Art is human, the rearrangement of light matter (more on dark later) by humans.
This is an intentionally very broad definition. This means that thought is art. In fact, it was the first art, a manifestation of what makes the human experience unique among life forms on this planet: consciousness. The fact that we alone possess this trait makes us unique is the basis for concluding that art is human.
If we begin within the brain and move outward, we can conclude that every action we take results in art. Our breath, our footsteps, our lives and deaths are all art. Of course, this means that most art is invisible, or at least so ephemeral as to go unnoticed--marks in the sand on the beach. Most art is never seen, lost in the very moment of creation.
This broad definition opens up the vector of thought about art to allow for more important questions than 'what is art?'. There are many such questions, some having to do with the purpose, or the value, or the need for art.
The most important question is one I have grappled with since I saw a painting by Monet in the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge in 1976. I had never seen anything like it in my life, and thanks to my parents, it was hardly the first time I'd seen a painting. I stood in front of that painting for a long time--so long that my parents had to come back and get me.
Why? For a long time, I had no idea, nor did I think of it much. A couple of years later, I took a course on aesthetics and started the long process of thinking about beauty and art and the intersection of those two ideas. What is beautiful art? As so many have said, 'I'll know it when I see it' certainly applied to me, and I really tried to figure it out. What happened to me in front of that Monet?
It's happened to me many times since then, of course, which is why I now love going to museums and seeing art, new and old. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, when I am arrested by a work of art and stand transfixed by it, the feeling I have is a delight, unique and familiar all at the same time. A rush, brain on fire.
That rush is resonance. It is like a pair of tuning forks--one vibrates and the other responds. They resonate. This is what happened to me in 1976 and what happens every time I see good art. I resonate, I feel something physical that is so sensitive and unique that it can only be measured by human consciousness.
Physically, that force, that exchange of energy during this resonance is so small as to seem inconsequential, but the fact is that it is an exchange that is non-zero. Something happens, not always and not to all, but sometimes and to some people, there is an exchange, a 'real' physical exchange of energy when observing a work of art. Consider that the case of the Monet, it was light that conveyed that resonance, just a few photons, but enough to cause a chain reaction in my brain, leading to this very essay.
The question of what is beautiful art is misleading. The intersection of beauty and art is an interesting trap. I do not equate resonance with beauty because it leaves unanswered that key question of the location of beauty: In the work or in the viewer? It's a trap because the answer is: It's in both. And that seems too simple, an answer with no depth, like Schroedinger's Cat or the Particle/Wave duality. It's an answer but a non-answer.
So, my question is different: What is good art?
At first, this looks like the same question: beautiful, good, aren't they the same? Isn't beautiful always good and the other way around? A couple of thought experiments can set this assertion aside, but there is still the question: What is good? Specifically, what is good art? And why does matter that good is not always beautiful?
It matters because without trying to substantially define either good or beautiful, I can address the question I came for: Why did I resonate in the presence of the Monet? The answer is that I thought it was good. I may, at the time, have thought it was beautiful, but looking back, I realize that it was good. Or at least I thought it was.
The difference here may seem semantic, but trying to decide why I think a work of art is good. Basically it's a simple as admitting that you like it. In this way, I can see a painting and say that since it does not resonate with me, it's no good. Or at least, not good enough for me. This allows for the fact that some people resonate with some works and some resonate with others. The fact that these overlap fairly frequently is why we have art galleries and museums.
Museums in particular are evidence of this. The history and basis of museums is theft. We steal what we think is good and put it on display. To me, many things in museums are no good, but the fact that they are there is because somebody at sometime thought they were good enough to steal.
I think that when we talk about what makes a work of art beautiful, we are actually talking about what is good. Good is what we like. The lines, the color, the subject. We can say 'I love this line, or this color or this subject'. It's personal, but then, that's what we are experiencing, a personal resonance with art. It's always personal, even if we share that feeling with a million people.
Good art is what you like.
This is an intentionally very broad definition. This means that thought is art. In fact, it was the first art, a manifestation of what makes the human experience unique among life forms on this planet: consciousness. The fact that we alone possess this trait makes us unique is the basis for concluding that art is human.
If we begin within the brain and move outward, we can conclude that every action we take results in art. Our breath, our footsteps, our lives and deaths are all art. Of course, this means that most art is invisible, or at least so ephemeral as to go unnoticed--marks in the sand on the beach. Most art is never seen, lost in the very moment of creation.
This broad definition opens up the vector of thought about art to allow for more important questions than 'what is art?'. There are many such questions, some having to do with the purpose, or the value, or the need for art.
The most important question is one I have grappled with since I saw a painting by Monet in the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge in 1976. I had never seen anything like it in my life, and thanks to my parents, it was hardly the first time I'd seen a painting. I stood in front of that painting for a long time--so long that my parents had to come back and get me.
Why? For a long time, I had no idea, nor did I think of it much. A couple of years later, I took a course on aesthetics and started the long process of thinking about beauty and art and the intersection of those two ideas. What is beautiful art? As so many have said, 'I'll know it when I see it' certainly applied to me, and I really tried to figure it out. What happened to me in front of that Monet?
It's happened to me many times since then, of course, which is why I now love going to museums and seeing art, new and old. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, when I am arrested by a work of art and stand transfixed by it, the feeling I have is a delight, unique and familiar all at the same time. A rush, brain on fire.
That rush is resonance. It is like a pair of tuning forks--one vibrates and the other responds. They resonate. This is what happened to me in 1976 and what happens every time I see good art. I resonate, I feel something physical that is so sensitive and unique that it can only be measured by human consciousness.
Physically, that force, that exchange of energy during this resonance is so small as to seem inconsequential, but the fact is that it is an exchange that is non-zero. Something happens, not always and not to all, but sometimes and to some people, there is an exchange, a 'real' physical exchange of energy when observing a work of art. Consider that the case of the Monet, it was light that conveyed that resonance, just a few photons, but enough to cause a chain reaction in my brain, leading to this very essay.
The question of what is beautiful art is misleading. The intersection of beauty and art is an interesting trap. I do not equate resonance with beauty because it leaves unanswered that key question of the location of beauty: In the work or in the viewer? It's a trap because the answer is: It's in both. And that seems too simple, an answer with no depth, like Schroedinger's Cat or the Particle/Wave duality. It's an answer but a non-answer.
So, my question is different: What is good art?
At first, this looks like the same question: beautiful, good, aren't they the same? Isn't beautiful always good and the other way around? A couple of thought experiments can set this assertion aside, but there is still the question: What is good? Specifically, what is good art? And why does matter that good is not always beautiful?
It matters because without trying to substantially define either good or beautiful, I can address the question I came for: Why did I resonate in the presence of the Monet? The answer is that I thought it was good. I may, at the time, have thought it was beautiful, but looking back, I realize that it was good. Or at least I thought it was.
The difference here may seem semantic, but trying to decide why I think a work of art is good. Basically it's a simple as admitting that you like it. In this way, I can see a painting and say that since it does not resonate with me, it's no good. Or at least, not good enough for me. This allows for the fact that some people resonate with some works and some resonate with others. The fact that these overlap fairly frequently is why we have art galleries and museums.
Museums in particular are evidence of this. The history and basis of museums is theft. We steal what we think is good and put it on display. To me, many things in museums are no good, but the fact that they are there is because somebody at sometime thought they were good enough to steal.
I think that when we talk about what makes a work of art beautiful, we are actually talking about what is good. Good is what we like. The lines, the color, the subject. We can say 'I love this line, or this color or this subject'. It's personal, but then, that's what we are experiencing, a personal resonance with art. It's always personal, even if we share that feeling with a million people.
Good art is what you like.
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