Art: The International Language

John Ruskin has said, "Great nations write their autobiographies in three manuscripts -- the book of their deeds, the book of their words, and the book of their art." To him, the last was the most important. And while I don't make a habit of agreeing with much that Ruskin said, we are of like mind on that point. But let's examine why.

First, we have the book of deeds. Everyone is familiar with the adage that "history is written by the victors." If that's the case, then we should rightly be suspicious of learning about a culture by their deeds. Everyone paints themselves in the most positive light possible and societies are no different. Remember that time you got dumped in high school? You cried and cried in private, but shrugged it off or made out like it was all your idea to your friends. Sort of like that.

Secondly, we have the book of words, which I take to mean literary and theatrical arts. While I find these media to be a bit more honest than official histories (satire rarely has a place among history books), there is still the problem of linguistic accessibility. If you aren't intimately familiar with the language, you can't very well read it. And if you only possess a strictly academic fluency, you're unlikely to grasp subtle witticisms, which could lead you to miss the point entirely. And don't think you can fully rely on a translated edition. By removing a text from its original language, you invariably change its meaning. Language is the vehicle of culture, so translations are really only capable of giving a picture painted in the broadest of strokes.

This brings us to the final of Ruskin's manuscripts -- the book of art. Art (good art, at least) needs no translation. You look at it and you understand what the artist is trying to tell you. Look at this painting, The Third of May, 1808 by Francisco de Goya:

What do you see? How does it make you feel? There isn't any right answer, by the way. But the point is that you don't need to be able to read Spanish to get the point Goya was trying to make. And what's better is that you don't have to rely on a translator, either. The emotional impact of the painting is just as raw regardless of your native language.

Here's another Spanish painting by El Greco:

This is El Greco's Laocoön. Even though this painting predates my previous example by almost exactly 200 years, there are similarities in style and theme. These two paintings can be considered characteristic of the Spanish style, and can therefore be assumed to say something of the character of that nation. What it says, however, is up to your interpretation.

And this is why art is such an important part of understanding how we interact with the world. You don't need anyone to tell you what a work of art means. Art is subjective -- it means something different to everyone. Art has been considered a possible path to enlightenment. In W. Somerset Maugham's novel The Razor's Edge, Larry Darrell, a wanderer seeking enlightenment says, "I wondered if art couldn't point out the way to me that religion hadn't."

And Here...We...Go!

Thomas Hoving once wrote, "To be a connoisseur you don't need an advanced degree in art history or archaeology [...] all you have to do is saturate yourself with endless thousands of works of art and let them do the rest." And he should know what he's talking about. He served as director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York for a decade, and is most directly responsible for wresting the museum from the hands of ivory tower elites and making it accessible to the plebeian public. You know all those public exhibitions and special events that art museums commonly host these days? That's his legacy.

Anyway, that's also the point of this blog. People are often intimidated by art. Some people trivialize art. Hell, a few are even downright hostile toward art. I should know - I used to fit into a couple of those categories (I've only been openly hostile toward some contemporary art, but more on that later).

I liked art when I was young. I think most people like art before life has worn them down and made mindless consumer-drones of them. As soon as I had my driver's license, I would skip out of my high school classes and head straight for the Dallas Museum of Art where I would while away my time surrounded by paintings and sculptures. I would sketch what I liked in an effort to see if I had a glimmer of talent (is there a market for stick figures? Because I rock at those). But sometime in my mid-20s I stopped. I don't know why. Art became merely decorative and meaningless to me. It remained so for quite some time. The only art class I took in college was a required art history course, and I found the professor to be such an insufferable twat that it cemented my indifference to art.

But a couple of years ago, I was introduced to Simon Schama's The Power of Art documentary series. Here, Schama not only laid bare the tribulations faced by the artists, he showed the social impact of the works. Often they were scorned in their time, becoming iconic or even notorious much later. I was hooked. I began devouring art history books, watching art documentaries, and visiting art museums and galleries with an unprecedented exuberance. And the more I learned, the most exciting I found the affair.

I began to develop an eye for artistic style. I noticed similarities between artists, regions, and time periods. I saw how one movement would preface another. And I saw the ebb and flow of social movements and historical periods played out across the centuries through the art. Art didn't make me aware of the past, but it made the past visceral.

But understanding art doesn't mean that I like or even really appreciate all of it. And I think that's another misconception that turns people off to some art. It's okay not to like some of it. It's okay not to like most of it. Hell, when I see the work of Tracey Emin or Isa Genzken, I am filled with something more akin to rage than introspection or adoration. But hey, it's having an effect on me, just not one that I enjoy.

And this is why I started this blog. Everyone should have the ability to enjoy art. But the stereotype of the stodgy art connoisseur in his top hat and monocle, or the elitist hipster shaming the uninitiated out of the art gallery have made many understandably apprehensive about embracing art. While there are people who fit those stereotypes (well, maybe not the Monopoly Man one), they don't deserve the attention they get. Remember that even the most learned art scholar had to start someone.

I don't claim to have any special knowledge. I don't even claim to know what the hell I'm talking about most of the time. But I'm learning. If you'd care to join me, I think we should start here.