Six Pillars of Art
One
Let us begin with what this text is not.
This text is not an attempt at securing complete and all–encompassing definitions. For this we have our logicians — our lawyers, our metaphysicians. Their role is the sealing of gaps; the smoothening of edges. The role of the artist on the other hand, is their opposite:
a scratching upon; a breaking open; clawing into. A shattering into pieces not for the sake of destruction, but for the sake of what may be rebuilt from the debris.
Two
Artists, therefore, are not inventors. They unveil, they uncover, they unravel — but they do not create. No, an artist is one who discovers: one who maps out foreign land and plots what lies hidden beneath its veneer (and so we shall, indeed, leave our origins to gods) —
She is no preacher (for we know that nothing is so certain to be shouted with conviction) but a poet — breathing life and rhythm to the misconceived and incomplete; granting room for spectators who do not know what of what they are in search of (but must be granted freedom to attempt)…
Three
But what does she discover? What is this thing that she brings forth? Of what is it made, and how is it explained?
Let us return to our definitions. Let us grant ourselves the fact that we can define absolutely nothing. Not because of our illiteracy but because of the limitations of our symbols — trying — impossibly — to mirror our realities and failing — impossibly — again, and again, again.
But though insufficient (paradoxical, and hypocritical) and an easy target for the dogmatic (when unquestionably accepted and when scrutinised too fiercely alike) they are, of course, not completely without use. When viewed upon like any other human creation they may be a compass; a consolation. And thus, this explanation? Here is an attempt:
This thing that she brings forth (of which we shall name “art”) is, perhaps foremost, an emotional response (ingrained and embedded). It is an articulated expression; a mental state — openly and unapologetically communicated, and in turn — received. [1]
(But this includes everything!) Alas. Let us turn to what is excludes.
Four
Apathy; dispassion. Indifference. The inertia of the arrogant; the lethargy of the possessed. No, the role of art is not an affirmation: a playing into one’s hand, an affording of one’s comforts. But if the artist is met by (despite no workings on her part) indifference, she has failed. And if indifference is what she (not intentionally, but attentively) produced, she is not worthy of the name.
But this converse of indifference — the thing which we have agreed upon to call our “art” (and which we discovered on our excavation) is treading on a fine line. It lies between two closely relates arenas: the senseless (in which what has been discovered remain intangible; incomprehensible; and perhaps no discovery at all) and, if we are lucky, the novel (the space in which we would like to gain admittance).
And thus, the “art” is then not just the production of a response (indeed, senselessness and fraud can too awaken affirmation) but the successful sense — making of this novelty (whatever it is, and may be).
Five
This text has so far (and very briefly) covered four ideas: the role of the artist; the artist as a non — inventor; a definition; and lastly, indifference and senselessness. We turn at last to the object.
A question. Is art (and was it ever) constricted to its formal expression? Its manifestation (physical? material?) its mark upon the world of matter. If yes — a traversing down this path will surely very soon hit us upon (excessive) contradiction (and we shall be forced to return home).
No, art is (we have mentioned it already) an expression — not an object. And while material pronouncements may be beneficial, it is not in these in which its essence [2] lies embedded. The art lies, in other words, not in the work of art itself. It lies in its observer.
Six
This text begun with a statement of what it was not. It shall end on what it was:
This text was an introduction (an introspection?); a set of reflections. But maybe more than anything, it was a narration — a set and sequence of symbols attempting to (using other symbols) organise a series of ideas — to embody them and translate them from their natural abstraction into a concreteness and a solid form.
It was also (perhaps above all else), unsuccessful. But so is all art (symbolic or phenomenological): it is a mere flicker of the thing that we call real, a decrepit attempt towards successful portrayal of that which we know through our senses to be true. A failure; endless, and persistent.
It does, however, still embark on its pursuit (it does make the attempt). And for that reason (and maybe for that reason alone) — it remains indispensable.
References
[1] Collingwood, R. G. The Principles of Art. 1938.
[2] Aristotle. Metaphysics. 1030a.
