The first thing that needs to be said is that it’s not a
war. It’s not a war between all of us
and art. The winner is not the one who reveals
that most art is bullshit. And I don’t
mean art like I might mean but I mean art like popular art, popular
culture. Made-up stuff that you partake
of for enjoyment’s sake, but more relevant to this article, you also partake of
for communion with humanity. We receive
thoughts and ideas and images and sounds put together by people we’ll never
meet. We don’t want to admit it, but we
come to know these artists, at least a little.
We come to know them as people, in the best cases enough to get us
coming back for more.
Because art is sacred, because art (especially good art) is
where we shift our gaze away from self-fascination, even for only an hour, and
become a kind of brain-thing floating there experiencing someone else’s
poetically posed (no matter how crude) feelings about the world. Some art is dangerous in the wrong hands. Some
art seeks to be dangerous to anyone.
Some art is worse than no art at all.
We know our own feelings very well, so this radio for other
people’s thoughts (I’d call them dreams, but that would be a few shades too
woo-woo) we have in the air and through our heads is very valuable; it offers us humility and nobility. Art, I would go so far as to say, is the one
unalienable great thing about mankind.
Everything else has an asterisk next to it. All the other things we might credit this
species with are unavoidably dubious achievements. I understand how our ability think lead to
our ability to subjugate cows which led to making our lives easier and getting
a leg up was arguably justifiable back home in the Fertile Crescent, but it
doesn’t make much sense for the man or the cow these days. Big asterisk next to “Humans are clever.”
But art is so poignant, even degenerate art, even Death Wish
3. Art is humanity at it’s most
likeable. Art is humanity not acting
like such a realist. (Those who would not allow something as thoughtlessly made
as Death Wish 3 as art need to tell me how a goddamn picture of a cow with six
legs on some cave wall in France is.
As corrupt, as ugly, as sloppy as Death Wish 3 is, it’s still a story,
and if a story isn’t art than nothing is. )
The second thing that needs to be said is that being
generous towards art does not equal being stupid. Sometimes you’re wasting your time, other
times you’re not trying hard enough. The
life of the mind cannot be left as an overgrown lawn, or dire things will
reveal themselves. Cynicism is no more a
failsafe attitude than sentiment. Since
my generation has come vaguely of age, we’ve exhibited the tendency towards
equating darkness with honesty, and sentimentality with lies. We may have good reason for this, but we need
to be sure we don’t lose the meaning of those words to begin with. Cynical means all this stuff can’t quite be
trusted, even the beautiful stuff.
Sentimentality is being overcome by the beautiful stuff, which is also a
thing to be tried. There is something
insidious and also something beautiful being celebrated in that Norman Rockwell
thanksgiving shot. Sentimentality has
its uses and it’s truths, just like his sulky half-brother over there on the
other side of the scale. Neither is ever
the whole story, and both are probably more powerful forces over us than those
old tropes good and evil.
So looping back to the intro, it’s not a war. Your job when you go into the movie theater
is not to prove you are smarter than the movie.
Or the album, or the painting, or the book. (I’m mostly a deep-diver on movies and
rock-and-roll so far in this life, and I
may as well declare before we proceed.)
With those things, its really nice that they exist at all, as life is
hard. Imagine if we didn’t have art, and this was all just a howling vortex and
you couldn’t save yourself with Blazing Saddles or the like. So enjoy this
stuff all you can, use the best part of you for it, the part you keep under
felt. And take the felt off, because even Death Wish 3 is a more preferable
experience than going through the middle stages of a broken heart or paying off
a large bill. Or even shivering in a
cave, picking your teeth.
Moving on: If something is not as good as you want it to be,
that does not mean it is awful. To be
slightly disappointed by something is not to be betrayed. Slight disappointment
isn’t even worth talking about. It’s
just a kind of a shrug thing, at worst.
On the other hand, something that is really pretty damn good but not as
good as something else still has a lot of value in a world full of stuff that
isn’t any damn good at all. This is not
unimportant. This is important. This is about enjoying your goddamn life, not
going around everywhere in a huff. The
very fabric of life implores us to toss out our ideas of perfection. Perfection is the ultimate goal of a species
that feels it is pretty close to perfection to begin with. Let’s walk that back
a bit, gang. Ideas of perfection are a
distraction from the realities of even the finest lifetime. But life around us is clear: Perfect isn’t
really that comforting a standard. The
closer to perfect we actually get, the more creeped out we are, anyway. (People get uncomfortable talking about The
Beatles sometimes. Their existence
defies the nature of reality. )
Actual life at it’s best is raggedly glorious, “almost-there”
in terms of meaning, and best to be experienced and enjoyed on both
intellectual and sensual levels, if we can.
As Bluto Blutarski said, “It don’t cost nothin’.”
Therefore, I use my second amendments rights in their least
controversial way, and I shall declare it that we as an audience (of our own
art) have lost our innocence in a way that makes me think we don’t realize how
important art is to us in the first place.
As the ship goes down, I have no doubt the collected works of man will
warm us more than all the confirmed knowledge in the world. Furthermore, Art from someone with past work
you have enjoyed should be received as a gift from a friend, in a way. Treated with at least a little respect and,
if not that, manners.
The point here is not to look on the sunny side. If something sucks, it sucks. If it’s made without any care or passion, you
feel like you’ve been stood up and damn right it sucks. But if there’s care and passion present,
patience on the viewer’s part sometimes pays off in a kind of mini trance of
heightened information, the rapture of discovering that some artist went to
work and did it his own way and it turned out great. Some of these things take a little work. Some things need to be met halfway. This is not a flaw in their design. This is their design. They are expressing what they are going to
express sometimes in a hush, but hushed words are usually worth hearing.
Some things are made up of a million tiny pieces, and if you
watch with eyes that have been used to watching things made up of about six big
chunks, you will surely have your antennae all jacked-up. Some art reveals itself to you if you are
patient. It is simply the way some art
works, and these things you enjoy are art whether you like it or not. And
often, the more eccentric works payoff in bigger dividends if you can hang,
bigger dividends than the stuff you can watch and write about at the same
time.
Now I want to talk about True Detective, Season Two.
I suppose the first thing I should say is that I am not at war with art.
ReplyDeleteI am no more at war with art than a doctor is at war with his patients. Or a mechanic is at war with cars. I am drawn to art for the same reason a doctor is drawn to the human body, or a mechanic is drawn to automobiles: I am awed by the beauty and complexity of its workings. I am enthralled by the things it can do. And in the work that I do (criticism), I am driven by similar motivations, i.e. a genuine and compassionate desire to contribute to its health, vitality, and performance. One could never become or function as a good critic by taking an adversarial stance against art.
But, in this respect, one can only be so generous, so patient, so tolerant. A mechanic often has to dismantle a thing of beauty to comprehend its workings. If there is a flaw, he must be unforgiving in his search, and bluntly honest with the car’s owner about any repairs and improvements that need to be made. A Rolls-Royce is a marvel to behold, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, but if had a busted fan belt, and you brought it to your mechanic, and his assessment was, “You know, we should really just be grateful that a car of this quality exists. I see no need to address the problem,” you would get a new mechanic.
Any doctor worth anything has to deliver diagnoses, advice, and criticisms to his patients, even – and sometimes, especially – if they don’t want to hear it. He often has to put them through painful procedures, demand an adherence to difficult regimens, suggest challenging adjustments to their lifestyles, but all in the name of their well-being. And it’s always theirs to take or leave. But if my doctor told me that my drinking too much was causing my liver to fail, I wouldn’t accuse him of attacking me, or assume that his relationship to me was oppositional. Even if he was the worst kind of Jed Hill/Gregory House-type arrogant asshole, there is the fundamental understanding that he’s there to help.
Now, before you say it, because I can hear you thinking it: Taking this position is not a presumption of greater intelligence. Nobel Prize winning physicists, brilliant chess masters, and ingenious inventors and innovators all need doctors and mechanics, relying on their knowledge and experience, despite their own comparatively "greater" intelligence. Even the best and brightest doctors need other, potentially “less intelligent,” doctors because most are almost entirely incapable of assessing and treating their own personal medical situation objectively. Despite their expertise, their vision is clouded by their personal investment.
ReplyDeleteAs I have said, I’ve been studying aesthetics – with a special focus on film, drama, and writing – for 25 years, both inside and outside of academic institutions. Am I “smarter” than David Fincher…? I very much doubt it. I wouldn’t even be so presumptuous to say I’m smarter than Quentin Tarantino. But my years of study and acquired expertise has provided me with an insight and an understanding of how their films work and, sometimes more importantly, when, where, and why they don’t.
You’re right that, “Some things are made up of a million tiny pieces… Some art reveals itself to you if you are patient. It is simply the way some art works, and these things you enjoy are art whether you like it or not. And often, the more eccentric works payoff in bigger dividends…” You’re right that, “Some of these things take a little work. Some things need to be met halfway. This is not a flaw in their design. This is their design. They are expressing what they are going to express sometimes in a hush, but hushed words are usually worth hearing.”
As a critic - as someone who has spent my life studying and learning about art - it’s my job to know this and be constantly attuned to it. Does my experience and expertise make me infallible? Not by a long shot. Have I occasionally missed the boat and realized that something I dismissed actually had tremendous value? Sure. Doctors also misdiagnose, slip up during surgeries, and dismiss patients in dire need of medical help. Mechanics often fix one thing only to damage another. Nobody bats 1000. No one would consider that a compelling reason to abandon medical science and perform their own surgeries. Or dismantle a Maserati absent any understanding of automotive engineering.
Actually some probably would, but we know what usually becomes of them…
The advantage to criticism is that, unlike medicine or car repair, I work purely in the abstract. Nothing I say can damage a film. Nor can anything I say improve it. It remains the same regardless of anything I observe, understand, or criticize within it. If I have an effect on anyone or anything, I have an effect on others in the audience, be they casual observers or schooled aesthetes. Perhaps, in rarer cases, I may have an effect on present or future artists, who might consider my observations in the creation of their own art. In the best case scenario, I might have an effect on the overall cultural conversation about art in general and, by extension, on the broader state of art, itself.
ReplyDeleteBut, ultimately, if I provide a single reader with a better understanding of art and artistry, either through the praise or the criticism of a work I’ve encountered, I’ve done my job.
Which brings me to my next point…
The above analogies might make it sound like I imagine myself, in my criticism, to be in conversation with the artists who created whatever work I am analyzing. I labor under no such illusions.
When I approach a work of art, my relationship is to the work of art. I open myself to it, engage with it, seek to understand it, examine its structure, its strategies, its nature, its essence, its meaning. But when I then turn to write about it, to discuss it, to criticize it, my relationship ceases to be to the work of art, or even the artist. At that point, I am engaging with my readership (though, currently, “readership” is probably too grandiose a word… It’s more like a reader canoe… Or a reader kayak…). Overextending the medical metaphor, I’m the doctor presenting case studies to his students.
I have never believed that the nature and purpose of criticism was to tell people what they will like or won’t like. Or even what they should or shouldn’t see. I try to present some of a work of art’s complexities, diagram its systems, offer a more detailed understanding and profound appreciation of how its “million tiny pieces” come together to create the whole. I try to explain how certain systemic flaws – sometimes even very small ones – can adversely affect the larger whole. As someone who is awed and inspired by the complexity of a work of art, I seek to impart that awe to anyone who cares to share in it. And as someone who cares for and is concerned about the overall well-being of art in general, I caution them that, in being too carried away by our awe of artistry, we can find ourselves ignoring or forgiving flaws in a way that allows them to have a damaging impact on the larger cultural landscape.
Which is not say (because, again, I can hear you thinking it) that my approach to art is solely intellectual or wholly impersonal. A doctor may genuinely like his patient, he may find them annoying, he may find them attractive, he may loathe them. And that’s entirely appropriate. But you don’t tell a guy that you dislike that he’s sick just because you dislike him. Nor do you give a cancer patient a clean bill of health because he’s a super-nice guy. (Some works can be created with care and passion and still be terrible.) This is why I always say that it’s possible to love a bad film and hate a great one. Your subjective experience of something shouldn’t cloud your objective assessment of it.
ReplyDeleteThat said, the fact that I analyze a work of art while I engage with it does not keep me from being thoroughly involved with – even swept away by – its dramatic/narrative/emotional content. In fact, all those formal strategies I dissect and discuss exist in service of, and in relation to, those types of audience responses. And I try to relate my personal, subjective, visceral, and emotional experience of a work of art when I write about it. But, at the end you don’t need a critic to tell you how a work of art makes you feel. You ought to be able to know that for yourself. What a good critic can do is help you understand WHY you feel that way (if that’s something you care to know).
You’re right that, “if something is not as good as you want it to be, that does not mean it is awful.” And sometimes it can be really frustrating – even infuriating – to be confronted with a work that is almost, but not quite sublime, undone by a single flaw. (I think of doctors gritting their teeth over the pack-a-day smoker who is, otherwise, in perfect health…) It can be hard not to let that flaw draw too much of your attention. And sometimes the most difficult works to describe can be the ones that are neither incredibly well done nor appallingly poor, but those that are just blandly mediocre. When you are enraptured by art’s potential, mediocrity can seem like a galling offense. And that’s something to be careful of.
But I don’t think art is sacred. What is sacred is inviolable. Untouchable. Divine. And art is the work of human hands. That is part of what makes it such an awesome achievement. But like all other things made by human hands it is vulnerable to mistakes, mishandling, and misuse.
ReplyDeleteIn the post-modern (or post-post-modern) cultural landscape, I see art increasingly subsumed by narcissism, greed, commodification, and commercialization. I see artist’s prioritize profit and popular appeal over innovation, exploration, and sincere expression. I don’t believe every work of art should be treated as gift, any more than every package that shows up on your doorstep should be. Some packages will be bombs. Others, as you say, will be full of shit. I don’t believe in treating art as anything, or expecting it to be anything. I believe in allowing it to be whatever it is and then calling it as I see it. If it’s a gift, I will be the first to celebrate its value. If it’s a bomb, I will do my best to defuse and dispose of it. And if it’s full of shit, I will expose it for all the world to see.
In that respect, I might be at war, but I am not at war with art. I am at war for it.
Yancy's argument here is the equivalent of saying "I know everything about haute couture because I shop at Dress Barn." He doesn't know anything about (or is afraid of?) real art so he makes an apples to oranges comparison to make an easy-to-follow trash movie the winner over a cave painting of man expressing his surroundings. Tell you what, go to a museum, read up on art history and theory and then write another essay on "art" where you can convince people that you know what the hell your talking about.
ReplyDeleteYikes! That was a pretty good takedown.
DeleteI will fully admit that, while all art fascinates me, pop cultural art of the 20th century is my beat. If that renders my opinion invalid, so be it. But if you're we're talking about movie art, I do know my fair share, and this article was more about "all or nothing" criticism, which I think is a topic worth talking about since it is so prevalent.
DeleteAlso: I wasn't really saying Death Wish 3 was better or worse than a cave painting. What I was trying to get across is that Death Wish 3 is an expression of man reacting to his surroundings (however depressingly) just as surely as the six-legged cow is.
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