Tuesday, March 2, 2010

How Art Fits, and Why it Moves: Critical Theory One Readings and My Wo


Art is not static; it is alive. Constantly moving, it is ever changing and evolving, and always open to new interpretations. Often times, an artist’s intent when making a piece is not how it comes through in the end, and can be even further transformed as more time passes. What an artistic movement meant at the time of its inception is not always what it is long remembered by, and the collective consciousness that stores the memories of these movements are largely skewed by the time in which it lives. In short, we view all periods in art history through lenses hugely colored by our contemporary world[1].

In her book, Believing is Seeing, Mary Anne Staniszewski addresses the idea of what art actually is; of what it means to refer to something as “art”. She asserts that anything that came before the latter part of the 19th century could hardly be considered art, citing the artists’ motivations behind creating the individual pieces as evidence of what makes art.

Staniszewski claims “’Art’ is an invention of the modern era… a relatively recent phenomenon…something made to be seen in galleries, preserved in museums, purchased by collectors, and reproduced within the mass media.”(Staniszewski, 28). Claiming that the largely commissioned works of pre-modern artists did not come from an inherently intrinsic place, that they could not, in fact, be considered art. To be art, by her definition, a piece must be from within the artist, from conception all the way through execution of an idea.

Staniszewski’s concepts have been rolling through my head all semester while I have been making work. What is art, why do we call it art, and how do we, as a culture, go about attaching definitions to what is or is not art? In truth, there is no constant. Staniszewski claims, “everything in life is shaped and defined by its various institutions. Institutions set up the boundaries and conventions of things,”(28). Not just literal institutions, like the museum or gallery, but institutions of thought. These cultural constructs are what help us to identify and define; to attach meaning and value to some things over others.

These institutions change over time, though, and are reborn to fit in the contemporary context in which they live. An assessment/interpretation of a period gone by will always change and be redefined by coming generations, reinterpreted and repackaged into something more consumable by the contemporary context in which it lives. Much of what is happening at a given time is being fed, consciously or not, by what has come before it.[2]

This process doesn’t just happen on a grand scale, however. It also takes place within every artist who creates work over a period of time. In my work, I have found it happening more and more. It is becoming more pronounced to me now as I am seeing the same subject matter, that of Winthrop Beach, beginning to look very different in my work than it once did. The work I am creating has slowly been evolving on its own without my direct knowledge. Even at this early stage in the semester I am seeing things differently, and understanding that I am reacting very differently to the same subject matter. I cannot pinpoint exactly when this shift began, but it is well underway.

This process becomes cyclical, however. The new thoughts and ideas of a generation help to shape how the past is viewed, and how the past is viewed, in turn, helps to shape the thoughts and ideas of a generation. It kind of goes without saying that this would happen, but sometimes the process is so naturally a part of our lives, and happens so subtly, that it occurs unnoticed.

This is not to say that the situation is all or nothing, however. As often as things change, evolve and grow right under our noses without us even realizing it, there is also the part of us that is still striving for change. Sometimes change is pointed, powerful and fully self-aware. Many artists have set out to change the landscape of the art world, and succeeded in very intentional ways.

The Happenings, in many ways, were an accurate representation of the landscape of the art world at that time. They were reactionary, ever changing and impermanent. Never lasting longer than it took them to actually happen, they came to exist only in the memory and lore of those who had in someway been involved with them (Kaprow, 60).

This speaks as an allegory for art on the whole. In its most literal sense, when a piece of art is viewed by a person, that person takes something in using all of the appropriate senses. When that piece of art is no longer in view, that person is left with only the memory and impression of that piece. The piece then ceases to be the literal physical piece of art that was originally viewed, and becomes something else entirely, existing only and uniquely in the mind of the viewer. The happenings, as Kaprow discusses, does this in a slightly different way than was traditional.

Instead of a physical piece, or even a more traditional performance piece, the art that was being viewed was an interactive event. A moment in time that could never be exactly the same twice, conditional on the time, space and people who so happened to be there at the time of its creation and execution. The Happenings, in a way, cut out the middleman, no more static piece to be viewed, but rather a living organism that existed only for a fleeting moment and different to every person.

The concept of a fleeting sort of experience was certainly not limited to the Happenings, as vaguely suggested by Kaprow, but rather this concept is central to all art. Any piece is a moment in time, extracted from its context and reassembled by the artist into an aesthetic experience. This concept seems particularly important in photography however, and intrigues me within my own work[3].

The subject matter I am focusing on is an ever-changing landscape. The differences are both subtle and profound, but the beach is never the same twice. Even when it appears to be similar, it is always in flux. How my own eye sees and tracks some of these changes creates a personal record of the time I’ve spent there documenting it, and comments on the space itself. It is a strange space that causes questions of what space actually means to be asked, and in a rather roundabout way relates to Linda Nochlin’s Article Why Have there Been No Great Women Artists?

Though I am not a woman artist, Nochlin’s article struck a chord with me. Men cannot claim to know what it is like to be a woman in a society so driven by men, and can only attempt to understand and empathize. Nochlin’s discussion as to where women have traditionally and contemporarily fit into art, mostly as subjects and much less frequently as artists, raised some interesting ideas that again speak to art in general, and how art fits in the world (Nochlin, 176).

In my work, I am exploring the concepts of beauty and space, how we view them and why. The larger implication is how and why we fit into the world. Where do we find physical spaces to be, along with the less tangible places to feel that we belong, and what are the implications of such spaces? Nochlin’s article raises the question not just about how women fit into the art world, but how any artist, regardless of gender, fits into the world in general.

Over time, the position of the artist has changed so much, that it is very open to interpretation in the current art world. In many ways, if you can justify it, you can do it. Like the process-oriented artists of the late 60’s and early 70’s, the definition of where art fits in the world, and in our lives is constantly being challenged. Like Smithson and Holt trying to break the bounds of Cultural Confinement, the artist is now invited, even expected, to step outside the bounds of what is normal or accepted (Smithson, 248).

This semesters readings were certainly an eclectic lot, and offered far too much to comment on in one single paper. There were many themes that I felt resonated with my work, and many more that may not come into focus for quite some time. Being at this fledgling point in what promises to be a long and productive journey it is hard to plot a path, but for sure there is one ahead to be found.



[1] Contemporary is an interesting and funny term; fleeting and impermanent, it refers not only to the current period that it inherently references, but also existing as a ubiquitous notion that we understand to transcend one single period. It can be applied to the most current incarnation of any movement.

[2] This idea of reoccurring moments in time and history to which artists, and people in general, tend to gravitate is the central theme of Geoff Dyer’s book, The Ongoing Moment, which I am currently reading. Themes to which we are drawn, but whose meanings subtly change over generations, and that help to both separate and link the past and the present.

[3] Photography is an art form that can be more deceptive than many others. While a painting, for example, is clearly an artists rendering of a subject (no matter how life-like it may be), photography has some pretenses of “Truth”. The fact that a photograph is created by the light bouncing off a physical subject and being recorded by a sensitive surface (or digital sensor) still fools many into believing it is actually a literal record of a given scene. This, in many ways makes it one of the least truthful art forms, hiding its lies behind an artifice of truth.