On Art and Advertising

7th grade social studies. Miss Palombo, a tall, slender, gorgeously tan woman who wore dresses, unlike any of my other Williston teachers. She had us read all kinds of interesting stuff, including a book about a guy who was lost at sea on a boat. She taught us the difference between denotation and connotation, and everybody loved to complain about how annoying her class was because of it. We watched Evita and learned what a "coup d'etat" is. One time, we were outside sitting in a circle reading about something horrible about humanity - something about war, violence, sexism, poverty, or all of the above, and I became very upset, crying in front of everyone. She cried, too. She was also not ever particularly nice to me, the proud, friendless, lonely, immature little girl with braces and glasses. It actually isn't until now, writing this, that I realize what a fantastic teacher she really was; I remember her class vividly. She had us read a chapter from a big, fat book on my bookshelf at home called The Story of Art. The thesis of this chapter was that art is universal to humanity, and as such, it's not possible to define what is "good" or "bad" art. This idea was deeply imprinted on my mind.

My parents are both artists: my dad a professional musician who later became a petroleum engineer, my mom an elementary art teacher. They are also both really big supporters and advocates of the arts. I toyed with the idea of listing all the art museums I've ever been to in this blog post, since art appreciation is almost certainly a function of exposure. But I don't even know if I could do that. I remember going to the Art Institute of Chicago when I was about five; there was a really cool exhibit of miniature rooms, with chairs the size of thimbles. I was really interested in it. We also saw Sunday afternoon on the island of La Grande Jatte (Un dimanche après-midi à l'Île de la Grande Jatte), the pinnacle pointillist piece. Aside from fine art, my parents also took us to the theater and symphony often, also giving us many opportunities to participate ourselves. We didn't do sports, we did art.

I lived in Europe at a formative time in my life. Casually, without being impressed at all with this fact, I decided to become a member of Le Musée des Beaux Arts de Rennes. I went there multiple times a week, often alone. I became friends with the paintings there. I remember them vividly, buying the museum catalog, which is a book I'll never sell or trash.

Obviously, living in France meant I went to Paris. I never went inside Notre Dame, but I did go to many of the art museums, from Le Centre Pompidou to the Louvre to the Islamic Art museum to the Musée Rodin to the Musée d'Orsay...and more. My favorite high school class of all time, including my art classes, was Histoire de l'Art. I could write novels about the things I learned in that class.

My mom was a docent at the Springfield Art Museum. We went there a lot, and I remember the exhibits. One of them was hilarious: a bunch of life-sized mannequins posed as if at a cocktail party, every surface from the floor to the chairs to the people themselves covered in cheese puffs! And they were serving cheese puffs, hahahaha.

As a senior, for a date I drove with my boyfriend to Mass MoCA - and THAT was amazing. There was quite a bit of installation art there. One piece was a basketball court sized room with these weird machines on the ceiling that dropped giant sheets of paper onto the floor, and you were to walk across the room. It was so weirdly beautiful, and experiential. The room was ankle deep in paper. It had something to do with environmentalism, conservation, waste, etc. But it was so fun to walk across that room with my boyfriend and sister (she came with us for fun). And it looked like it was snowing. And the size and mechanics of the piece were quite impressive.

I've had a lot of exposure to art in my life.

***

I went into BYU as a photography major. There were 15 of us. The program was difficult to get into. My high school photo and painting portfolio got me in.

I was miserable.

Long hours alone in the studio. Long critiques by snobby professors. Perfectionism. A very small cadre of people to hang out with, most of whom were not that fun to be with. Projects that I didn't like. Worst of all, so much emphasis on how to market yourself to clients, how to make money. What was this?! Art and money were supposed to be different ideals, and ne'er the twain should meet! I was not happy about it.

[The girl next door to me in the dorms was Palestinian and I spent a lot of time talking with her. I wanted to ask her to teach me Arabic, but thankfully before asking her, realized that wasn't a practical task for another full time student. So on a whim, I enrolled in Arabic 101, fell in love, and switched majors. Czech hadn't been an option.]

If Art isn't good or bad, it just *is*, then how can we put a price on it? When selling art is a motivation or impetus for its creation, is art reduced to craft? How much of the motivation/impetus behind the creation of art can be pecuniary for the object to still be considered art? Can art exist without craft? These are timeless questions, frustrating and challenging artists for millennia. I had already learned in 7th grade that there isn't a single, universally right answer to what defines art, or good art, just a lot of different opinions. As a 16 year old in France, I sat in front of Duchamp's ready-made bicycle wheel on a stool, and felt really happy. It was funny and clever, a big fat middle finger to "Art" with a capital A.

But isn't it a bit overdone by now?

***

Some people really like people to agree with them, to laud them, to praise them, to be told that they are correct, to find validation in all of their opinions. Other people tend to become very distrustful of this viewpoint, doubting its sincerity; what's the ulterior motive? Is there an agenda? 

Advertising, therefore, can't be all praise and validation; it has to have some other element in order to reach the maximum target demographic. That element is novelty.

Here I quote from TOR.com:

Wit sits on a box just inside the gates of Kholinar, strumming on his instrument and generally confusing three guards. His behavior is totally at odds with what they expect of an appropriate lighteyed gentleman. He tells them that something has changed, and that he’s waiting for a storm.

While he waits, he engages them in a conversation by asking what men value in others. One guard suggests that music is what men value most, and Wit begins to play his enthir, calling that statement a beautiful lie. Another soldier asks Wit what the most valuable talent is, and Wit says that isn’t the question. He says that what men value most of all is novelty. Intellect, aesthetic achievement, and innovation are all valuable, but men only value the thinker who comes to an idea or achievement first. 

I loved this scene from one of my favorite books of all time, The Way of Kings. I have read this epic fantasy novel at least three times (I basically have to reread all the books in the series every time a new one comes out, and we are on book 3 right now). 

What it boils down to for me is this: I think there should be a difference between advertising and art. I think that good art is independent of the idea of novelty, though there can be overlap. For example, I do like cubism, "monochromes", and even Duchamp's ready-mades. I think these artists are dangerously close to failing to meet the craft requirement (there has to be something; even these silent musical compositions have titles, for example) that is implicit in art, and absolutely required (for me) in "good" art. But when a message (sticking the middle finger to Art with a capital A) is novel enough to be creative and clever, the art can still be good art, in my opinion. It's like being on the inside of a joke.

Advertising, on the other hand, always has the same message: "Buy me." The only thing that ever changes about advertising is the craft, and because we live in a society that values immediacy, the craft doesn't actually require a large degree of time, effort, talent, or skill; it just requires novelty.

People really do universally seem to like the veneer of novelty. But is the hundredth or thousandth ready-made, or crude clay figurine, or crucifix in a container of urine actually novel? How many times can a canvas be painted in one single color and that be sold to an art museum for tens of thousands of dollars? Rehashing the same old ideas and arguments about what is and is not art can be so tiresome and navel-gazingly meta. It's like the film that is all about the struggling filmmaker - how many times do we have to see that? It doesn't really speak to me that much, honestly.

On the other hand, what makes representative art so appealing and timeless is the fact that there is an implicit balance between a demonstration of the artist's ability to master the craft of his or her medium with the underlying message. Representative art isn't all about defining what art is and is not, it's about the composition, the technique, the subject matter, the execution, etc.

I also think there is a correlation between mastery of craft and the potential of the art to be beautiful, but that is just my opinion.

***

Danny and I went to the Des Moines Art Museum with our kids for the first time last weekend. The main art exhibit was called Queer Abstractions, which is exactly what it sounds like: abstract art in a variety of mediums that is supposed to be about a variety of artists's own thoughts and feelings about their own homosexuality. At first, this made Danny and I really nervous. When the underlying message of art is something that directly contradicts our core values, we feel compelled to censor. "Let's teach young children about sex" is itself something I'm very, very wary of (regardless of hetero or homo), and "let's teach young children that whatever form of sexual expression feels good is good" is just a flat out evil message! We value sexuality, but in a very specific context. My children are intelligent, and I worried that these messages would be internalized (they sure were with me, with all my art exposure, for example). We tried to avoid the exhibit, but the way the museum was laid out made that mostly impossible. 

The art was so lousy that I didn't have much to worry about there, fortunately.

And that was true of the entire museum, actually! There were two paintings by John Singer Sargent which were impressive; these were donated by wealthy patrons that happened to live in the area a century or so ago. I guess if I were a wealthy patron with a beautiful piece of priceless art, I wouldn't think of Des Moines as a real mecca of art appreciation, either; I'd donate elsewhere.

"They had a Picasso," chimed in Danny.

"Danny, Picasso's entire art studio was strewn with papers and canvasses. He would pick one up, scribble some lines on it, sign his name, and that piece is now worth thousands of dollars. He's ubiquitous. Most museums have something or other by Picasso."

I.e. in my opinion, it's not as valuable.

Basically, most of the art in the entire museum was by less commonly known artists who were trying to copy the more famous artists' conceptions and execution. There were only two or three pieces of modern/contemporary art that I found compelling and memorable. Everything else was just like, "How many times do we have to see paintings that look like my seven year old made them?" "Why are we all standing around oohing and aahing at the art here, when it's neither beautiful nor clever?" 

Basically, the art was like this: it's "art" because it's in a pretty frame, hung on a wall in a fancy gallery. That's basically it.

I get that fine artists share my disdain for letting what's popularly considered beautiful or "good" to define their expression. I get it! But now we're stuck in this weird paradoxland, with seemingly nowhere to go:

- Artists don't want to create beautiful things because it's cliché,

- ...so they create ugly things, which are by now actually just as cliché.

- But if you question or criticize the art at all, you're "unsophisticated" or "uncultured."  

Basically, we are all just standing around pretending that the crap on the walls of most museums is "good art." 

It's madness.

***

There is only one way to fight the epidemic of bad art, bad music, bad literature, etc. and it's not by words, but creation.

If I don't like the pitiful state of sexism that persists in fantasy/sci-fi fiction, then the only way to do anything useful about it is to write something better. If I don't like how art today avoids topics like religion, patriotism, and parenthood but is meanwhile jacking off in the corner of craftless egocentric self-expression, that means I need to paint something with more interesting themes and better craft. 

The pressure to create is one of those constant forces in my life. It is never going to go away or be appeased. The only way it calms a bit is immediately after I create something. For example, after writing this blog post (and edit it for typos etc, sigh), I will feel a temporary relief from this incessant pressure.

But it won't last.

***

There is actually one other way to fight bad art, and that is by consuming what you personally consider good art. But there is an enormous problem here: how do you find good art? 

Advertising.

Basically, no matter what, good art is reduced to its ability to advertise effectively, unless it is you, yourself, who create it.