Point of Origin (1978), John Mason |
For this my 150th post, I want to take a more critical look at what we consider to be ART and why we create it. In my travels I've seen lots of 'art', whether it be famously hung in a museum or spraypainted on city walls. My July 2020 Art of the Pacific Northwest series explored the art of six NW cities, including commissioned works such as sculptures and murals as well as some museum pieces. This geometric steel sculpture currently stands on the lawn outside the Boise (Idaho) Art Museum. Though simple and repetitive, the shapes allow us to frame the surrounding scenery and the metal captures reflected light and shadows.
Sometimes 'simple' makes sense but often the observer is left wondering why it is considered 'art'. Though I can understand and appreciate the collages of Robert Rauschenberg, I've never grasped the significance of his multi-paneled White Paintings of the 1950s. I get that it's challenging to paint a consistently unified color field absent of visible brushstrokes, but to repeat it multiple times doesn't seem interesting. And when they're displayed on white walls...nothing's there to see.
Fountain (1917), Duchamp |
You may recall Campbell's Soup Cans (1962) by Andy Warhol. When I was a child, my dad took his 3 boys to Bermuda and my mom made us wear shorts with the soup can pattern. Wearable art?!
On our 2017 trip to Palm Springs, the local art museum had a sculpture of a composition of trash bags. I guess you can make art out of anything, though I'm not sure this was recycling. The arranged 'trash bags' were almost cubical and covered in a shiny, wrinkled dark brown medium. Though surprising, it left me wondering how the sculpture was made and trying to find beauty in what my eyes saw as a pile of trash or glistening poop. Maybe it's a box of chocolates!
Roadkill, Andrew Wyeth |
When we see a sunset or a mountain landscape, we call it beauty, but when we paint (or photograph) it to share with others it becomes art. Animals also use beauty to get a reaction (from potential mates) much like artists from their observers. Andrew Wyeth used actual blood in a study of a dead squirrel for his painting Roadkill. You wouldn't know that unless you read his autobiography. The strong diagonal line seems to divide the painting in two.
Triptych Bleu I, II, III (1961), Miró |
Often artwork is judged or rejected and may be interpreted as controversial. Differences of opinion are expected when viewing works of art. Understanding why you like art or don't is part of the experience. Sometimes seeing it in person makes you appreciate it more, especially when exhibited as the artist intended.
I am also puzzled by art curators who exhibit unfinished paintings, such as The Athenaeum Portrait of George Washington by Gilbert Stuart. I suppose that it preserves the historical portrait as Gilbert's model for the rest of the images of our first President and the likeness of him on the dollar bill. There are many unfinished artworks out there, although I've only seen one of them in person at the Scottish National Gallery. This shows us how some artists work on sections of a painting at a time. I understand if the subject or artist dies before completing a painting, like Gustav Klimt, who left several unfinished works upon his death in 1918 from pneumonia (due to the Spanish flu).
Check out the Met's article, Unfinished: Thoughts Left Visible, for examples of incomplete works intentionally or unintentionally left unfinished.
It's particularly telling when museum personnel are unable to determine which end is up, as with Henri Matisse's Le Bateau (1953) which hung for 47 days at the Museum of Modern Art in 1961. It took a museum patron to pose the question as to whether it was upside down. Imagine how many people viewing a work of art would agree that it's actually 'art' and further that it's 'good'.
Fat Car (2001), Erwin Wurm, PSAM |