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.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
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.
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.
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