For The Sake of a Single Poem

By Andrew Roush

March 2, 2008

Tags: art, dada, duchamp

Category: art, postmodernism, reflection, substategy (my ideas), Uncategorized

2 Comments »

I recently came across a conversation that I had with a friend of mine a long time ago. We were discussing art. Prompted by a quote she sent me, I asked:

“Here’s the million dollar question: Do you think art requires a certain depth of experience, a certain wisdom, and (here’s what I think counts) a certain universality? Does art have to speak to something inherent in the human spirit to be worthy? Or can art have within it a certain exclusivity of experience; something that is unique and, presumably to some, inaccessible? Even if art should be universal, isn’t that failure to connect often a part of our experience?”

After debating it for a while, I came up with my answer (yes, to my own question). Prepare for some of longest run-on sentences you’re likely to ever read, and easily the most pretentious bullshitting in history.

Art, and the use of art as a conveyance between creator and viewer is, conceivably about finding truth, and for those two collaborators to come to that truth together. Or so it seems. So, let’s assume, freakish exceptions notwithstanding, that art takes if not experience, at least a certain worldly understanding in order to convey meaning. This then implies that art is the product of the artist’s skill and understanding. [My friend] wrote that depth and wisdom can enhance a work, and I think I agree that an artist with a clear understanding of his or her work can convey it’s meaning more easily. This is, however, a gross generalization. Inherent in art is interpretation, and that aspect of the creative process – call it consumption or analysis or whatever – is just as important, if not more. What matters more: the artist who labors to put meaning in his or her work, or the viewer who applies his or her own? In this case, has the artist failed, even if he or she has conveyed meaning to the viewer, just not their own?

That’s why I think the experience of the artist argument begins to wane in importance compared to the experience of the viewer. I’ve been to many art museums, [as my friend has], so I think we can agree that meaning in art is anything but clear. Does this signify a failure to communicate? Even an inability to convey universality or even basic meaning? I’m sure you’re aware of the early 20th-century modernist movement called Dada, the anti-art, that sought to convey the idea, through art that had no meaning, that truth is impossible to find. To Dada, art has no meaning because meaning cannot be conveyed. It’s oxymoronic, even hypocritical, I know, but it makes a good point: is it even possible for artist and viewer to be on the same page, given their different experiences – given the fact that they are inherently different? I’ve attached a picture of the Dadaist piece “Bicycle Wheel Ready-made”, a piece created to illustrate a lack of meaning by Marcel Duchamp, who said:

“The creative act is not performed by the artist alone; the spectator brings the work in contact with the external world by deciphering and interpreting its inner qualifications and thus adds his contribution to the creative act.”

Now, that doesn’t sound entirely Dadaist to me, and in the end Duchamp eneded up being more of a surrealist, looking for truth in the subconcious. The fact that even the Dadaist couldn’t keep it up for long is telling. In the end, I think, art is collaborative and variable. It will never be interpreted the same way twice, and smart artists know that. There is something, however, within all of us that recognizes beauty, recognizes power, depth, or substance, even when we can’t conceive, when we can’t “get” it. And when we do, well, that’s what makes art important to us. I’ve seen enough modern art to know that meaning is often hidden, even inaccessable. At least it seems that way. All art, however, means something, and I guess that’s why they call it art. It takes two to tango, and even thought they become like one during the dance, they never see the same thing, never share the same space, but in the end, they have the shared experience of the dance. To me, that’s art.

Bicycle Wheel, Ready-made

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Nowadays, of course, I’d probably just say “Screw that mess” and be a postmodernist.

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