between the two and was very frustrated, especially in trying to find a way to ground Nietzsche’s art theory in something that made a little bit more sense.

Seeing Through the Facade

In considering Paul in “Faking It!” and how to approach this week’s blog, I had thought that I would write about how a person cannot become an artist in four weeks. During our viewing of this show, I was skeptical about this. On reflection, however, I realized that this reality show is no different than shows like America’s Next Top Model, American Idol, Dancing with the Stars, and Project Runway, which ask viewers to accept that normal people can become supermodels, professional singers, perfect ballroom dancers, and fashion designers in a similar space of time. Are these skills less valued than art? Do they require less intense training? Not necessarily. They could all be seen as branches of art, and they all require their participants to “understand” the language and critical approaches to their specific topic, just like Paul is being asked to understand about art.

All of these shows feature “experts” in the field, who are supposed to train and mentor the normal people on their journey to becoming artistic people. Yet I noticed some interesting elements of these mentors. For Paul, one of his three mentors is entirely devoted to marketing him as a product. Considering our recent discussions of the monetary aspect of art, this says a lot. The only one of the above shows not focused on placing its participants in the “real world” trying to find a job with their new-found skills is Dancing with the Stars, and all of the other reality shows also showcase “experts” to tell the participants how to market themselves and their skills. Also, these mentors seem to have an equal function in the shows of letting the audience know when the participants are getting better at their art skills, because the audience members are certainly not expected to be able to tell on their own. I personally did not think Paul’s art was “getting better,” he just seemed to have fallen in some elementary art tricks that he couldn’t get out of. Yet the critics on the show were raving about the meaning in his work, which I guess was supposed to change my mind.

One other thing that bothers me about Paul’s experience as an artist is that he seems to have latched on to painful memories in his past, and the critics are loving this. But what if they had chosen a participant with no traumatic childhood experiences, would they still have something “valuable” to say that the critics would want to listen to? And shouldn’t art speak on its own, without needing the artist to explain what the art means to him? That really bothered me about the supposedly scary critic, who said that Paul’s art became more interesting to him when he understood Paul’s background. I am guessing that Paul will succeed in “Faking It” at the art gallery, partly because this is reality tv about an average guy, and the network knows that audience members at home want to see one of their own succeed in the seemingly-bewildering snobbish art world. Probably one of the critics will dislike his work (see through the façade, if you will), and the other two will buy into it.

Capitalism's Influence on Art

I think the Thomas Kinkade “art” machine and the Art Capital Group business discussed in the New York Times this week are both disgusting movements that exploit art and therefore strip it of everything it is supposed to represent in our world. By seeing art only for its monetary value, they are destroying the other values art intrinsically carries. Their ability to do this arises specifically from the recent obsession with assigning art value—a few hundred years ago, nobody asked “How much is it worth?” when analyzing a piece of art, but rather questions like “What does it mean?” This curiosity has been lost as art has become more of a possession than a thing of inexplicable beauty.

The idea that someone can own a piece of art can be startling. I distinctly remember when I went to see Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel a few years ago. I was very excited to see this renowned piece of art, but was completely taken aback by the signs saying pictures were prohibited, not because the flash would damage the works, but because some company in Japan owned the rights to the Sistine Chapel. How can you own something that was put there for everyone’s enjoyment? This concept reminds me of the lyrics to the Counting Crows song “Big Yellow Taxi” (They took all the trees and put ‘em in a tree museum / And they charged the people a dollar and a half to see them). I feel like trees, just like art, especially art created before these ridiculous modern notions of copyright and possession existed, belong to the public for worldwide enjoyment.

It is absurd of people like the Art Capital Group and Thomas Kinkade (and his corporation) to take advantage of society’s valuing of art, in both an appreciative and lucrative sense, for their own personal gains. I think that the Art Capital Group is the guiltiest culprit, but I also think that if a few years down the road Kinkade was hit by financial burden and tried to get a loan for his works from the Art Capital Group, they would be worthless. His works are to the art world what Harlequinn romance novels are to literature; that is, they are cheap, meaningless, mass-produced works which are designed with the obvious intent to take advantage of a particular consumer niche. Neither of these groups supports the true art world; they are both corrupt capitalist groups adulterating one of the purest human enjoyments to satiate their inexcusable avarice.

Making Art of Waste, or a Waste of Art?

Chris Jordan's exhibit “Running the Numbers” takes statistics that we as people read and cannot comprehend--the 1 million plastic cups used on US airline flights every 6 hours, or the one hundred million trees cut down each year to generate junk mail--and attempts to portray them in a way that the public can grasp. Jordan creates images which literally and metaphorically depict these overwhelming figures. He seems to be hoping that visually seeing the “images representing these statistics” will enable the public to understand the vast consumption all people contribute to daily.

Jordan is obviously fascinated with the wastefulness of Americans, something environmentalists often latch onto, and the public generally seems to ignore. Next to the image of the 2 million plastic bottles used in the US every 5 minutes, a quote from Jordan states, “The immense scale of our consumption can appear desolate, macabre, oddly comical and ironic, and even darkly beautiful; for me the consistent feature is staggering complexity.” Certain pieces in the exhibit may reflect this “darkly beautiful” aspect, particularly ‘Light Bulbs’ (wasted energy in US homes every minute) and ‘Toothpicks’ (representing the trees lost to junk mail), but after a few pieces the viewer begins to wonder if these disturbing facts are something we should celebrate as artwork.

By making our consumption aesthetically pleasing, Jordan is not presenting a social message to his viewers, or bringing about a desire for change. Other artists have succeeded in eliciting social change through artwork, like the Social Realists of the early 20th century who depicted factory workers or families forced to migrate because of the Dust Bowl. These artists did so by showing the austere reality of life, not by attempting to make an ugly truth into an “Intolerable Beauty” (Jordan's name for an earlier exhibit of the same concept). Jordan could easily have tweaked “Running the Numbers” to encourage viewers to adopt more environmental practices, such as recycling, turning off unnecessary household lights, or paying bills online, all practices that would perfectly align with the negative messages in his art pieces. Yet he does not.

Jordan’s exhibit almost obliterates the progress made by environmentalists in recent years in that “Running the Numbers” does not support the notion that one person can make a difference in the big picture of American consumption. The statistics themselves are staggering enough, but when a person can see the two or three plastic bottles they might contribute to the overall accumulation, how can they feel that not using those bottles will make any tangible difference? Add to this sense of desperation the fact that Jordan is presenting multiple areas of excess consumerism, and after a few pictures the audience is almost more desensitized from the statistics than they would be reading them in a book.

Jordan also fails in creating art that means something to its viewers outside of its immediate context. If a person does not read the title and understand the statistic, they just see a large, repetitious image which oftentimes looks like nothing at all. ‘Prison Uniforms’ is the best example of this: from far away the six ten-foot-tall boards just look like brownish-orange columns. Closely scrutinizing may lead a viewer to suppose Jordan has depicted stacks of pennies, or brown hats, but its purpose will be entirely lost. Only when reading that ‘Prison Uniforms’ contains 2.3 million orange prison uniforms, one for every American incarcerated in 2005, will the artwork attain a meaning. These pictures are computer generated, and therefore only estimates, but they are most effective when the viewer can understand what the image is representing without standing .5 inches away from the piece. 'Cell Phones' is not nearly as effective as 'Cell Phones # 2', which shows the phones so that they are recognizable from a distance. There may not be as many actual cell phones in the piece, but the immensity of the pile that is visible to the naked eye, without all the confusing miniscule graphics, strikes much deeper to home because of how realistic it appears. The farther removed from the original statistic the image is the less effective it becomes.

While viewing Jordan’s exhibit can be an interesting experience, it could just as easily be duplicated by visiting his website, http://www.chrisjordan.com/, where he has posted not only the artworks themselves, but zoomed in versions that are not accessible in the exhibit. The website is almost more effective than the exhibit because there the viewer can fully appreciate Jordan’s Photoshop-esque techniques. Jordan’s only tangible contribution to the art world is a half hour of interesting conversation, and possibly some pictures in future social studies books that demonstrate for students the American consumerism of the 21st century.

Week Four: Kant's Explanation of the Beautiful

Kant’s statement that “if we judge objects merely according to concepts, then all representation of beauty is lost” (106) in the Second Moment connects back to his assertion in the First Moment where he says, “In order to find anything good, I must always know what sort of a thing this object ought to be, i.e. I must have a concept of it. But there is no need of this to find a thing beautiful” (100). So, objects can be beautiful without understanding their concept; however, without understanding the concept of an object, the viewer cannot know the purpose or purposiveness of that object (whether it is “good for something” or “good in itself”), so the viewer cannot be sure of their interest or disinterestedness, meaning they cannot truly say if the object is beautiful because they cannot tell why they find it beautiful. Kant is talking himself in crazy philosophical circles!!!

I think the key word to understanding Kant’s statement is representation—he does not say that beauty is lost; he says the representation of beauty is lost. What does that mean? Kant earlier says that “The pleasant, the beautiful, and the good designate then three different relations of representations to the feeling of pleasure and pain, in reference to which we distinguish from one another objects or methods of representing them” (102). I think Kant sees the representation of beauty as kind of an avenue to understanding it, not as a “representation” in our sense. So perhaps he is saying that if people try to understand something beautiful by breaking it down into its objective components, or concepts based on “logical judgment”, then we cannot possibly find the true meaning because we lose the avenue to understanding subjective beauty. Something that is truly beautiful is universally beautiful regardless of the concepts behind it and should be appreciated for what it is on its own. I think Kant might believe that analyzing the intended meaning of a piece of art, like Freeland's second prong (content) of the three pronged-analysis, is pointless in appreciating its beauty.

Week Three: Of the Standard of Taste

David Hume’s Of the Standard of Taste raises some very accurate points about how different people can have various opinions about the beauty or taste of an artwork. He maintains that there is a single correct opinion, however, and one can only attain that proper view of art by practicing, viewing, and having vast stores of knowledge about art. His anecdotal comparison of art critics with the wine tasters who could discern the lead and leather tastes from a key on a leather thong at the bottom of a barrel of wine seems very accurate, but I do not think it is fair to denounce all other people who could not perceive those distinct tastes as being completely ignorant of art.

In my interpretation of Hume’s theory, taste is not something an object inherently has or does not have; taste is something that a person must gain an understanding of. For instance, when Hume talks about a person whose prejudice perverts their interpretation of art, he says, “his taste evidently departs from the true standard” (86). To me, this means that each person has a degree of taste for understanding art, and therefore when looking at pieces such as those on Professor Andersen’s blog this week, we cannot determine if those pieces are tasteful, but only can tell if we have acquired the degree of taste necessary to praise or reject these artworks. And since apparently there are so few critics who truly understand the nature of taste, I believe, according to Hume, it would be impossible for me to have a justified opinion about any artworks because surely I do not understand the true nature of taste and beauty.

According to my own (apparently faulty and tasteless) judgment, I would say that neither of these two pictures is tasteful, because something about them is jarring to the viewers. I cannot pinpoint what does not work—the man has a creepy expression and the colors are washed out, and the monkey seems like he is mocking all people who have ever had serious portraits painted. Yet I cannot say for sure, because I am like the mob of wine drinkers who could not discern the leather or lead.

Week Two: Paradigms and Purposes

Frankly, I found the second chapter of Freeland's book hard to follow because of its meandering discussions that were never concretely tied together. That being said, I was interested to read about Andy Warhol and his Brillo Boxes. I have little background knowledge on the pop art movement but find myself drawn to it because of the complex issues involved in describing such pieces as 'art.' I do not necessarily agree that works like Brillo Boxes become art when/if they are "accepted by museum and gallery directors and purchased by art collectors" (Freeman 55). This seems to suggest that art is only valuable to our society because of its monetary potential, not because it represents a deeper meaning.

In one of my other classes we were discussing Marcel Duchamp's Fountain, which is essentially a urinal turned on its side and glued down. I was struck by the similarities between The Fountain and Brillo Boxes, even though the former was made in 1917 and the latter in 1964. Obviously Warhol was not the first to claim ordinary objects could be viewed as art. I think both of these pieces hearken back to what Freeland described in chapter 1 as ‘disinterestedness’ or ‘purposiveness without a purpose’ in that the boxes or the urinal would be ordinary objects if they were used as such. However, since they are not being used and are being displayed in a (somehow) meaningful manner, they transcend the distance between artifact and art.

Freeman's discussion of the philosopher Arthur Danto's reaction to Warhol's Brillo Boxes does raise some interesting points about how art today differs greatly from art in Ancient Greece or even the more recent Romantic era; in neither of these times would Warhol or Duchamp have been able to pass their works off as art. Yet this connects to last week's discussion about our art tastes having evolutionary roots: we have evolved, and therefore art has had to evolve as well. In order for art to stimulate our minds and inspire us, artists needed to find new things to depict in art--no one would be interested in art if we were still sculpting statues the same way they did 2500 years ago. Therefore, I think the art community should be more accepting of such bizarre pieces.

Week One: Evolutionary Art

After reading Richard Conniff's article "The Natural History of Art" I found myself considering art in a way I never had before. It's true that the things in this world I find most beautiful are natural landscape settings. However, I prefer mountainous scenes, preferably mountains I've climbed, to calm, secure, habitable settings that Conniff describes as evolutionarily safe and therefore desirable for humans to view as art.

I started thinking that if I were to accept this theory about the history of art, I would like to believe that we have evolved since our ancestors lived in the African savannah and preferred open lands and water sources in view from their habitats. Maybe this is me supporting Conniff's assertion that his claim is "an affront to our idea of what it means to be human" (96), but I would imagine that if our technology, social and language skills, and lifestyles have evolved over a few thousand years, maybe our art tastes have evolved too. If humans truly only appreciated art because our DNA is coded to determine what we find beautiful, then movements like cubism should have died off quickly, because those paintings definitely do not depict a habitable African landscape.

I found the section about natural fears in humans very interesting, that we fear snakes or spiders much more than guns or electrical wires simply because of our evolutionary instincts, even though we know that the latter two are more dangerous in our everyday lives. But I'm still not convinced that this is evidence for the art-encoded-in-DNA argument.

One of the main issues I had with this article, beyond my own skepticism, was the way Conniff tried to argue that the reason humans love art or situations we see that scare us, such as Shark Week on Discovery channel, horror movies, or even other people’s car wrecks, is because of our evolutionary desire to prepare against danger. If we watch Shark Week, we know what we should do in the highly unlikely event of a shark attack: kick it in the face (I think…). However, I cannot see an evolutionary equivalent to this: did humans go seek out dangerous situations on the African savannah in order to prepare themselves, after spending all that time and effort finding a safe, beautiful place with water and a view? I highly doubt that humans would have gone to watch lions feed or stampedes occur just so they would be prepared, just in case. I feel like this portion of Conniff’s argument was contradictory to his earlier argumentative points, which at least made sense to me, and thus negated all of the positive strides he had made in convincing me that we find art beautiful because of our evolutionary instincts.