Art & Perception

I wrote this satire months ago but never posted it. I was worried about antagonizing some people in a way that could harm my future prospects in the art world. But today Edward Winkleman and Art News Blog both raise the question, “What is Art?” in different ways. I thought, what the heck…

What is Art?

In our time, the answer to this question is under the control of the art elite. The answer to the question is simple:

“Art” is x,

where x is a variable. The value of x is approximately “something that an ordinary person could never understand.”

The reason that x is a variable, and not a constant, is because its value must continually change. If ordinary people begin to understand what x is, then the value must change, so that they do not understand what x is. The reason for this is simple also: If people understood what x was, then they could answer the question “What is Art?” themselves, and there would be no need for the art elite. Thus, the art elite must continually change x, as a matter of survival.

Even though ordinary people cannot understand art (by definition), they can still see it. True, the art elite has developed a form of art called “conceptual art”, but even this is given a physical manifestation. The art elite has not yet, to my knowledge, succeeded in selling tickets to an empty museum.

To continue, ordinary people can see art. But what they see puzzles them, and often they do not like it. In general people are content with things they do not understand, if they like them. They may even be tempted to think they understand the thing that they like. In order to prevent this presumption, the art elite has found it necessary to further refine the definition of Art. Thus,

“Art” is x,

where x is something an ordinary person could never understand, and also something that an ordinary person does not like.

It is clear that the interests of the art elite do not coincide with those of the ordinary person. An ordinary person would like to be able to go to a gallery or a modern art museum and see something he or she likes, and perhaps even understands. The art elite must not allow this to happen.

How can we escape the power of the art elite? It might seem like a good idea to abolish the word “art” altogether. Consider the following situation: you are in a modern art museum, and a member of the art elite points to a pile of plastic dog shit on the floor and says, in a reverent tone, “This is Art.” If we abolished the word “art”, then the sentence would be reduced to “This is . . .” The member of the art elite would be left with an embarrassing silence. And what would be left except a plastic pile of dog shit?

To abolish the word “art” would throw the art elite off balance, but it would not take away their power. The reason is that “art” is only a word, and abolishing the word does not abolish the concept it refers to. It would only take a short time for the art elite to confer and settle upon a new word or symbol (perhaps even x) to refer to the same meaning (or lack of meaning) that the word “art” used to refer to. And we would be no better off than before, except that we would have x museums instead of art museums.

The best way to deal with the art elite is to attack the very source of their power, the control over the question, “What is art?” The way to do this is to make a new definition:

“Art is what [fill in your name here] likes to look at.”

This might seem too simple to be useful. But please, take a moment to think of the implications.

Here is a drawing of witte aalbessen that Hanneke van Oosterhout made this June (click the images to enlarge). The same day she transferred the drawing to a panel using tracing paper. Then she made an underpainting with acrylic.

The next day she over-painted all the berries with oil paint, a tiring day’s work. Why did she paint them all in one day? “Yes, the berries go away quickly,” says Hanneke. She wanted to capture the fresh, ripe quality of the fruit before the berries dried.

Some weeks later she over-painted the cup and the background in about half a day, again with oils. The result is shown here.

A detail shows the spontaneous but refined brushwork used to paint the berries — the shiny transparent skin and translucent interior. “That is the magic of these white berries, that you can look inside,” says Hanneke. “That’s why I worked so hard to paint them when they were fresh.” On the panel each berry is about 7 mm wide.

Two and a half days work is fast for a detailed painting like this. But is the picture in finished? You decide.

This by definition must be done over some type of underpainting, in a system of working in layers. If the underpainting is like a base rhythm in music, then the overpainting is like the solo. The underpainting gives a context in which the paint-strokes of the overpainting become more resonant and powerful. When properly done, overpainting does not need to completely obscure the underpainting. It is precisely the interaction of the two that gives the most interesting effects.

Underpainting gets its name because it is painting that is intended to be painted over in a system of working in layers. There is a popular misconception that underpainting should be monochrome, perhaps in gray-scales. In fact, a multi-color underpainting is much more useful. The colors of the underpainting can be optically mingled with the subsequent overpainting, without the danger of the colors physically blending and becoming muddy. If underpainting is done properly, it facilitates overpainting. If it seems that one has to fight to obscure the underpainting, it is a sign that it was not done properly.

Here is an example of an underpainting made in acrylic, by Hanneke van Oosterhout. It is fairly monochrome, but this is because of the muted colors of the objects depicted.

Drawing can be done directly on a painting surface, but working on paper, and then transferring has advantages. Most obvious is that one can make many drawings and then select the best to transfer to a clean white canvas or panel. Another advantage is that drawing allows for experimentation with picture dimensions, before committing to a particular painting surface.

To transfer a drawing, without enlarging or reducing the size, tracing paper is useful. Tracing paper goes back at least to the 14th century (Cennino Cennini describes three techniques for making it). After the drawing is traced to the paper, it can be transferred to the painting surface in different ways. One is to rub the back of the tracing paper with charcoal, position the paper on a white grounded panel, then go over the lines with a hard pencil or stylus. This is the original carbon paper. Another technique is to prick holes in the tracing paper and then use a pouncing bag with charcoal dust to bring the design onto the painting surface. This is better for canvases, because it does not require the strong local pressure of using a pencil or stylus. Furthermore, it is easy to make a transfer, wipe of the charcoal dust, and make another, to experiment with different positioning of the design on the canvas.

Once the drawing is transferred (either in charcoal lines or dots), it must be fixed, using black ink or paint. Once this is done, the charcoal can be removed, and the drawing developed further before underpainting.

For a painting that develops over several days, it is helpful to work with explicit painting layers. The first layer may be an underdrawing. Then comes an underpainting, and finally, an overpainting. I like to think of the underpainting as a base-rhythm in music, and the over-painting as a solo played over this.

Painting and making sculpture are today considered as separate pursuits with little interaction between the two. Historically, sculpture and painting had important influences on each other. Below Lorenzo Ghiberti (in his Commentaries) describes some of his contribution to this process:

Also by making sketches in wax and clay for painters, sculptors, and stone carvers and by making designs of many things for painters, I have helped many of them to achieve the greatest honors for their works.

These “sketches” in wax and clay were presumably small figure models. For the painter, they would provide life-like models with the patience of a still-life.
For my current painting projects I have been making figure “sketches” in both clay and wax, and I have been amazed at how helpful these are. Lately I have been using wax more than clay, because wax is more stable than unfired clay. Firing the clay produces a strong model, of course, but it then cannot be changed easily.

[This topic thread moved to The Homunculus]