Thursday, May 31, 2012

Conventions and Art: Mistakes, Mysteries and Misnomers. Part II.




In Part I of this essay I demonstrated a distinction between customs and conventions.  I argued that conventions presuppose the applications of language.  A convention is a description; it is how we describe the world.  In effect all conventions are language conventions.  Indeed to describe something as art is invoking a convention whereas a custom in the sense we are discussing it is a habitual, commonly followed or traditional practice.   While conventions may be customary and customs may invoke or entail a convention they are distinctly different activities.  This is important because artists commonly invoke totally new conventions, requiring new descriptions of their work as a means of promoting understanding.  For example consider the painting below.


This work is by the well-known artist Sydney Nolan and its subject matter will be easily recognized by Australian viewers and those familiar with Australian history or art.  It is a picture of our most famous bushranger/outlaw Ned Kelly but we need to apply a convention to understand it and because Australians are so familiar with the character it depicts they do it automatically.  Here we see a two dimensional caricature of a horse and a ‘thing’ connected to a broom with a landscape in the background.   The ‘thing’ looks like a pot on the horse’s back with a piston sticking up out of it only the piston has a see-through slot with two ball bearing-like things in it.  All are two dimensional in what is called a naïve style.  I’m sure you will recognize this is not the correct description but how do we describe this painting?  Its title is Ned, does that help?  I think not for sometimes titles of paintings are merely labels. Well here are two more pictures for those of you who are not familiar with Ned Kelly.

                              
                                                                                     
                                                     

The picture on the left shows us the home made body armour that Ned Kelly was wearing when he was captured.  The etching on the right depicts the bushranger in action wearing his armour under his coat.  Now we can understand how the artist arrived at his caricature.  What I described as a pot we can now describe as body armour, the piston is head gear and the ball-bearings are eyes peering through the slot in the head gear and the broom is a rifle.  As my earlier description was a convention so is my latter description for conventions are arbitrary descriptions.  Nevertheless the latter description is the one that provides us with an understanding of what is taking place in Nolan’s screen-print.  Nolan’s painting is something of visual metaphor for the Ned Kelly legend.  As I noted in part I of this essay conventions provide us with a context that allows us to adjust our thinking about how a new aspect of our art-reality is to be understood.  The quality of a work of art is a direct result of how we are obliged to describe it; the conventions we must use.   Nolan has chosen a naive style reminiscent of Rousseau’s primitive manner but highly original in his attempt to capture the scape of the Australian bush and its most famous outlaw. 

Now let us consider a different art form that presents us with a visual perspective.
                                     

What conventions must we use to describe this work by Barbra   Hepworth?   We don’t have to describe it at all if we wish but that would pre-empt our ability to discuss it or think about it.  We have before us three smooth stones or rocks perhaps made of marble and arranged in a specific fashion on a stone slab.  What are we expected to make of it?  I doubt we would be allowed to handle them and their position seems to be significant to our understanding.  In this instance the title of the work provides us with the convention we need to understand the artist’s work.  It is titled Three Forms and by describing each of these pieces as a form we can see the point of their juxtaposition and why they are smooth.  The artist has created a work of contrasts using the same material for each different piece which enhances the notion of forms.  The artist has offered us in three dimensions what we often see as two dimensional forms and we are reminded of this by the shadows of each form that fall onto the slab.  It is an exercise in demonstrating the forms within a work as opposed to the form of the work.  Again a convention opens the door to understanding.  Here is another work by an Australian Artist that I purchased without having any idea of the title.

                          

For me it captures the colours of the Australian bush and the denuded, charcoal encrusted trees left standing after a bush fire.  Completed entirely with a palette knife I recognized from the different shades and strange shapes different levels of the landscape and while I was curious about them I was impressed with the skill and talent of the artist.   That description is, of course, a convention.  I’m sure it may be described in a number of ways but when I learned that the title of the work was Gravel Pit all I could say was yes of course it is. The boarders of the pit are presented as dark green and we see different shades of earth as we look down into the pit, a style we can liken to post-impressionism.  Light is diffused, hazy as if the bushfire smoke lingered.  The painting is made up of delineated shapes of colour reminiscent of Cezanne’s Bibemus Quarry paintings.

Bibemus Quarry


Of course it is not always the case that understanding is forthcoming as a result of the artist’s chosen title.  Sometimes it is left to the viewer to come up with an appropriate convention in order to grasp the flavour of a work such as Jackson Pollock’s Number 28.

                        

This is what The Metropolitan Museum of Art offers as a description by way of a well-known art critic.

The dominant critic of the day, Clement Greenberg, called such works "polyphonic." "Knit together of a multiplicity of identical or similar elements," he wrote, this art "repeats itself without strong variation from one end of the canvas to the other, and dispenses, apparently, with beginning, middle, and ending."
The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Well I guess that’s one way to describe it.  Still another way is:

In Number 28, l950 there is such a careless grace, a feeling of inevitability, a weaving in and out of those thick and thin black lines over a deep galaxy of silver and blue space.

What gives us such a lift are those solid, well placed, low and thick obstructions. But they don't hold us down! There is a whirling, wild sense of freedom here, and at the same a most cunning arrangement of space as to line, thick as to thin, rise as to fall, abrupt angle and surprising dash. Here, impediment is a means of freedom, and the artist's beautiful, central ambition is satisfied, and we are satisfied. We feel we can be ambitious to be free like that. It is a sign, as Eli Siegel has described, of the world itself making beautiful sense, and we like it.  By Dorothy Koppelman

I suppose it is the signature of much modern and contemporary art that the viewer must invent their own descriptive handle by which to grasp such works.  While they can easily be appreciated for the technique applied, the medium used and the object or result of the artist’s determined conclusion this seems not to satisfy those who believe an aesthetic description is warranted.  Neither critic mentions the fact that the work is enamel on canvas or how the artist built the work carefully controlling his colours. Unfortunately aesthetic descriptions are always inferences (though they are often mistakenly described as interpretations) drawn to satisfy a need for understanding.  Unlike artistic descriptions they have little or no truth value nor is this necessary for they are personal conventions for private enjoyment.  Sometimes the ability to draw such inferences becomes an end in itself and the work of art is merely the catalyst.   At other times authorities seem unable to even recognize some works as art.

Artists are incessantly experimenting in an effort to create new forms and they tend to forge far ahead of the vocabulary that provides us with the means to see these works of art.  A classic example is Constantin Brancusi’s Bird In Space, a five foot bronze sculpture.     
                                               

U.S. customs impounded the piece when it was shipped to New York for an art show.  Though its elegance was obvious, customs insisted it was raw metal and imposed a tax on it.  Brancusi was forced to go to court to force U.S. Customs to release it on the grounds that it was a work of art.  U.S Customs officers were unable to apply a convention which would allow them to describe this work as art.  Having a title allows us to recognize the aerodynamic sense of flight but we may well have inferred such a description; the shape predates the Concord aircraft.

Sometimes merely having a convention to describe a new genre provides a position from which to value new methods of presentation.  Such was the case for works now recognized as belonging to the genre of Impressionism. 
                       
This work is Claude Monet’s Sunrise which is typical of the genre.  The Impressionists were trying to capture the play of light and shadow as it appeared to the artist’s eyes.  They were described as impressionists by a critic who was trying to depreciate such works but the description proved to be the key convention that allowed the public a means appreciating impressionism.

But it is not only new movements that require a convention in order to promote understanding.  Consider this work by Rembrandt.
                          
This work is described as Aristotle contemplating the bust of Homer.  Could we have guessed who it was that Rembrandt was showing us?  Was Aristotle ever dressed in such a fashion?  Why do you suppose Rembrandt was trying to show us Aristotle rather than a wealthy Dutch patron?   Aristotle is not dressed as a 4th century BC philosopher.  He is dressed in clothing contemporary with the period in which the artist painted; a common practice for Rembrandt.  He enjoyed painting such fashionable clothing for it allowed him to show off his technique with a loaded brush (called impasto) providing the work with a textual richness.

Some of you may remember those B grade war films where we saw German army officers at German Headquarters speaking perfect English (sometimes with an accent).  The convention was that we were to understand that they were speaking German in their homeland.  Rembrandt is invoking a similar convention by displaying Aristotle in contemporary Dutch dress.  We are to understand that it is the dress of a 4th century Greek aristocrat.
Launt Thompson
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Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Illusion, Mirage and Optical Agitation as Art



For most people an illusion is merely a harmless visual trick.  Seldom do they ever recognize that illusions are something they perpetuate everyday which most often serve to help them stabilize their understanding of the world.  A failure to realize this fact has produced a number of false beliefs about the role of illusion in art.  Indeed, it would not be stretching the truth to say that many people unknowingly suffer from the illusion that they know about illusions. 

Illusion in the visual arts is sometimes described as the lack of correspondence between the perception of an object and the physical nature of that object.   In other words an illusion is thought to be some sort of visual mistake.  The more common examples of this type of ‘lack of correspondence’ are said to be perspective drawings or paintings where three dimensions are represented on a two-dimensional surface.  Here we are able to perceive depth where no depth actually exists as in this work by Andrew Wyeth titled Christina’s World.
                                     
                                                               


But recognizing the representation of three dimensions on a two dimensional surface is a learned ability; we have learned the convention that allows us to recognize perspective in a painting or drawing.   It is not an illusion.  Colour, light and shadow are also used to depict depth and is probably best illustrated by the works of William Michael Harnett:
                                  

Everyday objects such as a cupboard door, a bugle hanging from a nail, a violin leaning against the frame of the door, sheet music and books painted with an eye for detail and using light and shadow give us the impression of the object in three dimensions.   Abstract artist also experimented with color, light and shadow to give the impression of depth as with the work of Tom Hrusa:


                                                    

But again, we have learned to read paintings of this type, no illusion exists.  Still, there is another type of work called Op Art where the design of the artist is said to create an optical illusion such as this one by D.M. MacKay:
                                     
Perhaps a better description for such works is scintillating art for what is taking place is not so much an illusion as an irritation of the receptor cones in the eye causing a false image of pulsating lines over the fine lines receding to the centre of the work. This brief critique of supposed illusions in the visual arts is important to our understanding of the role of illusion in art and in our daily lives for the art form that most relies on illusion is theatre.   But many theatre historians also have a mistaken view of how an illusion comes about.

Imagine, an alien comes to you and asks you to explain what an illusion is.  How would you go about it?  No doubt you would want to tell him that an illusion is something that is false.  You have heard the oft repeated phrase ‘the illusion of reality’ so you might begin by telling him it is a false reality.  But your alien friend is confused.  ‘What is a reality?’, he asks.  You then explain that a person’s reality comes about as a result of those things they are able to realize about the world.    Your friend will not be put off.

‘What is a false reality?  How will I know one when I see one?’

If you have your wits about you, you will explain that a illusion is not a false object or thing, rather it is a realization that is false.  More correctly an illusion is a false ‘belief’ about reality.  It is a conviction that something is the case when it is not.  Illusions are such things that exist only in a person’s mind.   Many years ago most people believed that the sun revolved around the earth but we now know this to be false.  People who held this belief harboured an illusion and remnants of this illusion are still with us.  We often say the sun rises in the east, crosses overhead and sets in the west merely because it looks that way.  But of course it also looks as if the earth is revolving around the sun.  As an illusion is a belief we cannot describe perspective drawings as illusion unless we could show that someone was actually convinced the depth existed.   Such a situation is highly improbable for the depth could not be perceived unless someone were trained or had trained themselves to do it.  As children we learn to read photographs and drawings much as we learn to read language.

The pleonastic phrase ‘the illusion of reality’ can be found in countless books on art and the theatre and serves to misdirect and confuse our understanding of illusion.  It is a self-evident that an illusion is ‘a false belief about reality’.  We can show this by merely trying to deny it.  When we do deny it we are left holding the position that an illusion is a true belief about reality which is what we most often call knowledge.  Few of us would be prepared to defend the thesis that knowledge is illusion. 

In the art form of theatre illusion is fundamental to our understanding of it.  There can be no theatre without illusion.  Plato was the first to recognize that patrons of the theatre believed in the characters they witnessed in the theatre and he was so concerned that he would not allow actors to participate in his ideal state.  Most theatre historians naively assume that illusion in the theatre came about with the introduction of the perspective set designs of Sebastiano Serlio and his contemporaries in the mid 1500s.   But a perspective painting on a backdrop is no more than what it is.  A set may support the illusion in theatre but it is not responsible for it.  Illusion in theatre can exist when no set is used as in the ancient Greek theatre witnessed by Plato.

It is the actors in the theatre that invoke the illusion and the audience must participate in it if they are to enjoy what theatre offers.  The audience must hold a false belief about the reality of the situation they are witnessing.  No doubt some people will reject the idea that they must believe the characters in theatre.  For these people such a belief would be delusional but delusion is a form of paranoia.  Neither could such a belief be called a hallucination for a hallucination is a perception without an external stimulus.  Belief in the characters that exist in the theatre is a harmless activity that offers us many rewards.  As the philosopher A. P. Griffiths points out, “People cannot be taken to believe things they have never heard of, or could not think.”[i]   It is also true that we can believe anything we can think.  Whether we ought to or not is another matter.

However true this argument may be your alien friend may still not be convinced.  He may counter your explanation with the retort:  “Your neighbour Harry Blogs says that’s codswallop.  He says we don’t have to believe in theatre.  All we have to do is suspend our disbelief.”  What you would have to explain is that the willing suspension of disbelief is a grammatical red herring.   It was conjured up in the nineteenth century by the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge as a way of getting around the argument that we should only believe what is true.  Coleridge suggested he did not believe poetry or the falsehoods of the stage to be true.  In fact he disbelieved them but in order to enjoy them he would willingly suspend his disbelief; he would not bring it into play.  Since, this has become the catch phrase for many theatre goers.
 
But disbelief is a belief in the contrary proposition.  There is no middle ground here.  To insist that you can willingly suspend your disbelief is much like saying that you promise not to read the previous sentence.  The willing suspension of disbelief starts from the premise that what is seen is false (a category mistake).  For example, ‘it is a falsehood that Hamlet is there’, therefore in order to maintain that we are rational we will admit that we disbelieve that ‘Hamlet is there’.  This means that we must either believe that ‘Hamlet is not there’ or ‘Hamlet is invisible’.  But if we do this we cannot enjoy the play so we must suspend our disbelief!  We ‘suspend’ the possibilities that ‘Hamlet is not there’ or ‘Hamlet is invisible’.  If we admit that we have seen the play the only alternative open to us is to ‘believe’ ‘Hamlet is there’.

When we go to the theatre we must be prepared to say ‘That is Hamlet’ or ‘There is Hamlet’.  We must hold the conviction that this is a correct use of language else we must admit the production to be a bad one or that we are attending the production ill prepared to accept it.  We need to hold a false belief about the reality of Hamlet; we need to create the illusion in order to participate in the hypothesis that is theatre.

Of course your alien friend may still not be convinced.  “What about Brecht?” he asks, “Brecht enlisted the aid of his ‘alienation effect’ to destroy or rid the theatre of illusion.”  You would have to explain that the situation is no different.  Brecht was mistaken. Brecht’s theatre relied on illusion as much as any.  While Brecht more often created role types rather than characters they had to be believed in order to recognize the import of his message.

Launt Thompson

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[i] Griffiths, A. P., ed. Knowledge And Belief, Oxford University Press, London 1973 pp128.