waxwing
14 Oct 2005, 09:49 PM
The following passage is taken from Art and Fear: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking (written by David Bayles and Ted Orland).
"...This impasse may be what led Ezra Pound to remark that the one thing he learned from viewing a good piece of art was that the other artist had done his job well, and thus he [Pound] was freed to explore another direction. The art critic faces a more vexing dilemma: in a nutshell, he cannot explain the finished art piece from looking at the artist, and he cannot explain the artist by viewing the finished art piece. And so art is treated like some foreign abject, analyzed from afar for its relationship to politics and culture and history and (incestuously) to other art movements. Or more drudgerously catalogued into successive styles, periods, and "Masterworks." Textbooks compound the problem by reducing the history of art to the history of art that can be reproduced. VerMeer miniatures and Bierstadt murals are allotted idential quarter-page niches, and art that doesn't lend itself to halftoning disappears entirely.
We're not trying to set up straw me here, and certainly there's no harm in standing back occasionally to gain an overview of history (and fantasize about your place in it). The point is simply that none of this will help you to get the paint to fall to the canzas the way you need it to. None of this will tell you what it's like to set the hammer to the marble for the first time. None of this will convey the terror of walking onto the stage to face a thousand people. For the working artist, the very best writings on art are not analytical or chronological; they are autobiographical. The artist, after all, was there. Discuss.
"...This impasse may be what led Ezra Pound to remark that the one thing he learned from viewing a good piece of art was that the other artist had done his job well, and thus he [Pound] was freed to explore another direction. The art critic faces a more vexing dilemma: in a nutshell, he cannot explain the finished art piece from looking at the artist, and he cannot explain the artist by viewing the finished art piece. And so art is treated like some foreign abject, analyzed from afar for its relationship to politics and culture and history and (incestuously) to other art movements. Or more drudgerously catalogued into successive styles, periods, and "Masterworks." Textbooks compound the problem by reducing the history of art to the history of art that can be reproduced. VerMeer miniatures and Bierstadt murals are allotted idential quarter-page niches, and art that doesn't lend itself to halftoning disappears entirely.
We're not trying to set up straw me here, and certainly there's no harm in standing back occasionally to gain an overview of history (and fantasize about your place in it). The point is simply that none of this will help you to get the paint to fall to the canzas the way you need it to. None of this will tell you what it's like to set the hammer to the marble for the first time. None of this will convey the terror of walking onto the stage to face a thousand people. For the working artist, the very best writings on art are not analytical or chronological; they are autobiographical. The artist, after all, was there. Discuss.