just art

What art expresses, first of all, is self-regard, and it applies to cultures and to individuals. In modern times artwork is an amalgam of craft and vision, and just its making, regardless of content, demonstrates the dedication and commitment of a serious person. The viewer who admires the art for its effort and accomplishment is taking them self seriously, as well. Somehow in this exchange viewer and artist acknowledge each other, although they’re separated by time – a message sent and received, both directions. That’s good enough – it’s what’s needed. Art doesn’t sell anything, not even itself, and that’s a reason to buy it. Sometimes it’s just good to get a friendly nod as you’re heading out the door – we’re all in this together.

the one thing

Computers can do everything better than we can, except for one thing. Computers can’t make art. Computers can make stuff that looks like art, but it isn’t the same. Thirty two thousand years ago somebody made pictures of the animals in their world deep in a cave. Somehow we moderns can look at the marks they made and recognize animals that no longer exist in Europe, animals that have been extinct for tens of thousands.

In the art they made to represent the world, they revealed themselves, and, as it turns out, made a statement that stands for us all. Wouldn’t phase a computer – its gut and heart wouldn’t feel a wave of deep nostalgia for such an eloquent expression of awareness from so far beyond our earliest recollections. A computer would have no clue why people stand in line to see Van Gogh, and be at a total loss to explain why they go back. Smarter, faster, harder to kill they may be, but they don’t know our history on this planet as carried in our genes, and they can’t create images which resonate in human consciousness. Only art and artists can do that.

real estate adventures –

heard this amusing story about a house showing where the owners have to be gone, and the real estate agent tells them later the clients didn’t want to buy their house, but, based on the art hanging on the walls, did say they’d like to be friends.

looking at the man in the mirror

The ethic of post-atomic American culture has been a savage commercialism lowering and leveling our expectations of ourselves, as reflected in our art. Does an old movie magazine photo of Marilyn Monroe, proclaimed as art by Andy Warhol, really reflect our inner being? Maybe. On the other hand, the whole art enterprise bears the earmarks of a winking-nodding conspiracy of cruising sharks. Does the entire tawdry matchstick castle have to crumble before people begin to shake off the corruption of our taste, the evasion of taxes to stock museums -- more winking and nodding, the unquestioning support of vast teaching operations leading to no visible means of support? Maybe not.

wrong orifice

Vision takes up half the brain and auditory just a corner. Words go in through the ear, and even when we read with our eyes the information processes through language decoders in our ears – we “listen” to the written word. Much called art, these days, goes in that way too, and it’s the wrong orifice.

proof

I’ve read where art students were right most of the time when trying to decide if the art in front of them was made by a professional artist or by a farm animal/small child. This “research” was cited as irrefutable proof that abstract art is – what? Are we really having this conversation? Is this serious or is it a joke, and could it be either, since we’re only talking about art? What this research actually reveals is something about the expectations of the researchers and the respect they feel for making art.

art and tears

Ever see a piece of art that made you cry? It’s a quaint idea. An artist can make you cry when they touch a place so far down tears seem to come for no reason. It’s not unlike putting your finger in the back of your throat and making yourself gag, an automatic reflex. It’s happened to me twice I can think of – once in front of a Picasso in the LA county museum, and once in front of a Van Gogh in Amsterdam. Didn’t feel sad, but each piece caught me unexpected, and I had to sit down – made my eyesight blurry. Except for that, it really wasn’t so bad.

Now, it might sound whimsical to those who haven’t experienced it, but another crew pads through every art museum they come to, and checks out the galleries, hoping to find the artist who has something personal to say just to them. Tears will probably come under control, but being open to a path of information which goes into the brain direct, without translation, can broaden the insights that shape the words. Mostly, what I feel but can’t explain is an acknowledgment of fundamental connection -- like finding a friendly island in the seas of modern times.