Week 10: Match of the Century: Absence Versus Thin Air

In "A Farwell to Modernism" with Leo Castelli, he argues that art must have an aesthetic aspect to be considered art. It seems the Whitney Biennial produced negative thinking for him, but it also provoked him and got him thinking, and affected him in a meaningful way; after viewing the Whitney Biennial he finally started to accept that art as he knew it was over. In a sense, he came face-to-face with the reality that art as changing (or had transformed previously); it was this convergence of all that he knew to be art, all that he had participated in and connected with for so long, and the acceptance that a new kind of art had replaced all that he knew. Castelli admits that he had a kind of nostalgia for the past after he realized that art had moved on, but with this also come a simultaneous shift in his attitude toward it: don't resist change- instead, embrace it. If you resist it, you may become blindsided by the past, and it may limit the future, and with that, stifle new, meaningful possibilities.  He admits that in the Whitney Biennial, there was enormous ambition, yet it lacked a certain amount of feeling or innovation, unlike previous artists in Castelli's years. He also claims that, the gallery, to a certain extent, creates the artists, makes them what they are.

Donald Morgan was fascinating to me; I loved his work, and the passive-aggressive stance he gave most of his interactive work. For example, the sculpture made out of wood that had snowflakes painted on it beneath glass, and it took the shape of a log propped up on two little sticks (edited to add: the title of the piece is called THAW)... anyway, this structure wasn't miniature, and wasn't huge, it stood just tall enough that the person observing the work has this kind of passive-aggressive reaction to it- like "I could try to jump over that thing if I really wanted, but it's just a couple inches too tall to jump over, I think, but I'm not completely sure.." The work that provokes the kind of attitude where you have to enter into this dialogue with it, whether you want to or not, and it's the kind of dialogue that, albeit silently in your head, you are confronted with this external thing, this object/obstacle that is challenging you and making you think differently about the space you are in, and in the same regard it heightens your awareness of yourself, your body, and the physical plane you are existing in. I think that is brilliant.

So... where does this leave us? With Donald Morgan and Leo Castelli in the last week of our artist experience. We're here, writing, and we're tired. We're trying to be innovative, creative, score some points on our blogs, and we're tired. We have piles of homework to do, spanish presentations to do, and civil war games to anticipate, and yet through it all, I am loving writing this blog post. And I'm tired. I think there is something to be said about that. The fact that I am relishing in thinking of, thinking in, thinking outwardly and creatively, engaging in an open and honest dialogue with all the artists and readings we've encountered, it speaks tremendously for what this class has done for me. It has me slowing down, thinking and writing with intention (or attempting to, anyway), and really developing meaningful and insightful dialogue on a subject in which I had nary a true understanding nor compassion for ten weeks ago. And I think these very same notions, of slowing down, of engaging and creating dialogue with intention, and for a purpose, and cultivating an open and honest dialogue, is what both Morgan and Castelli have in common. Not merely existing. They think with intention, create things (writings, critiques, sculptures, paintings, what-have-yous) that are meaningful to them and engage themselves in an open dialogue with, for the most part, the world. They do more than exist. They live. in the most brilliant and inspiring way.

Week 8: The Aesthetics of Everyday Life

This week, I am struggling to find the words to adequately convey my feelings, thoughts, and issues with this weeks readings and presentation. Perhaps it's because I have a lot on my plate, academically speaking of course, or perhaps its the live streaming of Christmas music I've been listening to for 15 hours straight, but the words are escaping me. All I can think is "fa la la la la la" "gramma got ran over by a reindeer"... But I digress.  Hmm, on second thought, maybe I don't digress. Maybe I'm on to something here with this whole Christmas thing. I think I am. I think my traditions are art in it's most noble form. I've never thought of Christmas traditions as art. But that's all changing right now.

 This time of year, for me, is the most beautiful, warm, creative, uplifting time. Things in my world shine and sparkle exceptionally bright during the winter months. I love the traditions, the family gatherings, the huge meals complete with grandpa's caramel squares and my mom's homemade stuffing. Quite simply, the months of November and December cannot be beat. There is something so inherently magical and soulful about them, something so comforting and renewing. All these traditions, however aesthetically pleasing or functional they are, are essential to a merry Christmas, crucial to our lives. Because they nurture us, they cultivate a sense of connection to our family and to our lives and to our souls. We create our life, our experiences, our values, through these traditions. We listen to the same Christmas cd every year- A Charlie Brown Christmas. We eat the same foods every year, even, much to my chagrin, grandma's infamous jello salad. (One year I had a boyfriend over to grams for Thanksgiving-she served him up a good ole helping of jello salad, and needless to say, said boy and I are no longer dating). We hang our stockings in the same order every year. And we almost always wear our same "holiday" outfit every christmas eve. And for all this, I am forever grateful. I have deep gratitude for my family, for the traditions they've passed down to me, and the traditions they've created for me. It makes my life so rich and wonderful, so comforting and , to know that every year, even if everything else has changed, we'll be watching Griswald Family Vacation around 6pm on Christmas Day, in our pjs, because it's a tradition- and our most favorite movie as a family.

 You see, there's such a deep and rich connection that we feel with these traditions; the aesthetics of it, the stringing of the popcorn and the trimming of the tree, the form of it, basting the turkey and whipping the mashed potatoes to a creamy decadence. It's this living of life for both the pleasure and the functionality of it that we experience around the holidays, that for me, makes me glow. The deep rooted traditions, the history of it all, the anticipation of it all. And it makes for an incredibly satisfying life experience. Isn't that what it's all about?

For Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, we shouldn't define art as having to be something strictly aesthetically pleasing; instead we should assign "form to value."  The institution tries to speak for everyone, make claims and classify what art is and how it should function, for not only itself but for everyone else/everything else, while simultaneously asserting itself as distinct and above all the "Others." This marginalization of space and time, of aesthetics and functionality, that they cannot exist equally and beautifully, limits art in all ways. This limits how the aesthetics in our every day function, because we don't see our social interactions or our family traditions as functional and beautiful art; in fact, we don't view it as art at all. The institution has instilled in our minds, that our day to day lives, and our actions and interactions within them, are average, and pale in comparison to the grand show pieces in museums. But that's not true. I'm learning that, for me, art is most beautiful when it's uninhibited and pure, when it has an aesthetic component and a functional component. For Tannaz, it is an interesting evolution of the art and the life, and how the two function together. With her journey from Iran to the US, her identity was transformed. I found the use of her cultural identity as it relates to spatial time in her art very powerful. For me, Tannaz is cultivating this awareness of identity and time and the possibilities that it provides. With the nature of art in daily life and social interaction, we should realize these possibilities in the everyday life. Like the possibility of improvision when it comes to making gravy (you know it never turns out quite like you want it to- too much flour, not enough turkey drippings). This art of living as improvision, doing what works, getting innovative and deliberate in how we are living and what we are doing, in both the aesthetic and functional aspects of living, I think, is the essence of what tradition is made of. We utilize these traditions, or simple rituals, in our every day lives, creating something wonderfully dynamic and nourishing for our creative spirits. And in doing so, I think, we are assigning form to value in our every day lives. 

Week 7: White Cube in the City

In "Our Students Need the City" with Carol Becker, who offers a different perspective. She  mentions that isolation of artists is often confused with freedom, and that most students not "trained" to think or act globally or politically. If this is, indeed true, which in most cases it likely is, then art is merely a process of objectification, and important issues are not in focus because art students are trained to look at world individually, through an isolated eye. Institutions have made it so artists are only perceived as "producers of commodities" as opposed to an integral, and crucial expression of identity and culture. And our culture is pervasive in the sense that we assume the attitudes, practices, and beliefs are indeed a fact of life. We don't question them, or the institutions they are derived from. In short, we've "cultivated separateness." So, this begs the question: should institutions teach artists how to remain autonomous? Or should they remove the frame, and rebuild a foundation for art based on ideas? is it freedom?

 I, for one, think we should expand to create, not limit to implode. Freedom, after all, equals possibilities. Becker says, "But there's this idea that if you verbalize, or intellectualize, it'll destroy the spontaneous, intuitive qualities of artmaking" which really resonated with me. Growing up, I thought all artists were these dark, lonely, brooding, miserable people, surely making art intuitively, as if they had some divine gift. You weren't supposed to ask questions about what the art is, what it's trying to say, you weren't supposed to intellectualize it and connect it with other social/political issues; you were supposed to look at it and appreciate it for its aesthetics. Don't ask questions. Don't challenge the artist. Don't challenge the ideas behind the art. They just are. The artist is brilliant. You don't need to know why, or how. That was my perception of artists growing up, and although it was obviously misconstrued, I think it relates to this whole idea of aesthetic and autonomous art. That we should not intellectualize and verbalize, limits us in every way. Instead, ideas give us freedom. The aesthetic attitude, the autonomy, the disconnectedness, being a prisoner of one specific medium, in art, isn't beneficial. The freedom to choose is.  And I think that is what Becker is getting at. That ideas can frame the school! Not the medium, but rather the ideas surrounding the art, and the possibilities that these ideas provide. There should be flexibility among artists, among ideas and the mediums, rather than this isolation and inflexible frame that most artists/students are taught. We should structure our lives in a way that invites and encourages possibility and expression and unlimited creativity, not tie ourselves down to the institution and the notion of artistic ideas and mediums as a separate. They're all interconnected. They all feed off each other. From ideas to art to new art to new ideas. It's time to remove the frame.

In "Breaking Out of the White Cube" with Richard Shusterman, we've gotta give up the "ideology of aesthetic autonomy", aka aesthetic limits are no longer acceptable in the art world. Instead, we've got to reconceive art in more liberal terms, reshaping aesthetics so they can function/serve how we want them to. not necessarily a rejection of aesthetics, as they are obviously very pleasing to look and do serve a purpose, but an expansion of aesthetics/arts to function together with ideas and the bigger picture. In most other cultures, art is integrated into daily life through celebrations, customs, traditions, any kind of participatory art, but in our culture we seem to have isolated ourselves from art. Shusterman mentions that in our art culture, aesthetic attitude is a social and intellectual distinction- those who can look a pretty picture of scenery and only look at it for its aesthetics, not for its emotional properties, are people who aren't connected with nature and the world around them; instead, they are isolated from the world and use their objectifying eye to cultivate the aesthetic attitude that embodies art in western culture. Aristotle defined art as poesis, or making, not as praxis, or doing, which seems quite contradictory because what we make does affect who we are, what we create is a product of who we are, and who we are is an expression of what we create. So, in that sense, art is praxis, the doing, because with art we are doing things, we are creating things, yes things external to ourselves, but things none the less that affect not only us but also, hopefully, others as well. And if art isn't doing, it should. It shouldn't be merely making. It shouldn't settle. It shouldn't put these restrictions upon itself. At least, I think that is what Shusterman is getting at. He also mentions that art and science are parallels, in the sense that both are taken out of the "life world", or isolated from life, while simultaneously being conceptualized and disconnected from the modern world. What we should strive for, instead of isolation and limitations, is liberation from the oppressive bonds of tradition. For freedom from the aesthetic attitude yields unlimited possibilities and expansive, brilliant ideas.

Terri Warpinski, a photography professor, showed us her work, starting with her earliest pieces in paintings/printmakings, to where she is now in her art practice with photography. Upon seeing her transformation from one art medium to another, I immediately connected  the "removing the frame" idea with her journey throughout different mediums. She ultimately used her ideas to propel her forward and eventually evolved her mediums to suit her ideas. And throughout it all, she seemed to be evoking this zest for art, for optimism, for the transformation of ideas into something meaningful and powerful. And I think that's what it's all about. Giving our ideas a chance. So that they can develop into something wonderfully brilliant and uniquely serendipitous.

Week 6: Be a Genius -> Remove the Frame

In "Removing the Frame" with Mary Jane Jacob the limitations of working in a museum are spotlighted. Jacob's main intention is to bring art closer to life, through an interactive participation with an audience over an extended period of time. Through social interaction, the audiences role is transformed from the spectator to the participant. Jacob argues that museums aren't neutral, that in fact they are powerful agents in the construction of the cultural identity of art and its people. That is to say, she believes museums call the shots and have a huge impact on the art world. There's this kind of a power struggle going on in the art world. Who gets to decide what is worthy to be deemed 'art'? In the museum, the curator decides. Who gets to dictate what is showing at the museum? In the museum, the curator decides. Who gets to define art? The curator of the art museum, because they are selecting the art that goes it to the museum, deeming it 'worthy' enough, and in turn the art they select defines art. Jacob wants to move back to the community constructing the cultural identity and define art in the terms they see best fit for themselves and the community. Basically, long story short, what Jacob seems to be saying is that the institutionalization of art is bad. Indeed, art is art, but the impact/the message changes depending on the venue. If seen in a museum, art has a different impact then when that same art piece is viewed outside or in a participatory setting. Jacob wants to free art of the space and the authorization that museums manifest, and instead give art freedom to roam, freedom from the frame that institutionalization imposes on it. Through her work with art, she is transcending the space both "physically and conceptually" and bring it back to its primal forms, turning away from the need for validation and recognition that the museum/institutionalization imposes. She gets satisfaction in her work because there is a real sense of dialogue, a genuine and primal connection between the artist and the curator, the curator and the audience. With this dialogue, all parties are involved in the creation and viewing of art and connected to one another. Jacob also emphasizes the importance of art being not just an experience for the privileged, as it most often is in museums, but instead audiences of all classes, races, and genders being able to experience the fullest impact that art has to offer. It is interesting to note that, for Jacob, it is not so much the material or medium being considered art, but rather the contextuality of art that is important. That art has a different impact on the audience whether it is institutionalized, or whether it is set free in a more participatory sense. That the same piece of art can make a completely different impact depending on where it is seen, and who has access to it, is an astoundingly liberating concept.

In "You Don't Have to Have a Penis to Be a Genius" with Guerrilla Girls, the anonymity of it all is intriguing and striking. Anonymity. Who ever really wants to be anonymous? A nobody in a sea of somebodies? Most people live their life and create their art in search of validation from institutions, hopeful that they will be recognized and praised for the life they live or the work they do.  But for the Guerrilla Girls, anonymity is the main goal. And what's striking about it is that it is extremely powerful. The deindividualization of a group of women striving for a common cause, without receiving any individual recognition, is selflessly powerful. The GG strive for women to act as a figure of sensibility in the world of art. They emphasize that feminism should be sexy and funny, and are striving for equal representation of women in art because they feel like they are underrepresented. Using the term 'guerrilla' to represent both a word and an action simultaneously is a brilliantly deliberate act to demonstrate that the GG are not only a group of women, but a group of women with a purpose who strive to participate in the transformation of gender roles in art through anonymity. They desire that a fundamental shift in the representation of women in art be of utmost importance, specifically with women as artists in a cultural setting. They feel it is their responsibility as women artists to work for change on a social and cultural level, and they use their anonymity as a vehicle for promoting the issues at hand and shifting focus to art itself and the issues it's representing, not the people behind the art, as a vehicle to diminish the frustration and isolation that these women feel/have felt- and instead focus on promoting feminism and other social issues through anonymity. They are challenging the infastructure of the art world, as Jacob is doing. more on a civil rights kind of agenda, on a gender conscious level, through a communal and collaborative approach with both the artists and the audience. They are using deindividualization to change the consciousness of the (art) world, and giving a voice to people (women in particular) who want to participate in art, society, culture, what have you, but get lost in the system, while simultaneously making art more accessible to the masses.

Week Five: Searching For Essence + Dancing on the Scar

So this week, we're "Searching For the Essence of Art" with Arthur C. Danto... sounds like fun. Let's jump on in! Wait, what exactly are we searching for?! A needle in a haystack? Sasquatch? No? Okay, okay that's right... essence ... we're searching for essence. Oh, such a sparkly and beautiful word, yet I honestly have no idea the concrete/academic meaning off the top of my head. Do you? Sure, I know what essence is. If I saw it, I'd know. If I touched it I'd know. If I tasted it, I'd know. Essence is something, that thing, that special something, that makes *that* something what it is. But that's a bunch of jibber-jabbish and totally ambiguous. So without further adieu, I've consulted my good friend wikipedia with a basic and much more clear insight on to just what essence really is: in philosophy, essence is the attribute or set of attributes that make an object or substance what it fundamentally is, and which it has by necessity, and without which it loses its identity. So, in a sense (pun intended) essence is what makes art, art, but the thing that makes art what it is is inherently tied to it and it cannot lose it's essence or it loses its identity? Is that what you're telling me, wikipedia? Hmm. So essence, in the most simple and reduced terms, is the indispensable element, the most crucial component to anything. So now, onward ho! We continue our search for the essence of art. Look under the canvas. Find it? No. Look on top of the art installation. Is it there? Nope. Look at the black and white photos in the museum. See it? *Still searching* That essence we're so adamantly searching for is pretty elusive. Wanna know why? Because I don't think it's tangible. Instead, I think the essence of art is dialogue-- communication, fluidity, movement, criticisms, histories, cultures-- all of it encompasses dialogue. Dialogue is the critical component in art, that without its essence, art loses its identity. Dialogue between the audience and the artists, between cultures, between one art critic and another, between friends, so long as the dialogue is open and reflecting upon art, is the essence.

The dialogue is what makes art what it fundamentally is: a vehicle for conversation, a participatory engagement with the art and with the world. Without dialogue in art, well... I don't think art would exist. Sure, pretty pictures might exist without art, but what makes art art is that we are challenged, intrigued, upset, engaged, or otherwise affected by its presence, its essence. This week, Gablik questions, did "recognition of cultural difference led to greater global dialogue, or to an ethnocentricsm that reinforces separatism?" and "How can audiences take on the role of participant rather than spectator?" First of all, how about we define art in different terms: instead of strictly visual, how about a sensory and participatory act, a kind of fluidity between the art and our experiences, back-and-forth, creating this great dialogue. I think we all can agree on that. I know I also agree with Danto's sentiments, in that if we were to find a solution through criticism, that open dialogue back and forth produces an atmosphere for people to express how they're feeling-- their sentiments on whatever cultural or socio-economic issue is at hand-- and then walk away from it. If we solved our problems in a way that didn't alienate the "other" but listened to all sides of the issue and respected the thoughts of others without necessarily agreeing, then much of the world's problems probably wouldn't exist. But here's where I get cynical: Yes, it'd be great if everything was all rainbows and butterflies and ponies, and if everyone got to say their piece and be done with it, and if we could all feel respected and feel as though our opinions, views, criticisms, what have you, were respected and held in high regard, but the truth is not everyone has a voice, not everyone will express their views even if given the chance, and there will always be at least one person who is uncooperative with an open and honest dialogue among cultures and will cause problems for the rest. So, in theory it's a great idea, moving toward solving problems through open dialogue and criticisms and philosophizing and all that sparkly stuff, but I just don't realistically see it happening so long as we're free to do and think and act however we please.  Suzi Gablik's problem, and it seems mine as well, with pluralism (or philosophy) is that it encourages more individualism, and that is the exact opposite sentiments that Gablik supports. She desires for a new "paradigm of interrelatedness" or communication between communities/cultures. And as for Danto, he says he's afraid of "community." He doesn't want to be told what to do, and he thinks it complete authoritarian, where as Gablik thinks community denotes a more consensual, inviting structure of living. But what about essence? Isn't that what they're supposed to be searching for?

Isn't it right in front of us? This dialogue between Danko and Gablik, isn't that the essence of art, in a sense. Now I'm stretching this pretty far but here me out: the essence of art is the fact that two people are sitting down together in a room, taking time out of their day, to reflect on art, the historical and hierarchical context of it, and of philosophy, questioning which one is most conducive to growing the interconnectedness among people and cross cultures, and how it all relates? Isn't that what makes art special? Isn't that what makes art fundamentally art? The fact that people are sitting down and debating and deliberating and even criticizing with each other. I think that's the essence. I may have completely lost my mind, but that's what I think the essence is. That's what I think essence in art is. All the jibber jabber, the philosophizing of this, the criticizing of that, the attention to this certain piece, of that certain event, "oh my god, it was horrible!", "did you see that crazy whacky abstract piece?", "that river cleaning thing they're doing sure is inspiring. maybe I should start recycling, or save the planet" ... I mean, that's what makes art art! That's why art is art. Because people are talking about it. Without the dialogue, there's no essence.

Ron Graff was wonderful in person; charismatic, intriguing, a little zany. He had that essence. When someone's brilliant, you just know. I for sure felt his essence, the almost intrinsic nature of dialogue he had with himself. He commented on his art and told whimsical stories of how this painting came to be or this painting was some other painting and then two years later it transformed into this painting. I found his style and his mentality about art and about his creations a very fluid one; that is to say, that much like Coco Fusco, Graff creates this intense, intimate relationship between himself and society (or, in many cases, the scenery) that provides a back and forth movement between the two worlds; Graff goes out and experiences life and learns about things or sees a new static kind of scene in nature and translates that onto a painting. Although his subjects are still life, and manly objects or scenery, Graff still has this fluidity and this movement about his art, like he is constantly learning from one art piece, and then scraps away at the painting or throws another layer of paint on top to create this dynamic image, both literally and metaphorically. It's this brilliant kind of juxtaposition between the static still life that he puts onto the canvas and the canvas as this fluid, ever changing medium for which Graff creates and is constantly changing its identity. It's definitely got the essence.

In, "Two Undiscovered Aborigines Dancing on the Wound of History" Coco Fusco
recalls that in the participatory art installation, people had to figure out for themselves if the "natives" were legitimate or not. This installation encouraged participatory interaction between the art/artists and the cultural, and in the larger context of the community and history, provoking/creating dialogue among audience. Throughout the event, the objectification of the natives in the context of racial and elitist hierarchy was highlighted, and it seems some of the audience was uncomfortable or even outraged at such an art installation. The range of emotions that this event provoked can be explained pretty simply: since issues today are more emotionally charged than in the past because they are more ecologically and politically important than ever. So, it seems that with the emotionally charged issues and dialogue that follows, art is becoming more dynamic, as opposed to the static environment that it once inhabited, which was based on observations only. In the art installation of Fusco, engaging with the audience was the fundamental goal; the audience's participation was a crucial component to the success of the event/piece and also to the success of the changing, solving, deliberating of cultural issues. If the audience is engaged and participating, then they will feel as though they have a voice or a part in the issue that is being brought to light, and thus they will feel more propelled to act. If they are simply observing, and do not have a participatory role in the event or viewing of art, they are not going to feel incorporated into the history it is presenting or the questions it is trying to raise, and thus they won't feel the need to reflect on and/or participate in some kind of cultural shift or change in their thoughts and actions.

So, seems only logical that if we transform what we understand as art, as we seem to be doing, we will then transform our thoughts about art, and expand on the role that art could play in our culture if we were to really let it. If we transform what we think art ought to be in to what we want art to be/what we want art to do for us, we can perhaps transform our understanding not only of art in the most basic context, but also transform our ideas and views on the cultural issues that art brings to the forefront. If we break down these hierarchical walls in the art world that we've built up between cultures and between continents and between histories, then to we might be able to break down the walls between people as a whole as well. In the case of the event of the Aboriginals being caged, I found it interesting that some people were afraid, while others were upset, while others immediately read into the metaphorical level of what the piece was getting at. And for all of these different ranges of emotions comes a different levels of participation, involvement and engagement with the piece and with the larger issues at hand. Some participation was direct, communicative and physically interacting with the caged people, while some participation was more of an internal metaphorical contextualize of the participatory piece.

Fusco says that "now everybody's getting bombarded with everybody else's culture- maybe not in an equal way, but there's some kind of cultural interaction that we share" which has to be understood before we can understand how we are constructing ourselves and our identities in our own cultures. I agree with Fusco in the sense that the movement between the world of art and the world of culture and cultural identity should be fluid and participatory, a constant stream of interconnectedness and communicative relations that better help us understand and relate with the world and with ourselves, and that we can indeed achieve this through participatory art, so long as we take the time and the care to reflect and react responsibly. And so long as we remember to bring the essence, we'll be dancing on the scars of history.

Week Four: Healing/Process/World/Postcards

James Hillman's "When you're healed.. send me a postcard" can be summed up with the following quote:  "I like to practice therapy. I do it well. But I don't believe in it." This is a quote by Hillman himself, and when I read it I had to pause, and remember back to the first day of class with Ty, when she said something along the lines of, "I create art... but you wanna know a secret? I kinda hate art." What a mind blowing, and slightly confusing concept this was for me upon hearing Ty say this and reading this article. But then I got to thinking... Why is it that we participate in things that we don't necessarily believe in or, that we "kinda" hate? I think it's because as much as we think we hate it, or don't believe in it, we do. We do. We do. We do. We want to. We need to. We feel this moral obligation to help ourselves, help someone else, heal the world. We have this calling, this inherent and insatiable urge to create/to help/to contribute to the world whichever way we can. But it's scary, because what if we fail? Worse, what if we don't succeed? And so, we say, I don't believe in it, or I hate it, or this is stupid, why even like art, what's the point of therapy, because then we aren't 100% responsible for the outcomes, we are not 100% responsible if the impact that we are trying to make or the message we are trying to send goes awry. And you know what? WE ALL FEEL THIS WAY, in one way or another. And since everything can't be rainbows and butterflies and ponies shining out our asses all the time, we put up these walls, severing the connection between ourselves, between our worlds, between us and nature, while we simultaneously deflect the complete responsibility for the condition of humanity and of the world. Because who in their right mind would want to have all that weight upon their shoulders? And better yet, who would willingly put it upon themselves?

In all honesty, I don't really know where I was going with the sentiments above, suffice to say that the condition of the world is sometimes too much to bear and so we isolate ourselves. For Hillman, it seems psychology may be part of the problem because it's working on healing the inner part of the soul/self, without addressing the problems of the outside world; not being able to separate the "condition of the individual soul from that of the world" is problematic at best, and catastrophic at worst. In regards to art, Gablik thinks "like therapy, [it] too has fashioned its practice on the paradigm of separation detachment and autonomy." This is to say that art is an isolated act, much like therapy, done in a room detached from the outside world. And when detached and isolated, the beauty in life and in nature becomes hard to grasp. Beauty is essential for Hillman; without beauty, life cannot function the way it's supposed to. Art is not some "accessory" in our culture; rather, it is inherent to the "radiance" of the world. In other words, to Hillman, beauty functions as any other living organism in a sense; it is crucial to the earth and environment that beauty (in art and in life) exist as a critical component to our livelihood as a planet, and should not be seen as a mere afterthought or addition to our culture. As I understand Hillman, he believes that without beauty, we are blind in a sense that we cannot fully understand or appreciate nature. This is comparable to seeing the grand canyon in person, taking in the sights and the smell of the pines and the sheer vastness of it all, a deep plunging canyon with a seemingly bottomless expanse; we cannot fully appreciate the canyon in it's entirety if we haven't seen it ourselves. Sure, we can look at pictures or read about it in a book, or even see it in a movie. But in order to truly grasp the majesty, the beauty in its entirety, we must witness it ourselves. Much as in nature or our environment, we have to experience it ourselves, play a participatory role and communicate with it, in order to see all of its encompassing beauty.

Art has become an individualistic, "self-contained" act of indulgence, severing all connectedness to the natural world, instead of a communal and participatory act of connecting with the environment. Is art like therapy in that it heals the individual and not concerned with healing the community? Or is art a participatory act between people in a culture who actively seek to heal themselves.  Does whatever you do in that room affect the outside world? Does an isolated artist in a studio have an impact on the outside world? Does a person in a therapists office that's working on healing impact the outside world because they're healing themselves? Does healing yourself mean you're perpetuating, encouraging even, the healing of all of humanity? Who's to say. I for one know that when I'm bettering myself and healing myself, by meditating daily, talking through my problems instead of letting them brew inside my mind, when I'm at my best physically and best emotionally, I have this clarity of myself and of life. I feel connected to myself, and in turn I feel connected to humanity and to the earth. So, yes, I do think there is something to be said about individual healing that translates into communal/cultural healing, that emanates through the isolated walls of a studio or therapy room and into the real world. But that's just me. And, as Suzi Gablik has stated in this interview, some critics are of the belief that only "healed" individuals can make important contributions to the world. Hillman, on the contrary, believes this a silly idea. For one, how does one know when they are fully healed? Can we every be fully healed? What the hell does that even mean? Do we even want to be completely healed? I, for one, think that from the deep wounds in our souls come the greatest ideas, our greatest passions, our greatest and most profound ideologies, and in turn have the greatest impact on ourselves, and if we choose to share, with the world. So, I'd have to agree with Hillman when he says that psychologically we are all not completely healed, and that that's okay, probably better than okay, great in fact, and that we are still making great contributions to both the art world and the world at large. For example, I don't think Dan Powell is completely "healed" or what have you. Yet he's sharing with us a piece of himself, a piece of his life, of his experiences, of his ideologies, where the medium speaks for him. He builds this collaborative relation with his pieces that expresses connectedness yet isn't grabbing us by the throat saying, "Here is my art. You better like it! And you better think about this ecological issue that I'm raising. You better question what I think you should question. You better understand my intentions." I don't think that's his goal at all. I think he's just trying to develop and nurture a relationship with his art and with others through his art; he does this by using distortions of images, of still life, of reality in a way that makes us interact with the pieces; the black and white collages of photographs provokes us, foster a sense of connection with him and with the material with out trying to relay any kind of socio-economic issues to us. He's not trying to raise eco-awareness, just simply trying to connect through his own means, by whatever medium is calling to him in a particular moment. I think his style is admirable. He doesn't necessarily objectify the medium he's using; rather he lets the object do the talking, so to speak. He let's the images or the photographs stand alone, by themselves, for themselves, and they tell their own story without him having to.

Today it seems that the objectification and commodification of nature have produced neutral, even somewhat negative, feelings toward nature which in turn devalues and erases the nurturing tendencies we should have toward nature. Carolyn Merchant compares the world of art to the world in general, arguing that the way most people view the world/environment/nature is the same way they view art: isolated, at a distance, and non-participatory -- autonomous objects as art, instead of participatory installations or participatory dance. Again, we keep coming back to the observer versus participant debate when it comes to art. There should be a collaborative relation between the artist and the medium through a participatory means, one that garners "collective-ness" (I'm making up words now!) and invites participation among the observers, turning them into participants themselves, whether they know they are being turned into participants are not. I think that's what Carolyn Merchant is getting at: that participatory art, so to speak, should evolve along side of us, and knowingly or unknowingly, change us for the better, help us, heal us to what ever degree it is able. Participatory art should take us with it, take us on the journey of not only "healing" (and I use that term loosely) ourselves, but simultaneously healing our world. Art should align us with nature, not deviate us off course. It should embed us with world views and cultural values that are cohesive with one another, that are conscious of one another, that are part of nature.

"From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them, and that is eternity." -Edvard Munch

Week Three: Ten Thousand Artists ... In One Lifeboat?

Hilton Kramer, you are one conservative man. Much like my father, but for different, and slightly more intriguing reasons. Kramer seems to value the quality of art over the quantity of art produced, and strives to preserve the meaning/value of what art and an artist truly is. To him, there's a real "dysfunctionality" in the art world, which is directly proportionate to the size of the art world. That's to say, there are so many damn people these days that claim themselves as artists, yet many lack the skills to produce quality pieces of art work. This is Kramer's perspective. He sees art as an aesthetically pleasing object, nothing more. A non-interactive and non-confrontational manifestation of an artist's ability to create pretty pictures.  Don't get me wrong, traditional art does perhaps serve as a confrontational guise in the ego/i/self sense, meaning it provokes one to think, and may cause you to confront things within, but does it really challenge us to think outside of ourselves? Does it cause us to think on a grander scale, as a way of being one with the world? I don't think it encompasses this concept entirely, like art today does. And you know what I think is missing with this idea that traditional art is the "best" or of the highest quality? The concept of a dialogue between the art/artist and the world. We know what Kramer would say: traditional art is the most meaningful and of most value when it is serving no other purpose than itself; in other words, art should be pretty to look at for the sake of being pretty to look at. Now, granted, I'm glossing over the details, but that's the general idea. But I think, traditional art that's pretty is always going to be just that- pretty- and lacking in dialogue. And isn't sharing and conversing and collaborating with the world what makes all of us go 'round and 'round? I'd like to think so. I think that's what many artists today are striving for, that inherent need to create something of value not only for themselves but to satiate their need to be heard through whichever art medium they choose. Art is the voice, of the world, the individual, all wrapped up into a-sometimes pretty, sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes incredibly abstractly conceptual package. I think modern art holds much more value and is much more functional than Kramer gives it credit for.

With this idea of art functioning as dialogue, comes the abstract ideas of artist Jack Ryan. His "Moonrise" piece (one of the components of his "Scriabin's Mustache") is eerily striking to me. It kinda creeps me out. In the best way possible. But still, it's really really really creepy. The alien-esque noises simultaneously coinciding with shots of the waxing and waning of the moon totally freak me. The noises, which are space and solar wind recordings, are exceedingly challenging for me to listen to without thinking "ET--Phone Home" yet at the same time generate such an emotional response. For me, it's almost as if time is standing still as I watch this video, yet at the same time I find such rhythm and continuity in it's noises and images. It's much like the fluidity and continuity I find in Ryan's work. With Ryan, it seems everything is left up for our own interpretations, or shall we say, open for an interactive and intentional dialogue, be it with ourselves or others. It seems, also, that Ryan likes it this way, and much prefers that art, in general, be left undefined. He wants us to use the work he's created in whichever way we need to in order to define art the way we see fit for ourselves. This concept is all encompassing in the sense that it's a very ambiguous and slightly objective stance that he's taking on art, yet in turn that's eliciting such a strong response and emotion for the viewer to create a definition of art in a somewhat subjective manner. I'm jumbling a lot of my thoughts, but suffice to say that Ryan presents art in a way that's objective, so that we in turn can take that art and use it as objectively or subjectively as we choose. I think that's magical, and very, very powerful.

Unlike Ryan, Kramer seems to want to put art and artists in a teeny tiny little box. They just won't fit, nor do they want to. There's no right or wrong way to view art, subjectively, objectively, one eye-closed, upside down.  Kramer mentions that art is "best" when it is created and appreciated as art and not as something else. But hold the phone! Aren't some of today's artists, such as Ryan, striving for the complete opposite? Aren't they striving to create art- yes, something aesthetically beautiful AND functional at the same time- as to serve as a jumping off point, encouragement for an open dialogue among people, and an invitation to share our own truths, whatever those may be? I think those are the intentions among many artists in today's world. Not so much to create something beautiful to look at, although a lot of art created with such intentions certainly is. But I think there's a larger, more expansive objective on the forefront; the concept of an open dialogue between artists of all kinds, all skill levels, all conceptualizations; there's no kind of right or wrong artist, best or worst, in my opinion. It all depends on the message, the intentions trying to be conveyed. Certainly artists can fail in their attempts to convey a message they so adamantly tried to express through an art piece or installation, but to call them a "bad artist" for it seems entirely wrong. I think, oftentimes, they're better for trying and failing.

There seems to be this emerging of "ten thousand" artists, if you will, due to the heightened awareness of  such critical socio-economic, environmental, and political issues, and because of what's at stake (our beautiful, incredible, dynamic planet!) more and more people are emerging as artists and expressing their messages because they feel the inherent need to spread their own truths. Kramer, however doesn't see the condition of the planet as a sinking ship, like many artists these days seem to. Maybe that's the difference- people such as Kramer don't view the world as collapsing around them, don't feel the walls crumbling, and thus with this he only needs art to function for him in an aesthetically pleasing way. He doesn't need art to explore/question/defend his world. But for other artists, the walls are crumbling, and thus with their view of the world as a sinking ship comes manifestations of art that will no doubt be different. That's what it all comes down to. As more and more people become aware, seeing the light so to speak, the need to create just pours from their being. They've gotta get it out. And so they do. Sure, the quantity of artists has probably increased, but guess what? So, too, has the quality of intentions. The quality hasn't gone anywhere. In fact, I think the quality of art is richer in awareness and more incredibly dynamic than ever. And that should be the measure of great art. I guess it's just a matter of how you look at it.

So, here's the ultimate question: Can we save them all? Do we need to save them all? Do we want to save them all? How do we determine who stays afloat and who sinks into the great blue abyss? Who determines it? See, this question of "good art versus bad art", "wrong versus right" , "quality versus quantity" is really just a circular and entirely subjective or objective matter, depending on how you look at it, and will perpetually propagate itself. There's really no two ways about it. Art is art. Whatever that means is up to you. So I say, ten thousand artists in one lifeboat!  Hop aboard! There's plenty of room! And perhaps the sea that we call life will be infinitely better for it. One thing's for sure, though- they'll be plenty of dialogue along the way.

Week Two: From Chronicler to Participant

In "Doin' Dirt Time" Rachel Dutton and Rob Olds giving up everything, seeking their full potential without material limits or economical restrictions. They're after renewal. They're trying to demonstrate that living is the purest art form by living in complete solitude, which is indeed a very notion radical for most people. However, this alluring act is an act of art in itself, and it makes quite the statement- two people who don't want to be held prisoner by their past, or prisoner by their art, so they drop it all and flee.  Their sense of urgency is intriguing, almost a subconscious thing; they just knew they needed to get out of LA and so they did. like some divine intervention. Almost like art as god? Rob Old says he, " didn't even know it was happening" but yet it happened: the total transformation of art and life.

In the beginning, it seems art is controlling them, even if they are trying to free themselves of art. They're running from LA, burning or giving away their art, like it's some kind of demon or plague. Almost like an unsettling nightmare, or a hellish reality they couldn't escape. But when they started anew, secluded in the wilderness with no one around but themselves, they rediscovered art. They found art as pure and simple as it comes. To me it seems that art was chasing them, chasing them out of town. They were/are the hunted, and art is the hunter. The modern culture couldn't provide them with the art they inherently desired, subconsciously longed for. So they had to remove themselves from that culture, and place themselves purposefully in an environment where they could practice art in an intentional way, practice living and being with intention. Art as their spiritual medium, art as god.

Simply just being can't be a form of art in the modern world because we are never just being, they don't jive. We are constantly caught up in the latest technologies, latest tv show, latest drama, never truly living in the moment, never truly connecting with the earth/our environment the way the earth intended us to. So with advancement in technology and advancement in our cultural commodities (seemingly evolved culture) comes this incessant and insatiable need to create art because when we create something it is alive, it is born, we are giving it life. Modern art tries to put life back into the earth seemingly devoid of life. Because living as art, it isn't special in our modern world, it can't be. We don't grow our own vegetables, we don't make our own fires, we don't do anything sacred to connect us with the earth. We are totally and completely isolated from the art of living. And Rob and Rachel did the exact opposite; they completely isolated themselves form our modern culture in order to create, to live, to be art, whereas modern culture completely isolates it self from earth, from living, from simply being, in order to participate in this modern world. The notion of our dependence on things: "you're not going to die if you turn the damn box off" really strikes a chord, and we can relate this notion to most modern technology. You are not going to die if you turn off your tv for a night. You are not going to die if you unplug your fridge (or if you skip dinner). You are not going to die if you turn off your computer (or go a weekend without internet-trust me, I've done it, I'm still alive and probably better for it). You are not going to die if you turn off your phone. You are not going to die if you turn off your iPod (and simply listen to the sounds of nature). Although, I have to admit, sometimes it really feels like we are going to die if we turn off the damn box. It's so uncomfortable. It's extremely challenging, given all these technological commodities are readily available, that we not engage in and interact with them.  We make it our reality that we can't "live" without such technology because that's the story we've convinced ourselves of. But, what's even more daunting, more challenging, more uncomfortable, is venturing into the seemingly unknown, as Rachel and Rob have done, to live. To really, really live. To practice the art of living in the purest and most simple way they know how.

Something interesting, and perplexing to me, to note, is that Rachel and Rob are both firmly of the belief that art has no role in the world. I find this contradictory and disproportionate to their beginnings of their journey, for a few reasons. If art plays no role, or should play no role in our culture, then it would have been impossible for Rob and Rachel's transformation to take place. They said that art very well played a part in the transformation of their conscious, from their journey from LA to isolation. The art the created in their past (the modern art) propelled them down the path they are on now. It made them conscious and aware of their own need to seek out a more simple life. Art made them aware enough. Art told them that they didn't need art (in the modern sense) in their lives anymore; through their drawings and sculptures and images of people burning they were. Art was the reason they went in to isolation, into a secluded part of the earth, with no interaction or participation . Art played a role in the transformation of their lives. So to say that art has no role, even now, seems contradictory. If art can shed light on cultural, social, and environmental issues for Rob and Rachel, and steer them in a more pure and simple direction, then what makes us think that it might not be able to do the same for other artists? It has to play some kind of role.

Christopher Manes is adamant that the story we write (and have written) for ourselves is our reality; that we think we are the dominant, most evolved species, and so therefore, in our minds we are. This causes problems because when our story tells us that we are superior to, say a fungus or a cow, then we believe we are, thus perpetuating the destruction of the earth/other living beings so that we create a world in which we are the sole beneficiaries. Christopher says that "it's hard to imagine that we're not more important than other things, because we are so powerfully all over the place" which I think is an accurate sentiment that most human beings feel. If we weren't the most important things on the earth, then what would be the point of living? What would be our purpose? It's easy to assign a purpose to life when we deem ourselves the most evolved and the most powerful and important species. It's scary to think that we may not be the most important, most evolved thing; that earth is interconnected with nature and with everything in a way that makes all living things equal.

That's a radical and challenging notion to accept. And I think that's why we keep re-writing our story as the most powerful and dominant being, because if we subject ourselves to an equal plane with all other living things on this earth, then life seemingly loses its meaning (although it doesn't have to, and it shouldn't). We all want to be the most special thing that exists! If we weren't, what "fun" would that be?! If we aren't "special" then we aren't anything. That's the general consensus. But wait a minute. Hear me out: I think life would be tremendously more meaningful and fulfilling if we relished at the thought that everything that exists on earth is of equal importance and that everything is connected. That we all exist together on the same level, not as different levels of an evolutionary scope. How mind blowing and challenging and overwhelming and completely incredible is that notion?! I think it's mind blowing. And challenging. And incredible. And I think that when art stems from this notion, this idea of oneness and connectedness to the earth and every living thing, then it's art in the most pure form.

To come full circle with the idea of eco-art and/or living as art, it's beneficial to look at the work of Colin Ives. His interactive installations are a testament to what it means to be inherently connected to animals that co-exist in our urban environment.  His focus seems to be on connecting the human with the animal through art, in a way that triggers an emotional response and brings about questions of environmental and ecological issues in a way that's accessible for the viewer. Piece by piece, Colin is raising the awareness of humans while situating them on the same plane, or level, as the animals that co-exist the land with them. It is interesting to note that in the installation of "The Clearing" no one in the room wanted to intentionally stand in front of or walk by the projector; that is, to say, we as humans have this inherent need to preserve nature. This interactive art piece demonstrates that we indeed do not want to disrupt the natural and pristine state of the forest, that we respect the forest (or the image in projected in the installation) enough to be careful and watch our step. Yet in the world today, this sentiment is lost. In an isolated show room, we are adamant on preserving the pure state of nature, but out in the real world, the real forest, we are careless and destructive. I think there is something profound to be said about this, although I'm not sure the right words to convey my thoughts.

We're so far removed from the consequences of our actions and our role as active participants on this earth that we've lost all sense of connectedness to our environment, and this has in turn perpetuated human beings and our culture to where we are now. Disconnected from earth and observers in our lives, as opposed to participants. Art plays a role, however big or small, pure or impure, for everyone. It's the method that manifests in different ways, but to think of art as participation in life and experiencing life versus art as observation is the most pure and to the core of the earth. I think that's what it all comes down to: the transformation "from chronicler to participant" as Suzi Gablik so eloquently states it.

*all photos taken by TK

Week One: What is Art For?

I strongly believe that in each of us resides a biological imperative to create. Create anything. We all do it. A delicious steak dinner. Furnishing a home. Painting a picture. Writing a poem. Doodling on the margins of a notebook during class. Playing piano at the EMU. We are constantly, and often unaware of the fact, that we create things day in and day out. For me, food is art, a creative expression of what we are craving in a certain moment; we take the ingredients from our fridge or pantry and create a meal that we think we will enjoy. Same as in traditional art, if you have the inherent urge to paint or draw, you take your canvas and your paints and create something that you think you (and possibly others) will enjoy. Sometimes there is well-thought out intention behind our creations, and other times we simply create to create. To express ourselves. That said, I think there is inherent intention behind art. Whether that intention is for pure enjoyment, a need to express individuality, or based in a manner based more on socio/cultural awareness, intention is always there. Even for those who create simply to create, I think it can be argued that there is intention in the act itself; the fact that one sits down with pen and paper in hand to draw or write is the intention in and of itself.  Sometimes that's the only intention; to simply get it out of your mind and on to paper.

In Conversations before the end of time, Ellen Dissanayake says there's an imperative biological need "in human behavior that wants to make special things you care about, to show your regard for them" (42). I think this is true. We all want to make things special. If we weren't actively trying to "make special" things in our life, it'd be mundane and boring. There'd be no purpose in life, no zest, no spark, nothing to excite us, nothing to explore, nothing to question. Art is for making things special. Art is for making us special. Art is for connecting us to those around us, for engaging in a dialogue with the world, within our own mind, and to connect us to others and most importantly to ourselves.  ED says, "When you have the time to think about it, then you see within a particular experience, for example, that something someone else says suddenly connects, something you read about connects, something you remember from a long time ago connects: that, in a way, is making your experience special. That's making an art work out of your experience; it's what artists do when they make art" (44). This really resonates with me. I think, ultimately, art is for the creator and the connectedness that the creator feels in the moment they are creating something special. This idea of connectedness, the layers upon layers and experiences among experiences that connect us, seems to be a driving force behind many talented artists. For Ty, it seems that for her art is something she feels she has to do. A way to connect with herself, and to connect particular experiences of her past with experiences in her present, as seen in the transcription of her food journals onto the walls in her studio. It seems being an artist is something imperative for her sanity, a way of expressing her feelings through whichever medium strikes her in a certain moment or time in her life.

So art is crucial to our biological survival. Yes, that's a fairly blunt and perhaps overly simplified statement I'm making. But I'm talking about all kinds of art; encompassing any act or expression of oneself through a creative medium, whether that be through video camera, music, painting, writing, cooking, it is a biological imperative we are inherently born with. For an artist, the need to create and explore is often seen through an intensification of expression, an intensification of questions, answers, and connectedness through a certain platform. For the average Joe, the creativity and expression of individuality may manifest itself in other ways. But for all of us, there's the need for art. So that's what art is for. Us. All of us. And it's critical to our livelihood.


Tonight, for me, this is art: http://aurgasm.us/2009/02/the-american-dollar/